Number 14: The Patron Saint of Baseball and Second Chances

A Rose by Any Other Name

I have a recognizable name, Pete Townsend. No, I am not from The Crown, the British golfer nor the writer of Pinball Wizard.

Growing up outside Cincinnati in the mid-80s to mid-90s, I had plenty of clever people calling me “Who-man” or making the classic windmill arm motion. For a big-nosed kid, that was unwanted attention. So naturally, I asked my parents if this was where my name came from. My mom would smile and say, “You’re named after Saint Peter.” My dad would give me a smile and a wink.

As an angsty teenager, I didn’t believe in coincidences — especially not ones that seemed so obvious. What I failed to recognize was the possibility of another namesake. Flash back to the summer of 1976, I was born in July of that year. The “Great 8” were charging toward a World Series title, powered by the gritty, hometown hero: Pete Rose.

If you know baseball, it’s hard to ignore the Big Red Machine’s dominance in the 1970s. At that time, Pete Rose was the scrappy, hard-working kid who never let up. During spring training in 1963, Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford sarcastically dubbed him “Charlie Hustle” after watching him sprint to first base on a walk — a nickname that stuck and he wore with pride. But even then, no one could predict what #14 would become.

Miracle 1: Come Out Smelling Like Roses

With a career that spanned nearly a quarter-century, Pete Rose racked up 14,053 at-bats, 15,890 plate appearances, and 3,215 singles — all records. But most famously, he became baseball’s “Hit King” with an incredible 4,256 hits. Quick math tells you about 74% of those were singles, and he carried a career batting average of roughly .302. Hustler indeed. These stats would and should garner attention as one of the greatest of all time. Not because of his flash but because of his grit.

Pete grew up going to Crosley Field, one of the original ballparks, to watch his hometown team. He probably watched Ted Kluszewski and Gus Bell. And dreamed of having a big bat like Joe Adcock. In 1963, his hit off Pittsburg Pirates pitcher, Bob Friend started the tally of the 25 year march to his record.

The Fall: Every Rose has a Thorn

For decades, Pete was a hero. But in 1989, Rose was given a ban for betting on baseball, including games involving his own Reds. There was no shortage of debate on Commissioner Bart Giamatti’s decision. Many discussions were around whether or not Pete would get into “The Hall.”

Giamatti saw Rose’s betting on the team he coached as a betrayal worthy of permanent banishment. And sure, baseball (like every sport) has weathered its share of scandals: gambling, steroids, and more. But as a 13-year-old kid back then, all I could think was: What’s the big deal? His achievements outweigh his mistakes.

Fast forward to now, with Pete’s reinstatement earlier this month. And a new debate began around the Hit King…Is it good for baseball? As someone on the “back 9” of life, I’ve come to see it this way: rules exist everywhere. They define fair play — they set the boundaries, call the balls and strikes. But here’s the beautiful part of both life and baseball: there are always opportunities to get back up to the plate and swing again.

Miracle 2: An Old Rose

I can already hear the counterarguments: Where was Charlie Hustle’s second chance? Well — isn’t this it?

Ask yourself: with Pete’s passing, he’s now eligible for his legacy to be preserved in the Hall of Fame. Was the punishment of not knowing he’d get that honor really the heaviest burden? Even without the plaque, he was always the Hit King, always Charlie Hustle. No one could take that away.

He wasn’t dazzling or flashy. Remember, the majority of his hits were singles — not towering home runs. He was a relentless, gritty utility player. Subtle, understated, but relentless.

So for me, Pete’s posthumous return to baseball is his next at-bat. Another chance to slap a solid single past the shortstop. Another reminder of the promise embedded in America’s pastime. You always have a next at-bat.

Sainthood: Roses, Roses All the Way

I like to imagine that when Pete passed, the first voice he heard at the pearly gates was my original namesake, Saint Peter, smiling and saying:

“You’re on deck, kid.”

Pete grins.

To become a saint, you need to have 2 miracles to your name. Pete’s first miracle was stepping to such prominence being a modest player. The second was his reinstatement. So now…with Hit King, Charlie Hustle as nicknames, I think that given his nearly 40 years in the desert of baseball banishment; a new title is in order…Saint Pete: Patron Saint of Baseball and Second Chances.

So, if anyone asks me if I was named after a saint, I’ll smile and say:

You’re damn right I am.