Major League Baseball has created a Pete Rose purgatory, and that's where he is. And that's where he's always going to be. It's unfortunate that the commissioner's office has decided to allow that to be the reality. I don't think Pete would mind if they said 'No' to Pete. Pete wants them to go one way or the other and get him out of the void he's in.

Any time you think you have the game conquered, the game will turn around and punch you right in the nose.

I can't stand satisfaction. To me, greatness comes from that quest for perfection.

I don't think I can get into my deep inner thoughts about hitting. It's like talking about religion.

You're trying your damndest, you strike out and they boo you. I act like it doesn't bother me, like I don't hear anything the fans say, but the truth is I hear every word of it and it kills me.

They read their sports pages, know their statistics and either root like hell or boo our butts off. I love it. Give me vocal fans, pro or con, over the tourist types who show up in Houston or Montreal and just sit there.

Philadelphia is the only city, where you can experience the thrill of victory and the agony of reading about it the next day.