So I randomly got invited to Game 4 of the Ducks-Kings freeway series with the promise of a dinner at the Palm beforehand. The Ducks crushed the Kings even more than I crushed my filet, but the best part of the night was reserved for last. My buddy and I were waiting in the valet line at the Palm after the game when he noticed Pete Rose standing right behind us. My buddy told me to take a look at who was behind me, but I only saw the two Asian hookers Rose was flanked by. I truly didn't recognize Rose under a white fedora, a XXL Cuban shirt and suede loafers. All he was missing was a cane. I wanted a picture with him, but he was already agitated by the time I introduced myself and called him the best hitter that ever lived. I decided that forcing the issue on a selfie was a little too Jim Gray-esque, so I let it go. Not 2 minutes later, I witnessed Pete Rose send one of his geisha girls into the sushi bar next door to check on the score of the Spurs-Blazers game. She came out and yelled, "The Spurs are winning." His response, "By how much?" My jaw hit the floor.
Let me repeat that - The one and only time I've ever even seen Pete Rose, I witnessed him check the score, aka his spread, for a meaningless NBA quarterfinals game. Once a degenerate, always a degenerate. And for what it's worth, I don't really think he's that sorry about betting on baseball.
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