I am a native West Side Cincinnatian. I grew up in Cheviot, only a few miles from Bold Face Park, where Pete Rose played Knothole baseball. I was 12 years old in 1970, at the dawn of the Big Red Machine. I co-host a podcast called "We Love Our Team," which is dedicated to Reds fans. So you'd think Pete's death would hit me hard. And don't get me wrong − I had trouble sleeping last night, and I can't get it off my mind.
But my sadness is mixed with a heavy dollop of ambivalence. I've already seen the platitudes from pandering politicians. The theme seems to be that Pete was the living embodiment of Cincinnati's west side − tough, gritty and hard-working. I can't argue with that. My ambivalence stems from the fact that in every other facet of his life, Pete in no way embodied the values I consider synonymous with the West Side.
Westsiders are rule followers. With very few questions asked. Pete was not. And while that had its charms, the fact is that he lived his life as though the rules didn't apply to him. Whether it was gambling on baseball, IRS regulations, or wedding vows, Pete apparently felt unburdened.
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Westsiders tell the truth. Pete lied for 13 years about betting on baseball. He did it so naturally that he seemed to believe the lie.
Westsiders are accountable. Pete's ultimate "confession" was done in a book from which he reaped profits. He continued to deflect, citing to others who in his mind behaved worse than him.
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Westsiders are loyal. I'll leave it to his ex-wives to comment on Pete's loyalty. The daughter he fathered with his mistress, and whom Pete denied paternity, may wish to weigh in as well. Ask his ex-friends like Tommy Giosa, who he dropped like a hot potato when times got tough.
Westsiders are charitable. Google "Johnny Bench Scholarship" or "Joe Morgan Scholarship." You'll see their efforts on behalf of the next generation. No such luck with a search for "Pete Rose Scholarship."
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Westsiders, when given a task, put their heads down and focus their energy on it. Pete managed a team of championship-level players from 1985-89 and was never able to win the division. Lots of things factored into that, but was Pete fully focused on his task, or did his gambling distract him? Or worse, did his betting habit adversely impact his decision-making?
So you see my ambivalence. In 1961 Roger Maris hit 61 home runs. Ford Frick, the commissioner at the time, had once been Babe Ruth's ghostwriter. Frick decreed that since the 1961 schedule had been expanded from 154 to 162 games, Maris' record would carry an asterisk, to let people forever know that Maris accomplished his feat in a longer season. Maybe that's the answer here. Everyone who writes something about Pete being the ultimate Westsider should apply an asterisk to make it clear that this refers solely to Pete's on-field efforts, and not to any other aspect of his sad life.
Jack Greiner is a partner at Faruki PLL law firm in Cincinnati. He represents Enquirer Media in First Amendment and media issues.
This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Opinion: Pete Rose's relationship with the West Side was complicated
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