As a shorty, playing a Ford field, Amon-ra st Brown fell down and bumped his head. So they said, "Oh, so you gonna flip it on'em?" And he said,"Yeah. Flip mode. Flip mode is the greatest."
It's not even close. Rose was a pretender.
I could do a giant thread on Rose. The ideology, the business, the betrayal, the inflated stats, the inflated mythos, the league's stance. At the end of the day, every day of his career, he walked into a room with a list of rules on the door, and ignored the rule at the top of the list.
As a Detroiter, Rose's morality is easily summed up; he sold out Sparky Anderson. Rose pumped sparky for gambling tips, insider information. Sparky stepped away from the game when he realized what happened. He never sold out Rose, but it was understood. That's what broke him. Fuck Pete Rose.
Not that horse racing was illegal, but Selig was adamant that Rose needed to rehab his image over all else. The image was the problem, not the actions. Rose didn't care. He lived his life under the firmest belief that he was bigger than the game. He was Pete Rose. No one else mattered.
ESPN did a story on Pete Rose seeking redemption under Bud Selig. Selig, shitheel he was, laid out the plan. Tow the line, do the dog and pony show, SQUEEKY. CLEAN. Rose supposedly agreed. All sides left with the plan set. Rose went straight from the meeting to the horse track. Selig was livid.
TMZ's reporting Pete Rose died today, aged 83. He died as he lived, unrepentant. That's not a compliment.
You lucky duck! Milk that experience for all it's worth. Wear a big coat so you can pilfer snacks!
They were gonna show The M.I.T./U.C.L.A. game, but "mitucla" is a dirty word in Arundi Burundi. #YouCantDoThatOnTelevision