During the extensive conversation last season, Pete Rose paused one thing and made one thing straight:
"Do you think I'm playing the game?"
Just like your hair is on fire, every tone is important.
"You owe the fans to the credit," he said. "If you can't go there for two and a half hours and then ruin your butt, please have another job - work."
If anyone still doesn't know how hot the fire was when Rose was playing, it's obvious that it was still burned to death in his last days.
What is less clear is the complex, polarized legacy of one of the rounded greats inside the baseball, one of the most open, most popular, and most popular characters that can capture the imagination of fans everywhere – from discovering the power of entering small league bases across the country to the generations passed down from generation to generation, to the younger he was in many contests, to the point where he had so much more lasting competitions against many.
The perception and reality of all these conflicts once again became the center stage when the Cincinnati Reds commemorated his hometown legend 40 years after he broke Ty Cobb’s history and 7 1/2 months later at his home in Las Vegas last fall.
La Salle graduate Tim Naehring said: “He played the game the way everyone should play it and left traces on many of us.
But, besides Charlie’s hustle and bustle, the fanaticism and charm on the court – all these hit singles, first slideshows and sprints for the first time – and beyond the obstacles in the wild, led to a brush with the law, and a lifelong ban on gambling, Ross’ legacy includes the impact on the Reds’ history and the best team for the influence of a generation, which is the best impact on the influence of a generation.
“No clicks.”
That's what Hall of Famers Johnny Bench and Tony Perez described their clubhouse 50 years ago during the Big Red Machine's peak - a proof that they say is the relationship power in the bench, the multicultural leadership quartet of Perez, Joe Morgan and Ross.
Compared to other competitors of the time, Ross may have made a huge contribution to the unusual club continuity of the 1970s.
"What people don't talk about is the idea of players between black and white," Perez said in a recent conversation at his home in Miami. "It's a big difference."
In the 1960s, when baseball fusion was still fresh, when American civil rights intensified nationwide, it was a surprising starter at second base when Ross broke into the major leagues.
"In '63, when they brought Pete to the major leagues, the second baseman was a man loved by all the whites," Perez said. "They ran together and went out and stuffed together. They didn't accept Pete."
Manager Fred Hutchison made the courage, Young Rose, the popular incumbent Don Blasingame, kept Rose away from a club by other white veterans, a racial and cultural group that was as divided as anyone else’s at the time.
Rose attracted black veterans, looking for Frank Robinson and Vada Pinson as mentors. "They accepted me," Ross said later. “They tried to help me become a better player.”
Perez is a minor league teammate who joined Rose in 1964 at a major league club, perhaps closer to Rose than his teammates, and once they were together in the Reds Clubhouse, he could have it.
“I remember Pete being with us,” Perez said. "And I'm with Vada, Frank and Leo Cardenas and Tommy Harper and those guys. There are other people (white players), they're separated. They never accepted Pete."
That was unusual, even the marginal scandal of the time.
"Oh yes, that's different," Perez said. “There is still a problem (race).
Rose was the southernmost Major League Baseball team of the year and rookie of the year, because his friendship on the team was so compelling that team officials suggested he opposed him and spent a lot of time with the black players.
He treated the advice like he had made many suggestions from institutional authorities over the years: He ignored it.
A few years later he said, “I don’t care what color you are.”
Over the years, Perez and others approached Rose said that by the 1970s power, Rose became a senior leader, showing the impact of the young players’ experiences.
"I think it has a lasting impact on him," said Marty Brennaman, a longtime broadcaster.
"Whenever I've been together, we're together, he's first time coming to the major league theme, he never failed to talk about how he was embraced by Frank Robinson and Vadda," Brennerman said.
By the time he was a veteran, cross-cultural differences in inclusion, relationship building and respect might be more natural from white kids in his hometown on the West.
"Oh, yes," Perez said. “He is a leader. He is hosting a show.
“Everyone follows us.”
Of course, Ross didn't host that show himself.
Perez to this day, in all respects, Perez is considered the glue in that team. On the bench is a natural leader, as arrogant as a rose, while the star catcher has the unique status of a live general. Once Morgan joined the group in 1972 after the greatest deal in Reds’ history, he quickly took up the role of manager Sparky Anderson’s four-man Alpha-Male assistant manager.
The bench said former Baltimore Colts coach Ted Marchibroda once asked, "Why are you so successful?"
"I said, 'Well, we have black leadership, white leadership, we have Spanish (language) leadership. So everyone covers everyone."
"We don't know what color we are," he said. "Whatever they say, we have this question or this question, Tony, Joe, Pete - we don't have an idea. Not even an idea.
"We played baseball there every day, we were there to support each other. There was no jealousy."
Other conference halls at the time, including a house belonging to Arch-Rival Dodgers.
"I know they have five different groups," the backup said. "So they have five guys here, five guys there and five guys, and they're all talking about another group. It's not common."
Various written records and descriptions starting with the descriptions of Bench and Perez et al., depicting a photograph of a multicultural, self-righteous, uniquely driven and professional player group who were so ruthlessly shocked to each other that they inevitably became humble.
Maybe it's only Ross and Morgan, who are blocked and become very close to each other.
"Joe is his best friend. They're nervous," Brennerman said. "We'll go out for supper on the road and when we socialize when we travel at the club. Whether you're a Latin American player, that's no different from him."
Obviously, this is just part of Rose's nature and humanity.
In the 1960s, early experiences with the Reds also seemed to help shape his position in the game.
“It almost has to be done,” Brennerman said.
Brennaman said both the bench and Rose coached the young players well.
"But Pitt will continue to help batsmen at other clubs," he said, adding that it has led to occasional shocks in his own club. "That's just the essence of Pete."
Terry Francona was a promising first-round draft pick for the Montreal Expos, and when Rose joined the Expo for most of the 1984 season, he was a 25-year-old first baseman.
He knew directly what Brennaman said, and the two young players had guidance and inclusiveness that season. A few years later, he had the opportunity to play for Cincinnati's manager Rose and saw the same leadership ethics.
"If you wear our uniforms, you are us," Francona said. "I don't think the game, the color, the creed, the language matters - if you wear our uniforms, you are us."
Francona, a Hall of Famer manager at the first year of the Reds, often talks about his players and clubs as he does now, perhaps picked up from one of his mentors.
He said: "I wish I did it. Because as a teammate, you can't find anyone. We all know how to play ic. But as a teammate, that's what you want."
The bass fruit of Rose's legacy, well-documented scandals that everyone following the headlines of baseball, red or Rose can recite and archive into clear judgments.
The problem with neat compartments is that the breadth and nuances of life are often not neat.
For example, when talking about Rose's influence, Francona compared the influence of his father, former All-Star outfielder and first baseman Tito Francona.
"To this day, the upcoming Baker has been telling me, ''Your dad was kind to me in 68 years in Atlanta,'' He said, 'It doesn't have to be always like this.'' That's always stuck in me."
In the same context, the rising influence of the Francona framework may illustrate Rose’s legacy, far beyond the lifetime ban and overhead slides.
Maybe even saying this, Ross wants to play a role directly in last year's conversation. About how he plays the game. About his memory.
“In some ways, he’s ahead of his time or game,” Francona said. “That’s how I chose to remember him.”