If we're going to ignore this summer's rubber stamp political conventions, it's worthwhile to remember that, every now and again, perhaps even next Jan. 20, the people of the United States observe the bloodless transfer of government.
As Thomas Jefferson took the presidential oath in 1801, removing the Federalists in favor of the Democratic-Republicans, such a peaceful transition was unknown to the world and no one was certain beforehand it would come off without a hitch. It's the miracle of America, even if the narrow range of choices given by today's political apparatus lessens the drama.
The miracle is driven by respect for the opposition, a civic fundamental that's endangered by the titillation of open hostility so common on the airwaves, not to mention in the air. It's out of the question, naturally, to agree with the opposition, and it's in bounds to joust and even poke fun at the opposition, but lack of respect for the opposition is surely a mark of dubious citizenship and a democracy in decline.
Yes, many of us have been known to be snide. But when the chips are down, we defend the rights of others to say what they have to say in a manner that's polite or, at least, not genuinely harmful.
On a less encompassing scale, athletic immortality being relatively small potatoes, we've recently witnessed the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies in both baseball and professional football. Often enough, the inductees give speeches that are properly modest and appreciative, even when they contain absurdly pompous phrases like "I am humbled as I stand before these great men who sit behind me" and so forth.
The absurdity -- brought to light by the family flap concerning Johnny Bench, Marty Brennaman, Pete Rose and others -- is that a fair number of these men aren't such great men at all but great, big children who struggle with the basics. The resulting bruised feelings have broken up WLW-AM's popular Brennaman and Bench on Baseball feature, perhaps for good.
Long in advance of his induction speech, the baseball establishment shuddered to speculate that Brennaman would use his platform in Cooperstown to argue for Rose's induction. Many a Hall of Famer opposes Rose's inclusion, which is fine. But the tale began to reek the day before the ceremony, when Bench informed Brennaman that enough words on Rose's behalf would precipitate a walkout by some Hall of Famers, including Frank Robinson, Bob Feller and Ralph Kiner.
Naturally, this upset Brennaman a great deal. He said it ruined his Saturday night before the ceremony, for he certainly didn't want to create a scene over such a legitimate sentiment. But why should he even have faced the threat of such a scene? And, more directly, why should he have taken this slap in the face at the very moment of the highest honor in his professional life?
Though Rose's gambling activities were a threat to baseball's credibility, the charges against him didn't touch on his playing career, nor are his achievements as a player on the table in this dispute. Indeed, as he's the all-time hits leader, the Hall of Fame is lacking for his absence.
So the arguments concerning Rose's Hall of Fame status are fascinating, and reasonable people can disagree. But players threatening a walkout on Brennaman reached pretty low, for a dramatic gesture in this vein reveals not simple disagreement but cantankerous disrespect for Brennaman's conscience and the legitimate, widely held view they anticipated.
Should it be countered that a case for Rose made from the podium in Cooperstown is disrespectful to the shrine, the case certainly wouldn't have ruined the inductions with such bombast as a walkout, particularly a walkout over a position that stood to be wildly popular with an audience numbering several thousand Reds fans who made the trek to honor Brennaman, Tony Perez and Sparky Anderson. In any case, the lectern at Cooperstown is as appropriate a place as any for addressing the issue.
No one has to agree that Pete Rose should be in the Hall of Fame. But it's a legitimate, respectable opinion, especially in light of the circumstances by which he's excluded -- even if those circumstances continue to be widely misrepresented. It's not uncommon to find this sentence in Associated Press dispatches concerning the Rose matter: "Rose is ineligible for the Hall because he agreed to a lifetime ban from baseball in 1989 following an investigation of his gambling."
Of course, that's misleading. On the day Rose signed the agreement, and for several months afterward, he was eligible for the Hall of Fame, pending his five-year waiting period. Rose didn't become ineligible for the Hall of Fame until the Hall decreed, in February 1991, that persons banned from baseball would be ineligible. In effect, Major League Baseball unilaterally added a sanction that wasn't in the agreement signed by Rose.
While the Powers of Baseball seem content to have pulled a fast one, the same obtuse sense of fairness and civility infects some of its most esteemed legends, who lack the conscience to understand the legitimacy of a contrary opinion. Sadly and appropriately, the fallout has been ugly.
Bench said he advised Brennaman of the potential walkout, speaking as a friend. But one would wish for a friend to perform more credibly, perhaps by telling Kiner and Feller, for whom allegedly Bench spoke, that Brennaman has every right to speak his mind.
Last week, Bench resigned from his program with Brennaman. He said it was nothing against Brennaman but "the station and the way some of the things were handled." Not surprisingly, much of the talk on WLW ran harshly against Bench and in defense of Brennaman and Rose.
At least one caller offered that Bench is painfully envious of Rose, who remains the most popular athletic figure in Cincinnati. By this description, Bench knows he'll never be as beloved as Rose and, therefore, guards against his Hall of Fame induction as a means of staying one up on the Hit King. Though one would rather be more charitable toward Bench, the assessment is tempting because a petty and obnoxious act deserves a petty and obnoxious motive.
Brennaman, who was most unjustly hurt in this affair, has stepped up to the plate as an adult and expressed regret at taking the mess to the public. He said he counts Bench as a friend and wants to resolve the matter amicably.
What happens between the two ultimately is no one's business but theirs. Hats off to Bench for trying to guard Brennaman from embarrassment, but he shouldn't be surprised that Reds fans take offense at his part in this unfortunate scheme. It's to be hoped that Bench will step up to the plate with his more appealing side and, perhaps, the two can get back to talking baseball so we'll all benefit.
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While the cheerful forces of grace and good humor took this beating last week in Cooperstown and Cincinnati, they lost an estimable friend in Columbus with the sudden passing of Columbus Dispatch baseball writer Mike Sullivan. Only 55, Sullivan died from complications following surgery for an abdominal hernia. In May, he underwent a sextuple-bypass surgery.
Sullivan didn't come this way very often in his professional capacity, for he'd covered the Cleveland Indians going back to their final years at the old Cleveland Stadium. But the Cincinnati writer's occasional jaunt upstate to check on the Indians always made two promises -- that the Indians would confirm their well-earned reputation as the most irascible team in baseball and that Mike Sullivan would see and laugh straight through them without a trace of rancor.
Content to write about the Indians for an appreciative audience in central Ohio, Sullivan was much too honest and good natured to care about being well-known, either within or outside the profession. He wrote with an enviable and, for most of us, unattainable touch: erudite without being heavy, humorous without being trivial.
He could make you laugh and learn at the very same time. One night, while waiting for an Indians player to present himself to the media, Mike was asked to assess the player's general state of wits.
"Well," he said, "they didn't bring him in here to split the atom."
It was a delicious chuckle, a gentle, funny putdown of both the player and the question. Mike can rest assured the line has been recycled many times, though never with his amusing charm.
