We live in a world today marked by the strangeness and absurd behavior of a man simply unfit to be president. Amid seemingly never-ending war and economic distress, it’s hard to imagine how someone so inept can rally an audience behind the dumbest of agendas. One of those so-called “agendas” that President Donald Trump has been oddly passionate about is unbanning the 17-time All-Star, all-time hits leader, MVP, Rookie of the Year, and 3-time World Series champion—Pete Rose—so he can finally be allowed into the Hall of Fame.

Now that the commissioner has officially decided to lift the ban, making Pete Rose eligible for Cooperstown, it sparks a bigger conversation. Does a player of that magnitude—statistically one of the greatest to ever step on a field—still deserve the right to be immortalized in baseball heaven, even after years of gambling scandals? Of course, the numbers are some of the best the sport has ever seen. Pete is one of the greatest to ever do it. But do they outweigh the moral cost? Do his off-the-field actions tarnish his once-renowned legacy? Does greatness on the field excuse failure off of it? That’s the dilemma. Pete Rose isn’t just a player—he’s a legacy tangled in controversy. The question now is: does that legacy belong in the Hall of Fame?

It is clear that even with the MLB overriding his seemingly permanent ban on the hall of fame that everyone would forget the horrors and tribulations of Pete Rose’s career. Besides the most obvious stain on his career with gambling on his own team, Rose also had problems with the law as he pleaded guilty to tax evasion and served five months in prison. It was the result of falsifying tax returns, something that has been a common theme for Rose’s baseball career: lying.

It wouldn’t be until years later in life that Pete Rose’s illicit past would catch up to him, revealing a side of the man that shattered the myth of smiles and grit. In 2017, a sworn statement alleged that Rose had a sexual relationship with a woman who was under the age of consent when they first began speaking. Rose admitted to the relationship, claiming it began when she was 16 — the legal age of consent in Ohio — but the context remains deeply unsettling.

It’s baffling how history seems willing to overlook such a disturbing allegation, and it’s hard to understand how something so morally reprehensible hasn’t disqualified him from even one Hall of Fame ballot. This isn’t just a mistake — it’s inexcusable, revolting on levels that defy comprehension.

It’s worse than steroids, because for players like Barry Bonds, Rafael Palmeiro, or Roger Clemens, the worst part of their legacy was cheating to improve — an unethical shortcut, yes, but one rooted in competitive ambition. For Rose, the darkness wasn’t about stats. He already had those. His sins were rooted in character — in the embodiment of vice.

Greed, for gambling away his future; lust, in how he engaged with underage girls and reveled in his public persona; envy, in how he resented others entering the Hall before him. He was a generational hitter, no doubt, but with that kind of power comes a responsibility he continuously rejected.

That is what makes his case so tragic. Even without steroids, he managed to become the game’s most fallen figure — and from the depths of disgrace, there is no path that leads to Cooperstown.