Almost Time to Rake the Leaves

The long shadows of September now behind us, the leaves change colors as the sun sets and darkness descends by early evening. Dried sunflowers, orange pumpkins, and the multi-colored gourds of autumn decorate neighborhood porches, as the brisk air and blue skies of October transform summer into fall. The Cardinals having fallen from grace with a mysterious and inexplicable late summer collapse, baseball season is essentially over for me and all of the unfortunate souls who embrace the 24 teams that failed to make the postseason. Weaker fans with football allegiances transferred their emotional investments to pigskin rivalries weeks ago, filling their weekends with tailgate parties and the sounds of clashing helmets. Soccer moms transport budding athletes to tournaments and practices, where soccer and lacrosse and field hockey are played on rectangular fields devoid of the charm and history that pepper the diamond-shaped pastures of our national pastime.

For the suffering baseball fan, whose team was mathematically eliminated or realistically out of the race by early September, the last weeks of the season are a slow, tortuous journey into the abyss of the soul. It ends only after the last out of the ninth inning of the 162nd game, when the season comes mercifully to a close and the baseball angels, at least those of non-playoff teams, pack up for winter.

After the locker rooms are emptied and clubhouses cleaned out, after the players and coaches return to their real lives, to their families and homes and off-season workouts, only then can one partake of a sabbatical from the excesses of fandom and the irrationality of caring so much for a team that knows not of your existence. The sports pages no longer filled with box scores and the running soap opera that is the pennant race, it is almost time to rake the leaves again.

For the third time in the last four seasons I have been forced to watch the post-season with an unwelcome dispassion. Granted, it is less stressful and, with the Cardinals a distant memory of a long, frustrating summer, I can watch and enjoy the games for the pure skill, strategy and drama that is baseball at its highest level. How could anyone not appreciate the masterful performance of Roy Halladay’s no-hitter in Game One of the National League Division Series, or the nearly equally impressive, fourteen strikeout performance by Tim Lincecum? I can relax and enjoy, as a baseball fan, the pitching matchups between the pesky Giants and the powerful Phillies, as I look forward to the much anticipated rematch between Philadelphia and New York in the World Series.

But in my solitary moments, if I am completely honest, thoughts of the postseason without the Cardinals – even the act of writing these words – brings a sharp and profound pain to my heart. If my lifelong love of the Cardinals has taught me anything, it is that there is far more losing than winning in baseball. “Strong feelings do not necessarily make a strong character,” wrote William Carleton. “The strength of a man is to be measured by the power of the feelings he subdues not by the power of those which subdue him.”

Baseball is a metaphor for life, or so it seems, and I could not help but feel sorry for Brooks Conrad, the 30 year-old journeyman infielder of the Atlanta Braves who made three errors in Game Three of the NLDS against the Giants, costing the Braves the game and, quite possibly, a chance at the World Series. Brooks is the Everyman, a hard working, career minor leaguer, who only made the post-season roster because of injuries to Chipper Jones and Martin Prado, two of the Braves best players. He had played a total of eleven games at second base in his major league career when, due to circumstances outside his control, he was called into duty against the Giants. But in baseball, as in life, when you seek anonymity, there is no place to hide. The ball will always find you.

Before a sellout crowd and a national television audience, with millions of people watching, Conrad made a wild throw to first base in the first inning, dropped a pop fly in the second, and let a routine ground ball go through his legs in the ninth. The last two errors resulted in two of the Giants’ three runs in what turned out to be a 3-2 Giants win. To make matters worse, the ninth inning error followed what would have been a heroic two-run homerun by the Braves’ Eric Hinske in the bottom of the eighth, a dramatic shot that propelled the Braves to a 2-1 lead and erupted a previously quiet hometown crowd. But when Buster Posey’s ground ball went through Conrad’s legs with two outs in the top of the ninth, the go-ahead run crossed the plate and the Giants won the game. Brooks Conrad is now forever tarnished as the kid who blew the playoffs for the city of Atlanta.

“Don’t you know how hard this all is?” Ted Williams famously asked a reporter who had criticized his team in the previous day’s paper. “Baseball is the only field of endeavor where a man can succeed three times out of ten and be considered a good performer.” Baseball is a test of character that regularly challenges one’s capacity for handling adversity and coping with failure. Even a great player fails more than he succeeds, and a really good team will lose 60 to 70 times in a season. It is for this reason that the true fan develops defense mechanisms for coping with disappointment, for caring about a team that consistently breaks your heart.

But fans can be cruel. As the Braves came to bat in the bottom of the ninth, after Conrad’s two-out error had parlayed victory into possible loss, and as Conrad sat in the dugout, alone and head bowed in shame, the Atlanta scoreboard played a video of Conrad’s walk-off, pinch-hit grand slam that had beaten Cincinnati earlier in the season. The crowd at Turner Field booed mercilessly, even though it was that home run in May and a second pinch grand slam later in the season that helped the Braves earn the wild card berth and earned Conrad more playing time -- and the confidence of his teammates. “What have you done for me lately?” is today’s constant refrain, magnified in professional sports, where exceptional play and heroic efforts are expected every day.

"You hurt for him," Braves outfielder Matt Diaz said after the game. "This should be the time of his life." For Conrad, the memories of this one game will linger for a lifetime; his dream has become a nightmare.

Kahlil Gibran wrote, “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” Conrad is hardly alone in the annals of baseball misery. When Bill Buckner let Mookie Wilson’s groundball slip under his legs in Game Six of the 1986 World Series, allowing the winning run to cross the plate for the Mets (who naturally went on to win Game Seven), it took Red Sox Nation two decades and two World Championships before it could offer forgiveness. No one suffered more than Buckner. Despite a magnificent career that spanned 22 years and compiled over 2,700 hits, he was forever marked with a scarlet “E” on his chest to the fans of Boston. When his son and daughter were cruelly mocked and taunted in school, Buckner, a strong, rugged first baseman, moved his family to Idaho, where he could live in peace and in the solitude of his own suffering.

“To err is human, to forgive divine,” wrote Alexander Pope in the 18th century. In 2008, twenty-two years after his misplayed groundball, Buckner was invited to Fenway Park to throw out the first pitch. When he walked from the Green Monster in left field to the pitcher’s mound, the Boston fans gave him a prolonged, apologetic standing ovation, as if to say, at long last, we forgive you. Buckner stood on the field overwhelmed with relief, tears streaming down his face. He had finally come to peace with his internal demons and soothed his misery; and in his own gentle way, he could now offer forgiveness for the unfairness of it all.

As fans, we too easily forget how truly difficult it is to play this game, even when the outcome is not magnified by world-wide television coverage and the exaggerated meaning individual fans ascribe to what is, in the end, just a game. Baseball is a team game, and the cumulative performance of the parts is what counts, not the individual success or failure of one player. “The way a team plays as a whole determines its success,” Babe Ruth once said. “You may have the greatest bunch of individual stars in the world, but if they don’t play together, the club won’t be worth a dime.”

Good teams not only have good players, they have chemistry, that intangible something that the Cardinals desperately lacked this year. I could sense it when I watched them play, especially in late August and early September, when the stress of the pennant race and the burdens of competition were at their peak. They looked uptight, a group of men blessed with the opportunity to play a child’s game, something that many of us can only dream of, that still dream of; and yet, it appeared, they were not having fun.

So, for me and the faithful loyalists of all but a few remaining teams, it is time to rake the leaves. Yet the sense of loss I feel at season’s end is inevitably and optimistically followed by a sense of hope. For a baseball fan, the end of one season opens up fresh dreams and new possibilities, the unbridled optimism that spring will once again bring a harvest of bright young stars and reliable veterans, when team chemistry will click, and when the baseball angels will reward my faithfulness and determination with a contender. “Wait ‘til next year” is the oft-repeated maxim, from which I have found comfort on many occasions. Although the darkness of fall has arrived and the harshness of winter beckons, for baseball fans, next year is never all that far away.

A Baseball Quandary: Good Statistics, Bad Character, Broken Rules

There is perhaps no game as baseball that harmonizes so perfectly with statistical measurement. Virtually every aspect of the game is judged by a number or an equation: batting average (hits divided by at-bats), slugging percentage (total bases divided by at-bats), earned run average (earned runs multiplied by nine, divided by total innings pitched), strikeout-to-walk ratio, lefty-righty breakdowns, you name it, baseball probably has a stat for it. Statistics measure a player’s performance from week-to-week and year-to-year; they resolve salary arbitration disputes, help managers determine matchups and set lineups, and permit fans to debate the value of trades and compare players of different generations. When age and physical limitations finally betray a star player, his career statistics become his resume for future consideration at Cooperstown.

Thus, on September 11, 2009, when Derek Jeter slapped on opposite-field single into right field – marking his 2,722nd career hit and surpassing Lou Gehrig’s 70-year old record as the all-time Yankees hit leader – his future entry into the Hall of Fame was all but assured. That Jeter is a superb baseball player is not disputed, in large part because his statistics bear it out; a career .317 hitter, ten-time All-Star, three-time recipient of the Gold Glove and Silver Slugger Awards, he is a genuine five-tool player, combining hitting, fielding, arm-strength, power, and speed. At 35, Jeter remains at the top of his game, approaching his sixth 200-hit season and leading the Yankees to what will likely be their 40th American League pennant. By all accounts, he also is a man of exemplary character and professionalism, an Ambassador of baseball, and a highly respected teammate. If Jeter retired today, he would deservingly be voted into the Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility.

It is of some irony, then, that Jeter’s record-breaking hit occurred exactly 24 years after Pete Rose surpassed Ty Cobb as baseball’s all-time career hit leader. Rose finished his career with 4,256 hits, the most ever in the history of major league baseball, and 1,500 hits more than Gehrig (and Jeter at present). In a career that spanned 24 years (1963 to 1986), Rose finished with more than 200 hits ten times (and 198 hits in two other seasons), the most of any player in history. He was a three-time National League batting champion, a 17-time All-Star selection, and over several seasons led the league in runs (1969, 1974, 1975, 1976), hits (1965, 1968, 1970, 1972, 1973, 1976, 1981), and doubles (1974, 1975, 1976, 1978, 1980). Nicknamed “Charlie Hustle” because he always played hard – he sprinted to first base every time he was walked and broke up double plays as well as anyone who ever played the game – Rose also holds the all-time National League records for runs scored (2,165), doubles (746), and longest consecutive game hitting streak (44). He was no slouch defensively either, as he played five positions and twice won the Gold Glove (as an outfielder in 1969 and 1970). That Rose was one of baseball’s all-time greatest players is, statistically at least, difficult to refute. Unlike Derek Jeter, however, Pete Rose may never enter the Baseball Hall of Fame, not for lack of baseball merit, but for a lack of character, integrity, and contrition.

In 1988, the Director of Security for Major League Baseball received reports that Rose had placed bets on games played by the Cincinnati Reds while Rose played for and managed the team. If true, Rose would have violated baseball’s most sacrosanct prohibition, which originated in the aftermath of the Black Sox scandal of 1919, when players from the Chicago White Sox disgraced the game by accepting bribes from big-time gamblers to fix the World Series. The rule is now codified as Major League Rule 21(d), and is posted prominently in every team clubhouse: “Any player . . . who shall bet any sum whatsoever upon any baseball game in connection with which the bettor has a duty to perform shall be declared permanently ineligible.” Betting on any other baseball game in which the bettor has no duty to perform results in one-year of ineligibility.

Rose denied under oath ever betting on professional baseball, but an investigation conducted in 1989 by John Dowd, a former mob prosecutor hired by the Office of Commissioner to investigate the gambling allegations, found otherwise. In his 225-page Report to the Commissioner (“The Dowd Report”), released on May 9, 1989, Dowd determined that “Pete Rose bet on baseball, and in particular, on games of the Cincinnati Reds Baseball Club, during the 1985, 1986, and 1987 seasons." Dowd found no evidence that Rose ever bet against the Cincinnati Reds (he bet on them to win), and there was no evidence of game fixing. Nevertheless, the report detailed overwhelming evidence that Rose violated the capital crime of Major League Baseball by betting on games in which he had a duty to perform.

I have studied the Dowd Report and, from my vantage point as a former prosecutor, there is no doubt that Rose violated Major League Rule 21(d). Although much of the evidence consists of the testimony of two convicted drug dealers – Rose’s former friend, Paul Janszen, and bookie Ron Peters – their testimony was independently corroborated by betting slips and Rose’s phone and bank records, which documented the flow of money and the activity described. Dowd also uncovered evidence of other “runners” used by Rose to place his bets (he did not place any bets directly), as well as various bookies utilized by Rose, several of whom had ties to organized crime (Dowd discovered hundreds of questionable financial transactions between Rose and these bookies). In his deposition, Rose admitted gambling extensively on college and professional basketball and football games (which did not violate Rule 21), and he acknowledged using runners to place the bets, so as to protect his privacy. He denied knowing many of the key witnesses against him (including Ron Peters), but when confronted with evidence that he had called them, or left tickets for them, or written checks to them, Rose came up with a variety of very weak explanations, such as failed real estate deals and sponsorship of card shows, none of which made much sense in context. With the assistance of an FBI gambling expert, who examined Rose’s financial records, Dowd showed that Rose placed nearly $15,000 in bets on a daily basis. Among the documentary evidence discussed in the report were three original betting slips in Rose’s handwriting (two of the betting slips also contained Rose’s fingerprints, although this evidence was withheld by the FBI and not made available to Dowd). In its totality, the evidence demonstrated conclusively that Rose bet on professional baseball games, including games played by the Reds.

That Rose, in fact, violated Rule 21(d) is thus not in issue for me, and I believe that his lifetime banishment from Major League Baseball was an appropriate sanction, necessary to protect the integrity of the game and to deter others tempted to repeat Rose’s mistakes. It is just and proper that Rose never again be allowed to participate in professional baseball in any official capacity – not as a coach, manager, hitting instructor, or motivational speaker.

Does Rose nevertheless belong in the Baseball Hall of Fame? I believe that he does, and that his plaque’s absence from the museum’s Gallery dishonors the game.

The Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, is an independent, privately funded museum, which operates under its own rules, independent of Major League Baseball. To be elected to the Hall of Fame, a player must have played at least ten seasons in the major leagues and have been retired for five years. Hall of Fame Rule 5 states that voting (by the Baseball Writers Association of America) “shall be based upon the player’s record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played.” If Rose’s entry into the Hall were determined strictly by these criteria, he would have been selected a long time ago. While his character and integrity are certainly lacking, a cursory glance at the plaques lining the museum Gallery suggests that these traits are accorded little weight in determining membership. Ty Cobb, who previously held the all-time hits record until Rose broke it, was an unabashed racist who once slapped a black elevator operator he deemed “uppity,” then stabbed the night watchman (who also was black) when he tried to intervene (the matter was settled out of court in 1912). On May 15, 1912, Cobb severely beat a handicapped fan who heckled him during a game; he routinely spiked opposing players, and regularly used profanity and racial epithets; and he was despised by his own teammates. But in 24 years with the Detroit Tigers, Cobb won eleven batting titles and retired with 4,191 hits and a career .366 batting average. On the field, Cobb was one of the greatest players in the game’s history – his statistics bear that out – and so he is appropriately in the Hall of Fame. In baseball, if not in life, on-field play and statistical accomplishment rule. Babe Ruth is in the Hall of Fame, not because he was a man of great integrity and character – he was a notorious drinker and womanizer – but because he ended his career with 714 home runs, 2,217 RBIs, a .342 batting average, and was one of the best players ever to play the game (he even won 94 games as a pitcher with a career 2.28 ERA). Gamblers, womanizers, boozers, insensitive rogues – there are many to be found among the men whose plaques fill the walls of Cooperstown. There also are many fine men among the list of Hall of Fame inductees, but all of them are there because of their on-field accomplishments.

It is not Rule 5’s references to integrity and character, then, which has kept Rose out of the Hall of Fame, but rather Rule 3e, which declares that “[a]ny player on Baseball’s Ineligibility List shall not be eligible for the Hall of Fame.” This rule did not exist, however, until 1991, just prior to when Rose first became eligible for consideration to the Hall. Following release of the Dowd Report, Rose sought to enjoin then Commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti from disciplining him; when a federal judge dismissed his suit, Rose and Giamatti reached a settlement. Rose agreed to be placed on the list of those “permanently ineligible” with the understanding that he would be allowed to apply for re-instatement after one year, and that Giamatti would consider such a request in good faith. The Office of Commissioner agreed to make no findings or determinations on whether Rose bet on baseball, and the settlement agreement said that “[n]othing in this agreement shall be deemed either an admission or denial by Peter Edward Rose of the allegation that he bet on any major league baseball game.”

Nevertheless, at the press conference announcing the agreement, a reporter asked Giamatti if he personally believed Rose had bet on baseball. Giamatti replied, “In the absence of a hearing and therefore in the absence of any evidence to the contrary, I am confronted by the factual record of Mr. Dowd. On the basis of that, yes, I have concluded that he bet on baseball” (as reported by James Reston, Jr., in Collision at Home Plate: The Lives of Pete Rose and Bart Giamatti, Harper Perennial, 1991, p. 307). Rose understandably was shocked and dismayed at what appeared to be a public retraction by the Commissioner and a breach of the settlement agreement, the precise language of which took several days to negotiate. Absent Rose’s understanding that Giamatti would make no formal findings, Rose never would have accepted “permanent ineligibility” status. As it happens, Giamatti died of a heart attack eight days later and never had an opportunity to clarify, correct, or expand on his comments.

Fay Vincent, who succeeded Giamatti as Commissioner until he resigned in 1992, apparently blamed Rose for Giamatti’s death and never forgave him. He has always been, and remains, publicly opposed to Rose’s re-instatement (see “The Confessions of Pete Rose,” by Fay Vincent, The New York Times, Op-Ed, January 2, 2004). In February 1991, 18 months after the Rose settlement and Giamatti’s death, and by some accounts at Vincent’s urging, the Hall of Fame’s Board of Directors enacted Rule 3e, which forbids Rose’s selection as long as he remains on Major League Baseball’s permanent ineligibility list.

Rose applied for re-instatement in 1997, but Commissioner Bud Selig has sat on the application for 12 years. No formal hearing has ever been scheduled and Selig has stated publicly that he has not seen anything that would convince him to overturn the original agreement.

Many people contend, quite reasonably, that Rose is his own worst enemy, that if he would simply admit his wrongdoing and show genuine contrition, all would be forgiven. Rose has made an admission of sorts; on March 14, 2007, during a sports radio program, Rose reportedly stated, “I bet on my team to win every night because I love my team. . . I made a big mistake. It’s my fault. It’s nobody else’s fault.” Whether this was a contrite admission or a cynical ploy to win favor does not, in my mind, make much difference. No ruling ever was made that Rose bet on baseball – by either the Commissioner’s Office or a court – and the Commissioner expressly agreed not to make any findings, nor to require an admission from Rose. It is contrary to Major League Baseball’s agreement with Rose, and lacks basic fairness, for another Commissioner to now require a full admission and undefined acts of contrition by Rose, when the Commissioner’s Office specifically agreed to “not make any formal findings or determinations on any matter including without limitation the allegation that Peter Edward Rose bet on any major league baseball games.”

Lawsuits and disputes are settled all the time, for a lot of reasons, some good, and some bad. Settlements allow litigants to compromise and move forward. The Rose agreement avoided what was to be a long, drawn out court fight that would have harmed Major League Baseball. It allowed resolution of the case by reaching an acceptable compromise – banishing Rose from baseball for life – which was and remains important for the game’s integrity – yet allowing Rose implicitly the hope and expectation that he may eventually receive the Hall of Fame recognition that his play justly deserved. Changing the rules after the fact, which is precisely what happened in this case, made worse by the 1991 enactment of Hall of Fame Rule 3(e), smacks of unfairness and is a touch vindictive.

I was four years old when Rose got his first hit in the Major Leagues, and I was 28 when he retired from the game; I grew up and became a man during the baseball career of Pete Rose. Although I never particularly liked him – he was far too brash and cocky for me – I always respected his ability, talent, and competitive spirit. And he was sure fun to watch. He may have acted foolishly, and I am certain he bet on baseball, but his play on the field was never compromised. Rose holds the major league record for most winning games played (1,972) not simply because he played for 24 years, but because he was all about winning. There may have been wagers placed, but there was no game fixing by Rose – his Hustle, on the field if not off, was all “Charlie.”

Over the years, Rose has remained bitter and unrepentant. It is hard not to feel some sadness, though, for there are few American figures that have achieved so much and fallen so far. Rose’s story is full of peaks and valleys – he achieved greatness and glory on the baseball diamond and became a national celebrity and a hero to thousands, only to throw it all away, by senseless greed and stubborn pride. Rose has many personal failings – the list is long – but his baseball performance on the field from 1963, when he won the Rookie of the Year Award, to 1986, when he finally set aside his glove and cleats, was not one of them.

Peter Edward Rose belongs in the Hall of Fame. To ignore his accomplishments, to treat him as a pariah forever, is to ignore a significant piece of baseball history. Keeping him out of the game of baseball is necessary to protect the game’s integrity; keeping him out of the Hall of Fame devalues the historical record. As James Reston, Jr., asked rhetorically in Collision at Home Plate, “If Cooperstown truly represents the history of baseball, how can it overlook the game’s all-time hit leader and the game’s all-time tragic figure?” Include a permanent exhibit about why gambling is baseball’s capital crime. Museums, after all, should educate and entertain. Explain why Rose’s gambling damaged not just his integrity, but that of professional baseball. But let us once and for all properly recognize and celebrate Rose’s on-field play, which was never compromised by his gambling activities. Don’t dishonor the game by excluding from the Hall of Fame one of its greatest and most accomplished players.