It’s Time for This Hustle to Cease

It used to be the nickname of a superstar. Now it is the dance of the doomed.

The Charlie Hustle.

I’m sick of watching it. Sick of brushing up against it. Sick of stepping around the goop that falls from it.

Pete Rose was perhaps the greatest hitter in baseball history. But he is becoming perhaps the biggest blemish.

Twelve years ago, Rose was banned from baseball for misconduct relating to gambling.

Yet since then, every summer at this time, he sits in a storefront down the street from the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., signing autographs, taunting the ceremonies.

Twelve years ago, he signed a banishment agreement based on a 225-page document that clearly states he bet on baseball.

Yet since then, he has spent every waking moment disputing everything in that agreement.

Even now, at 60, the player known for his dirty pants will not come clean. He will not move forward. He will not disappear.

The Charlie Hustle has indeed become just that, a hustle that leaps from autograph show to card show to memorabilia auction.

And now, a new twist. A Vanity Fair article will surface next week in which one of his most trusted friends allegedly reveals some of Rose’s ugliest secrets.

Tommy Gioiosa, a man so loyal that he went to federal prison for three years rather than testify against Rose, sings a familiar tune about betting and lawbreaking, with a new chorus about corking.

In the September issue of the magazine, Gioiosa says that Rose bet tens of thousands of dollars on baseball when Rose was a player-manager for the Cincinnati Reds in the mid-1980s.

Gioiosa says Rose would phone managers involved in other games and ask such questions as, “Who’s pitching? How’s he feeling?”

Gioiosa said, “Like he really cared. Of course it was for betting.”

He says Rose also wanted to “invest” in cocaine trafficking.

And about those 4,256 hits ... Gioiosa says Rose told him that in the final struggling stages of his pursuit of Ty Cobb’s record, Rose used a corked bat.

He said Rose would bang his bat on the concrete so umpires would see the scuffing and not become suspicious.

Of all the crazy charges against Rose over the years, that last one contains special resonance, it being the first time somebody has ever claimed he cheated.

Reached by reporters in Cooperstown, Rose denied each accusation, saying, “What, did Tommy Gioiosa have amnesia the last 12 years? Now, all of a sudden, he’s going to talk?”

Considering Gioiosa was in prison for cocaine trafficking and tax fraud, his credibility also is corked.

But he was, in fact, Rose’s best friend and former roommate.

And he is, in fact, the only friend who remained silently loyal to Rose during the massive investigation.

Gioiosa said that after all these years, he finally snitched because Rose didn’t return that loyalty, never even saying thank you.

Rose said Gioiosa snitched for the money.

Vanity Fair denied he was paid.

All of which, of course, is now beside the point.

The latest revelations are a direct hit on Rose’s best weapon in his battle with baseball, that being public opinion.

It was a weapon he brandished two years ago during the World Series in Atlanta, when he stole the show at ceremonies honoring baseball’s all-time team.

It was Rose’s first public appearance on a baseball field since being banned. He received a lengthy standing ovation.

The pressure suddenly mounted on baseball officials to at least restore his eligibility for the Hall of Fame, if not allow him to return to the stadiums.

Rose gloated. Baseball scowled.

Yet since then, Rose has done nothing with the momentum.

He didn’t offer baseball a compelling reason for reinstatement. He didn’t acknowledge past faults. He promised new evidence, but revealed nothing.

He didn’t do anything, really, except continue ranting that he wuz robbed.

And now Tommy Gioiosa has finally talked.

And baseball officials are quietly thrilled.

They hope Rose will finally shut up.

They hope his supporters will finally look at the new evidence and give up.

More than anything, though, they hope Gioiosa’s words will convince everyone involved that the battle is over.

Until Pete Rose acknowledges his wrongdoings, baseball will not acknowledge him.

Until he stops his constant tarnishing of the game, he won’t get a bronze plaque.

A couple of years ago at Cooperstown, I stopped by Rose’s autograph booth to chat.

The lines were long. He snarled as much as he signed.

I didn’t feel like I was talking to a hero. I felt like I was visiting a sideshow.

It’s time for that show to end, with one more headfirst slide, barreling over pride, safely touching remorse.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.