Throughtful Reader

When Major League Baseball announced in 2025 that Pete Rose’s lifetime ban would be lifted posthumously — quietly, with little fanfare — it was a symbolic move that raised more questions than it answered. It was pitched as procedural: all lifetime bans now expire upon death. But to many of us watching, it felt more like a final insult than a gesture of reconciliation.

And to be clear: Pete Rose deserved the ban.

This isn’t about excusing him. The man bet on baseball — the one thing the sport has long considered unforgivable. Not just as a retired player or casual fan, but while managing the Cincinnati Reds. That alone justified harsh consequences. Then he denied it for 15 years, only confessing in 2004 — and only, it seemed, when he thought it might help him claw his way into the Hall of Fame.

But it doesn’t stop there. Rose served five months in prison in 1990 for tax evasion. And far worse, he admitted in sworn testimony to having a sexual relationship with a 14-year-old girl when he was in his 30s, claiming he thought she was older. His off-field behavior has been self-destructive, crude, and often morally indefensible.

Yet with all of this said — Major League Baseball has absolutely no right to stand on a soapbox about “integrity.”

This is the same league that:

Looked the other way during the steroid era because home runs brought fans and profits, only cracking down when public pressure and Congress got involved. Let the Houston Astros keep their 2017 World Series title, despite running a coordinated, high-tech sign-stealing scheme that undermined the sport’s fairness. Welcomes back players with domestic violence suspensions as long as they can still contribute to a team’s win column. Openly partners with gambling companies, promoting betting apps on broadcasts — turning what was once a sacred line into just another revenue stream.

So when MLB reinstates Pete Rose only after his death, it’s not some act of closure. It’s a coward’s move — a calculated way to signal virtue without having to deal with the actual man. Rose can’t give interviews, attend induction ceremonies, or challenge the league’s narrative. It’s a hollow gesture, meant to tidy up baseball’s image without risking backlash.

Let’s be honest: Pete Rose was no victim. He made his bed — and kept making it worse. But if we’re going to talk about integrity, it has to be applied consistently. Otherwise, it’s just performance.

MLB isn’t upholding sacred tradition. It’s protecting its brand. And sometimes, that’s a lot harder to forgive.