Pete Rose never missed an opportunity to miss an opportunity. Rose was banned from baseball in 1989 for playing on the Cincinnati Reds team he managed. A lifeline was offered to Rose by Commissioner Bart Giamatti, who said at the time: “The burden of demonstrating a refocused, reconfigured and rehabilitated life rests solely on Pete Rose.” Rose would never take on that burden, despite a cadre of influential supporters , an argument in his favor that has gained enormous traction over the years, and a society that has largely been willing to forgive Rose. His habitual inability to get out of his own way prevented him from returning to the game he truly loved. It could never love him again because Rose wouldn't let it.

Major League Baseball's hit king died Monday at age 83, and for the last 35 years of his life, Rose lived in purgatory. He existed in the sports environment — as a guest at independent league stadiums, then as a host for Fox, and finally in major league stadiums, honoring teams that starred Rose decades later. However, Rose believed he belonged front and center because he viewed his life through the lens of his on-field achievements and disregarded the discoloration caused by his actions.

That has always been the difficulty with Rose: separating the artist from the art. Rose lived the way he played: completely identical, primal to the core, aggressive, almost ruthless, with little ability to recognize boundaries and even less to stick to them. Rose's baseball career is undeniable: 4,256 hits in 3,562 games, both major league records likely never to be broken. He appeared in 17 All-Star Games, won three World Series and received NL MVP honors.

Reconciling that with his choices messes up any argument about Rose. Because elements of his behavior ranged from bad to abhorrent. There were allegations – and evidence – that Rose botched his racket. He spent five months in prison after pleading guilty to tax evasion in 1990. Recently, in 2017, ESPN's William Weinbaum reported that a woman filed an affidavit claiming she had a sexual relationship with Rose in the 1970s, before she turned 16, the age of consent in Ohio. Rose, who was 34 and married at the time of the alleged relationship, admitted this but said he believed it began in 1975 when the girl was 16.

The statement came as part of Rose's lawsuit against John Dowd, who accused Rose of statutory rape in a 2015 radio interview – a lawsuit that was later dismissed. Dowd spoke about Rose more than a quarter century after he wrote the damning report on his gambling, commissioned by MLB and published in 1989. “In the Matter of Peter Edward Rose” was a 228-page decimation of Rose's career, a comprehensive look at how he committed baseball's cardinal sin: jeopardizing the game.

Rule 21 is clear: “Any player, umpire, club or league official or employee who wagers any amount on a baseball game in connection with which the bettor has an obligation to perform will be declared permanently banned.” Rose understood that. He accepted that life ban imposed by Giamatti in 1989. And yet, for the next 15 years, Rose refused to play the game. His overconfidence hindered his ability to position himself for reinstatement.

In the early 2000s, Commissioner Bud Selig offered Rose a reinstatement opportunity. It was conditional. He would have to come clean. No more casino appearances, no more gambling. Rose could have had anything he wanted – anything anyone wanted for him. And he has renounced it, a self-inflicted wound in her entire life.

It wasn't until he wrote a book in 2004 that Rose finally admitted that he had gambled as a manager – and justified it by saying he had only bet on the Cincinnati Reds winning. And so Rose did. Even in his efforts to redeem himself in the eyes of the gatekeepers who could facilitate his return to the game, he spread half-truths and questionable decisions. Years later, when ESPN reported that Rose had bet as a player, he still wouldn't admit it, despite the wealth of evidence behind it.

Still, the full embrace of gambling by professional sports gave Rose another lifeline. In 2015, MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred had his request for reinstatement rejected, and subsequent attempts by Rose were greeted with similar results. His supporters — former teammates, Hall of Famers and fans who believe baseball's all-time scoring leader deserves a place in the game regardless of his actions — have never stopped supporting Rose.

More than anything, they wanted to see Rose in the National Baseball Hall of Fame, a place already populated by men of ill repute. Players who are on the MLB permanently suspended list are not permitted to be inducted into the Hall of Fame – and in 2020, ESPN's Don Van Natta reported that the rule also applies to people after their death, according to an MLB source had said that the league had no influence on suspending players after their deaths.

The path to forgiveness is straight and narrow. Pete Rose's life was a little crooked. He liked it that way – and people liked him for it. He turned his nose up at MLB and was happy to sit down and sign autographs during the Hall of Fame induction weekend in Cooperstown, New York – a kind of proto-troll. This attitude stayed with him until the end as he continued to sell autographed baseballs with the inscription “Sorry, I bet on baseball.” In reality, he wasn't so sorry for betting on baseball as he was for what betting on baseball had done to him.

It gave Rose perhaps the cruelest existence imaginable for a great in a sport that loves little more than celebrating its history: consistency. He was forever what could have been. And in the end, Rose's greatest enemy was not Dowd, not Giamatti, not Manfred, not any of the men in suits who judged the man in uniform.

Unfortunately, Pete Rose's greatest enemy was Pete Rose.