Pete Rose has been living in my head since I was a kid. I don’t know if I invited him in or if he just barged through the door—headfirst, no hesitation. When I was young I wanted to be him. Not just the hits or the hustle, though those were part of it. It was the fire, the obsession. He made baseball look like it mattered more than anything. And I thoug…
© 2025 John Reimer
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