On Tuesday, ESPN reported that MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred had reinstated banned former player and manager Peter Rose, along with “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, 14 other players, and an owner, all of whom are deceased. Despite the approval of media and former players, Manfred’s political, middle-of-the-road judgment call is the worst he could have made.
Manfred revealed his decision in a letter sent to lawyer Jeffrey Lenkov, who was representing Rose’s family members in their efforts to have his “lifetime ban” removed. Manfred made the following argument: “In my view, once an individual has passed away, the purposes of Rule 21 have been served. Obviously, a person no longer with us cannot represent a threat to the integrity of the game. Moreover, it is hard to conceive of a penalty that has more deterrent effect than one that lasts a lifetime with no reprieve.” (Rule 21 is an MLB regulation barring gambling and other “misconduct.”)
Commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti banned Rose from baseball for gambling as a player and as a manager in 1989. Rose denied the accusations then but finally admitted to betting on baseball games in 2004, though he always maintained that he never bet against his team. According to The Athletic, Rose would “sign and sell baseballs with the inscription, ‘Sorry I bet on baseball.’”
After an initial confession, “Shoeless” Joe defended his innocence, and some pundits will point out that he hit .375 in the World Series he was supposed to be throwing. (It’s worth noting that he played like a GOAT in some games and more like a bench warmer in others.) Rose’s apologies and defenses (or excuses) have already been noted.
Both players are indisputably more than good enough to join baseball’s elite in the Hall of Fame. Jackson’s lifetime .356 batting average (fourth all-time) would put many of the players in the Hall to shame. Pete Rose recorded the most hits, games, at-bats, outs, and singles of any Major Leaguer in history, along with three championships. Reminiscent of Tom Brady, he played until age 45 and simply outworked and outhustled his opponents.
Some would argue that the decision about reinstatement should ultimately come down to stats and that Rose’s (or Jackson’s) prolific accomplishments override his failures, while pointing to steroid users who haven’t been banned and ended up in Cooperstown despite doping. Others might rely on the misguided, pseudo-Christian idea that forgiveness necessarily entails a negation of all earthly consequences. (It does not — regardless of how sincere Rose was in his apologies.)
The other side of the argument is that the reinstatement of Rose and company erodes the integrity of the game, undermining its foundation at a time when sports betting is expanding at a frenetic pace and other leagues are cracking down hard on players’ involvement in gambling.
But Manfred’s decision to end the ban after a player dies does justice to neither of these arguments. If he really wanted to acknowledge Rose’s prolific talent, he would have let “Charlie Hustle” back into the game while he was still alive, choosing to emphasize Rose’s mind-blowing stats, the importance of a second chance, or the flawed nature of many ballplayers.
As it is, the individual who stood the most to gain from the commissioner’s magnanimity is dead. His family members, quite understandably, are deeply moved by the decision. But their joy would be that much greater if Manfred had made the gutsy (if controversial) move of readmitting Pete to baseball before his death. As Rose’s daughter Fawn put it, “I wish our dad was here to share this with our family and with all the fans.”
On the flip side, Manfred’s move does little to guard the sport against the lurking possibility of sports betting tainting baseball — especially in an era where individuals place wagers on a host of different outcomes, not just wins and losses, vastly increasing the opportunities for subtle manipulation of the game. Manfred could have acknowledged Rose’s incredible stats while ultimately concluding that the integrity of the game was too important, that Rose and Jackson stand as examples of the consequences of compromising the purity of America’s pastime — a path that would have generated its own share of controversy.
Manfred asserted that “it is hard to conceive of a penalty that has more deterrent effect than one that lasts a lifetime with no reprieve.” Actually, a ban that lasts beyond a lifetime is a stark warning. People do care how they are remembered, and humans pay attention to the judgment that history passes. Ultimately, it appears that Manfred chose the path of least resistance with a quasi-political, please-all decision that does little to help the sport and adds to his existing list of poor judgment calls.
Manfred imposed lax penalties in the wake of the 2017 Houston Astros cheating scandal, minimizing the situation by calling the championship trophy “a piece of metal.” He oversaw the sorts of draconian Covid “protocols” that banned “high-fives, fist bumps and spitting among players.” Under his watch, nearly every Major League team has hosted LGBT “pride” events, including a Los Angeles Dodgers-hosted performance that mocked Christianity and Catholics in particular.
Most notably, Manfred ripped the All-Star Game away from Atlanta in 2021 to push the left’s lie that recently passed Georgia election integrity laws would implement “Jim Crow on steroids.” The move, for which Manfred has refused to apologize, reportedly cost Atlanta’s economy an estimated $100 million.
Instead of decisions that sidestep difficult issues and pander to leftist narratives, Major League Baseball needs gutsy calls that will maintain a robust American pastime. It needs a commissioner who will set political calculations aside and do what’s best for the game, not his popularity ratings.
Joshua Monnington is an assistant editor at The Federalist. He was previously an editor at Regnery Publishing and is a graduate of Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.
