Rose Earns Place In The Baseball Hall Of Shame

Hey, Mr. Rose: how much for those pin - I mean, prison - stripes?

Gonna hawk them on late-night cable? Maybe trade a few baseball bats to Jim Bakker for the inside scoop on Jessica Hahn?

Or what about a card show? I know you'll have a captive audience.

Here's the sales pitch, Petey: How about this autographed rookie baseball card? Only $150.

And yes, I'll declare the taxes.

The backlash has already begun against Peter Edward Rose, aka/Charlie Hustle, who may have more in common with his moniker's last name than he ever imagined.

His recent guilty plea has made Rose the first person in major league history to boost George Steinbrenner's image.

Not an easy task

But if you think Rose is the founder of the BBLA (Baseball Lawbreaker Association), think again.

The former Cincinnati Red, Montreal Expo and Philadelphia Phillie joins an elite group of professional baseball players who have spent time both hitting fouls and playing foul. It's sort of a "Who's Who in Baseball's Hall of Shame."

Why, look who's pitching to Rose: Is that ex-Detroit Tiger Denny McLain? Sure is.

And what's he pitching? Fastballs? Curves? Sliders?

Nah. McLain's busy pitching odds. I bet it's 5:2 that Rose never does an Ohio Lotto ad.

On-deck is another former Tiger, Ron LeFlore, who stole more than bases during his lifetime.

Look, there's Luis Polonia. Say, Luis - Mr. Rose can sell you a bed in his cell real cheap. Just make sure that anyone who joins you there is of age, OK?

I told you, he wasn't alone.

But, hey. This is getting out of line. Cheap (or, of you're considering buying an officially-autographed Rose uniform on the Cable Value Network for $399.95, expensive) shots are easy, right? So let's give credit where credit is due.

He didn't do drugs.

That's the real message here. Rose screwed up a lot, but he screwed up in the wrong way.

The coolest statement you can make today is the in-fashion "I don't do drugs." It shows confidence, poise and an overall hipness to the world monitor.

But by saying the second-coolist statement, "I used to do drugs - but I kicked the habit," you admit to having had a serious problem, but faced up to it and defeated it. This makes you an ultra-cool dude. Or dudette.

Let's face it. If you're going to be a sports figure, get hooked on drugs. That way, when you admit you're hooked and go into rehab, you'll look good when you get out.

Don't believe me? Here's a short-but-sweet list of names who are being praised for defeating a drug or alcohol problem: Dwight Gooden. Bob Welch. Dave Parker. Dennis Eckersley.

These four men all had drug or alcohol addictions - and defeated them. And they are still seen as idols and role models.

And Pete Rose, accurately or not, falls into the same category as Shoeless Joe Jackson and is 1919 Chicago Black Sox.

So, Pete, I offer you these words of futile encouragement as you move on to further endeavors:
Steinbrenner isn't in your cell block.

Yet.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

Still Batting .000 In Quest For Lotto Loot

It has been a ritual for so long now, I can hardly remember when it started.

Twice every seven days. One-hundred-four times a year, I go to the nearest dealership, pull out a greenback and name six numbers.

Lotto fever.

For years I have toiled in a never-ending challenge to match my ill-fated ticket with the numbers drawn on television.

And, without hesitation, I always know before the drawing that I am slated to be a Lotto bridesmaid for the rest of eternity.

Call me a pessimist. Warn Bob Uecker that he has competition. Call the Chicago Cubs publicity department:

The God of Losing Lotto Tickets has blessed me for life.

"My child," he chokes out, crying for his sanity, "you never were good with dollar figures."

"But I always played with baseball stats," I respond. "I dug through box scores, played with batting averages. heck, dad always thought I was going to be a bookie. Mom told friends her son was going to be an actuary."

"Yes," the God says. "I know. But that ain't money."

Every Wednesday and Saturday night turns into a celebration of empty wallets, a Mardi Gras of negative-balance checking accounts and overdue MasterCard receipts.

Mind you, this is not the biggest news story you'll ever grace your eyes upon. Heck, the concept of remaining a non-millionaire fails to shock me. George Steinbrenner fires managers at a similar ratio.

Yet, it's true. I'm still a regular guy. I still can't buy a Rembrandt. You won't find me spending the summer in The Bahamas. Donald Trump had to find someone else to bail him out of hot water.

If you're like me, you have failed to match those numbers correctly. For us, a great day is barely missing one number.

Also, if you're like me, you have wild, uncontrollable fantasies about what you'd do if you actually did win. (This is a sure sign of a Lotto non-winner.)

I already have the whole post-discovery scenario planned. There I'll be, in front of the television cameras, with Dan Rather hurling questions at me:

DAN: "So, Paul, what's it feel like to win $253 million?"

PAUL: "Well ... thank you."

DAN: "Did you ever dream you'd win so much money?"

PAUL: "You kidding? Never thought I'd be so lucky. Never."

SAM DONALDSON (he's always around to ask the really tough ones): "So, Paul, tell us - what do you plan to do now that you've got more money than Jose Canseco?"

PAUL (without missing a beat): "Well, I plan to pay off all my credit cards, my truck payment and my college loans. Then I'll probably use the remaining $15 and buy a pizza and some beer."

Now, then. Some people say winning the Lotto would be bad for me. "You're not used to having any money," they whine. "You'd blow it all on Rotisserie Baseball and Beatles CDs! You'd have women from high school and college - the ones who never gave you the time of day - begging you to notice them. It'll ruin your life!"

Gosh. I never thought of that. Winning the Lotto could destroy me.

What a way to go.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.