The nickname “Charlie Hustle” was originally meant as an insult offered by none other than Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford, both Hall of Famers for the New York Yankees, when they saw Pete Rose sprinting down to first base after a walk in a 1963 spring training game. But it was nevertheless appropriate: no one hustled more than Pete Rose.

On and off the field it seems, as reported in Keith O’Brien’s expansive new biography on the disgraced ballplayer.

Rose was born to be a hero, growing up in Cincinnati with a father who himself was a local sports legend, albeit an amateur. His dad instilled in him the notions of hard work and self-demanding excellence. So it was perhaps inevitable that he persevered until he eventually became the all-time hit king, wresting that title away from Ty Cobb, an intense ballplayer from the early 1900s. (Rose’s collision with catcher Ray Fosse in the 1970 All-Star game mirrored Cobb’s hell-bent-for-leather attitude on the base paths.)

"Most of CHARLIE HUSTLE deals with Rose, the scrappy player. But as the chapters go on, gambling becomes an increasing part of the narrative as more and more outsiders are brought in to play various roles.... O’Brien’s work is extremely well-researched."

Rose started his career prior to the free agency era that removed barriers as players began calling the shots as to where they might want to play. He was a main cog of “The Big Red Machine” teams that dominated the early to mid-'70s. His ego told him that he was never paid what he was worth, so fans should have known that despite his allegiance to Cincinnati, he had to go where the money was. That was necessitated in part by his gambling addiction. “Hustle,” in addition to his nickname, was his behind-the-scenes persona.

O’Brien, a New York Times bestselling author, lets us know early on that Rose had a penchant for betting on football games, horse races and dog races --- a “tripleheader” as he called it. As the paychecks increased, so did the money he wagered (and often lost).

Gambling in and of itself is not a big deal. Many players do it, and certainly pro sports has embraced betting businesses as sponsors, which is kind of ironic. Ever since the 1919 Black Sox scandal in which eight players on the Chicago White Sox were banned from the game for allegedly taking payoffs to lose the World Series (against the Reds, no less), the one rule over all others is “Never bet on baseball.” But in Rose’s mind, either the rules didn’t apply to him or he thought he was smart enough to get away with it. It turns out that neither was the case. Once it was discovered that he had bet on baseball, including his own team, Major League Baseball came down hard. (Rose had returned to Cincinnati as a player-manager, so the decisions he made could have made a difference in the outcome of games, win or lose.)

Most of CHARLIE HUSTLE deals with Rose, the scrappy player. But as the chapters go on, gambling becomes an increasing part of the narrative as more and more outsiders are brought in to play various roles.

My first thought upon learning that this book was in the pipeline was: “Do we really need another biography of this man? What is left to say about him?” O’Brien’s work is extremely well-researched. Yet there’s no real drama here. Any baseball fan of that era knows the story of Rose’s banishment and his chances of being inducted into the Hall of Fame, which would have been a no-brainer.

In his Author’s Note, O’Brien writes, “This story is a work of nonfiction…” That immediately raised one eyebrow for me. Why would you have to include that? Would anyone think this was a novel?

There are a few flaws here, the most obvious of which has to do with the number of kids Rose fathered. He was a serial womanizer, conducting several assignations while married to his first wife, as well as his second. O’Brien reports that one of the longer-running girlfriends had a baby by Rose, which accounts for a paternity suit and several pages in the book, yet he neglects to include that one when referring to Rose’s offspring.

For all the investigating he has done, O’Brien seems to leave out the names of a number of people involved in the chain of events. They must exist somewhere, so why omit them? Another has to do with the designation of Rose’s first minor league assignments. In the early '60s, the lowest level was Class D, but O’Brien refers to it in a few spots as “A-ball, Class D.” Are these minor points? It depends on how you look at it. Many readers might be totally unaware of these errors, but if O’Brien wants his book to be taken seriously by baseball historians, then, yes, it’s important.

Even the subtitle is wearying: “The Last Glory Days of Baseball.” Anyone who reads my blog on the literature of the game knows my feelings about such claims. Who’s to say there are no glory days yet to come?