Gambling: Why Pick on Pete Rose?

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He was born with the talent to swing a bat, of course; no way could he have ever compiled 4,256 hits, the all-time career record, without it. But it was not his inborn gift that made Pete Rose the symbol of what Americans consider a vital part of the national ethos. He was Charlie Hustle, the man who ran out even his bases on balls, who played with a boyish exuberance and devil-may- care abandon characterized by the belly-flop, headfirst slides that kept his uniform constantly dirty. He soared far beyond athletes who had vastly more natural grace. A whole generation of fathers told their Little League sons to play like Rose if they wanted to get the most out of their ability.

Soon some of those sons may be telling their sons that they had better not imitate Rose's off-the-field behavior. For in the past few weeks Rose has become a very different kind of symbol -- still characteristic of American values, but this time of values hardly anyone likes to admit harboring. Charlie Hustle is well on his way to becoming Charlie Hustler, an emblem of the gambling fever that is sweeping America. This year Americans will spend an estimated $278 billion on everything from state-run lotteries to church-run bingo. The big question for millions of American sports fans today is not "What's the score?" but "What are the odds?"

Compulsive gamblers across the country instantly recognize the pattern of acts alleged in an investigative report to Baseball Commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti and in interviews with Rose's associates: bets on ten to 20 college basketball games at a time, losses of $400,000 to just one bookie in one spring, desperate borrowing to pay the debts, equally desperate searches for new bookmakers to replace those who would no longer extend Rose credit or even take his bets.

The accusations come from runners who say they placed his bets and from a former bookie who insists he took them, but Rose declares it is all part of a conspiracy to blackmail him. He admits having bet on horse races, football and college- and pro-basketball games since 1975. But he vociferously denies the central charge: that in 1985, 1986 and 1987 he bet anywhere from $2,000 to $5,000 on baseball games, including those played by his own team, the Cincinnati Reds. He played both infield and outfield for the Reds for more than 18 years and since 1984 has been the team's manager.

Members of the self-help group Gamblers Anonymous, who see Rose as one of them, nod and say, aha, his reaction sounds like another part of the classic pattern: denial. There is an ancient gag among Gamblers Anonymous members: "How do you know when a compulsive gambler is lying? When you see his lips move."