It’s truly remarkable that baseball commissioner Bud Selig is
considering reinstating Pete Rose, who was banned from the game for
life in 1989 for betting on baseball games, including those
involving his own team, the Cincinnati Reds. Why the change of
heart? If baseball still believes the allegations are true — and
there is no indication that it believes otherwise — then the
punishment is clear. Baseball’s Rule 21(d) is not ambiguous:
Betting On Ball Games. Any player, umpire, or club official
or employee, who shall bet any sum whatsoever upon any baseball
game in connection with which the bettor has no duty to perform
shall be declared ineligible for one year.
Any player, umpire, or club or league official or employee,
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.
There is nothing in the language about mitigating circumstances
or time off for good behavior, and in any event, Rose has provided
none of either. On the contrary, he has been in trouble with the
law in the intervening years, and has remained defiant about the
controversy, continuing to deny the obvious — that he is a gambler
and a liar.
And yet it seems likely that baseball will reinstate Rose. This
became clear to me when I read the reaction of one of Selig’s
lieutenants to former commissioner Fay Vincent’s statement the
other day. Vincent said that Selig would be making the biggest
mistake of his career if he reinstated Rose. But to Selig’s flunky,
this frank comment was simply beyond the pale.
“This is McCarthyism at its worst,” fumed the spokesman.
Whenever they trot out McCarthyism, you know the ballgame’s
over.
There are two main arguments for reinstating Rose, although one
hesitates to call them arguments, since they are both as empty as
Fenway Park in October. The first simply asserts that Rose has
suffered enough and has “paid the price.” But the price is lifetime
suspension, so Rose would need to die before he’s paid up. These
are the consequences for the actions he knowingly took. To
contemporary ears, however, any irrevocable punishment sounds
terribly harsh, a violation of the right to a “second chance,”
which many Americans seem to believe is enshrined in our
Constitution. This is the Sentimental Argument. It’s soft-headed,
weak, and amoral, but at least it’s not mean.
The second argument employs the time-honored tactic of changing
the subject. Sure, Rose bet on games, thereby violating the
fundamental premise that all athletic contests rely upon for their
existence — that the game is on the level, that what people have
paid to watch is an honest competition, not a charade. But you
know, Ty Cobb was a pretty nasty guy, wasn’t he? Racist and all
that, may have killed a man, may have bet on games himself. And
Babe Ruth drank a lot and chased women. And Mickey Mantle was a
womanizer … and they’re all in the Hall of Fame. So why not
Rose?
The second argument uses the seductive appeal of subjectivity,
dismissing the notion of an objective standard — even a standard
spelled out in a clear rule. Its goal is to distract us from the
issue at hand by pointing to episodes from the past that may or may
not have been handled well, in an attempt to diminish our moral
authority to make judgments. This second argument can be called The
Postmodern Argument: there is no truth, there are no standards, and
even if there were, who are we to judge?
What Rose needs to do to win reinstatement remains to be seen.
Some kind of abstract apology or confession will no doubt be
required. My guess is that Rose’s “admission” will be strikingly
similar to that of Bill Clinton’s in his notorious Lewinsky speech
in August 1998. He’ll start out with a generalized admission of
wrongdoing (probably omitting first person pronouns), and then
proceed effortlessly to recriminations and victimology. And yet, in
conceding anything, Rose will be furnishing all the justification
required to ban him for life — he will be admitting that he did
what the rule states is grounds for his punishment.
But why be bound by something so arbitrary as a rule, when
subjectivity and emotion are available?
Judging by the coverage I’ve read, that’s the general sentiment
of the nation’s sporting press. Typical of this line of thinking is
Mike Vaccaro of the New York Post, who has had quite a
week for himself. Two Sundays ago, he attacked Tiger Woods for not
acting black enough; a few days later, he was on the bandwagon for
Charlie’s latest hustle. In his column on Thursday, he gave a
virtuoso performance of the Sentimental Argument:
It’s time for this 13-year public crucifixion to stop…
if Selig truly is weighing whether to commute Rose’s life sentence
to time served, then he should do it without hedging, without
qualification, without forcing Rose to endure one final public
humiliation. Why? Why put the man through that? Whether he says the
words, whether he truly is repentant or not, what is the point? For
13 years he’s woken up every day knowing what his behavior cost him
… When is enough enough?
This is brilliant stuff. Vaccaro’s range encompasses a whole
arsenal of blame-shifting (“public crucifixion”), self-pity
(“public humiliation”), moral weakness (“when is enough enough?”),
and nihilism (“what is the point?”).
Vaccaro’s position would be bad enough if he were merely
speaking for the sportswriting fraternity, which has become a
bastion of hectoring political correctness over the last 20 years.
But the general public appears to share his view. A poll on ESPN’s
website indicates that 64% of respondents think Rose should be
reinstated; 86% believe he should be elected to the Hall of Fame,
whether reinstated or not. Only 13% (as of Saturday morning) shared
my response: “Rose should remain banned from baseball and the Hall
of Fame for betting on baseball.”
Most disturbing of all, 92% believe Rose bet on baseball, and
57% believe he bet on Reds games. In other words, the majority
believes he is guilty of the offense he is charged with — for
which the rule provides a clear punishment — but thinks he should
skate anyway. The analogy here (as in many other aspects of the
case) is to the Clinton impeachment, when the majority of Americans
thought Clinton guilty of perjury but didn’t want him punished for
it.
The Rose story is a window into the current state of American
ethics, and it ‘s not a pretty view. For all that September 11
revealed about the resolve we are still able to call upon in times
of challenge, we remain slothful and lethargic when it comes to the
value judgments that firm principles require. And it is that sloth
that Bud Selig will rely upon if he reinstates Rose, since the
commissioner would never contemplate doing this without public
support.
That such support exists, that such a substantial portion of the
American public subscribes to subjective ethics, is the real story
of the Rose affair. And yet the commissioner, as compromised a
figure as he is, can still resist these forces and show real
leadership by denying Rose’s application. He has presided over a
decade of damage to the game, from extra playoff rounds that
emasculate the regular season to the degeneration of the game into
a home run derby, fueled most likely by rampant steroid use. But
all of this pales beside the issue facing him now. This could be
his final chance to do something courageous.
If he gives in, though, Bud Selig will become baseball’s
Cardinal Law.
