There was nothing redeeming in Pete Roses character

My only conversation with Pete Rose came in the early 1980s, when he was with the Phillies.And he started it.It was early April, a Friday night, and the Phils were to be on NBC’s “Game of the Week,” the next day.

Some NBC public relations fellows were driving down to Philly for the game and asked if I’d like to join them.With our red media field-access credentials dangling from our belts, we watched batting practice from behind the cage.When Rose finished his swings, he walked over, eyed the press passes, then began to speak.

Boy, did he.He asked if we’d watched the just-concluded NCAA basketball tournament.I said I had.

And off he went.He said he took a beating, especially late in games “by missed free throws.” Geez, Pete, geez.Could he be any less discreet with a stranger, especially a newspaper guy?But on he went.

He wanted to talk; he needed to talk.He was obviously buzzed, presumably by the amphetamines he was widely suspected to ingest to keep him cranking into his 40’s.I recognized his wide-eyed inability to cease talking and stand still from my college days when many of us popped “black beauties” to study during finals.

They didn’t help us study as much as they kept us talking to one another until past dawn.Anyway, Pete apparently lost a bundle betting on the NCAA tournament and he felt the compulsion to share that with somebody.Anybody.

In this case, me.Then again, sports gamblers become delusional in thinking that everyone in their purview bets.I walked away stunned, disbelieving, disturbed.In his books about the seedy sports autograph business, “Sign This,” and “Sign This #2,” author Tom Bunevich, a former card show promoter, identifies Rose as his fallen former favorite player and as among the most difficult superstars to endure.“He has always been a draw at shows.

His appearances are all business.… It’s head down, do the next one, keep moving.

… Somehow he always notices the good-looking women and exchanges ...