Pete Rose Recalls the Greatest Postseason Fight in History

Pete Rose Recalls the Greatest Postseason Fight in History

It was an easy double play, a basic ground ball, and the New York Mets first baseman did his job. After catching the bouncing ball, he turned to second base, shot down the Cincinnati Reds’ lead runner, and waited for shortstop Bud Harrelson, his teammate, to throw the ball back to first to end the inning.

Shea Stadium’s patrons let with a yell. It seemed unbelievable that fifty years later, on October 8, 1973, they would be watching their underdog, gritty Mets defeat the powerful, big-talking Reds in game three of the National League Championship Series in Queens. The fifth inning saw the Mets ahead 9-2. It felt extremely un-Mets-ian that they were about to move within one game of their second World Series in the previous four years, and it looked to be coming easily. The Mets infielders, looking dapper in their blue stirrup socks, started jogging to the dugout as New York recorded the double play.

However, Pete Rose, the 32-year-old front-runner for the Reds who was already controversial and a player that people either loved or disliked, was determined to alter the entire story. At second base, Rose was going to pop up, slide hard into Bud Harrelson, and maybe even lob an elbow for good measure.

Rose finds it difficult to choose his favorite telling of the story these days. He claims occasionally that he was only acting in his usual manner. He was truly living true to his “Charlie Hustle” moniker. He was giving it his all. “You know how many shortstops and second basemen I slapped on their asses in my career?” Rose questioned me once. “There was just another one, Bud Harrelson.”

In other instances, frequently during the same conversation, he implies that he was deliberately attempting to discredit Harrelson, that he was displeased with Harrelson’s disrespectful remarks the previous day, that he needed to send a message to Harrelson—a much smaller man, fifty pounds lighter than Rose, and possessing far fewer skills—and that he didn’t mind starting a fight because Harrelson was acting inappropriately. Decades later, Rose issued a sort of caution, saying, “When you’re a 150-pound shortstop — and you’re in the playoffs — don’t say things to ignite the opposition.” Do you get what I’m saying?

Rose’s aggressive slide caused an epic brawl that cleared both benches, inspired fans in the stadium to throw trash on the field for minutes, almost forced the Mets to forfeit when a whiskey bottle erupted from the upper deck and nearly struck Rose in the head in left field, and revealed something significant about baseball at the time.

People adored the sport despite its imperfections and lack of refinement. That day, when Rose and Harrelson fell to the ground at second base, there was mayhem on the field, but nobody was sent off, suspended, or otherwise penalized. That is unthinkable in the modern game.

Cleon Jones, a left-fielder for the Mets in the 1973 postseason, remarked, “Baseball to me during that time was a spirited and rugged sport — not a passive and gentle sport like we see most of the time now.” “The game was different.”