Pete Rose bet on baseball; I bet on my blood pressure—suddenly, we’re both back in the game.
Let’s face it: America loves a good redemption arc almost as much as it loves judging the method of redemption. Last month, Major League Baseball’s eternal bad boy, Pete Rose, got a metaphorical fist bump from the universe when his lifetime ban for gambling was quietly downgraded to “Eh, we’ve seen worse.”
Meanwhile, I’ve dropped 40 pounds thanks to a miracle drug that essentially turns my metabolism into a caffeinated greyhound. Some call it cheating. I call it “finally fitting into my pandemic sweatpants without resembling an overstuffed burrito.”
The parallels are clearer than a steroid-free urine sample. Rose’s crime was treating baseball like a high-stakes poker game; mine was treating my body like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Both of us, it seems, found loopholes in the rulebook. His was a notebook full of bets; mine’s a prescription label that sounds like a rejected Star Trek gadget. (“Ozempic”) Sounds like one of those conduits that go to the Enterprise thrusters.
But here’s the kicker: Cheating, like a hot girl, is a matter of perspective. In 1989, Rose’s gambling was a moral apocalypse. Baseball writers lamented it like it was the beginning of the end. They, apparently, forgot the last beginning of the end – the 1919 Black Sox scandal, but I digress. Today, it’s a quirky footnote in a Wikipedia entry. Similarly, popping a pill to silence your hunger hormones used to be “taking the easy way out.” Now? It’s “wellness optimization,” and if you’re not doing it, you’re basically still using an AOL CD to check your email.
I’ve learned that society’s rulebook is written in pencil, on noodle paper, stored in a damp basement, and occasionally used as kindling. Remember when avocado toast was a reckless financial choice? Millennials killed so many things—the housing industry, dating, families, music. The list goes on. What about spending $6 for a cup of coffee? Now it’s basic breakfast for millions every day. The line between “cheating” and “innovation” is thinner than the crust on a Domino’s gluten-free pizza.
Remember when gambling and baseball were never to cross? Now, the seventh inning of the game being broadcast on the FanDuel Sports Network is sponsored by MGM Grand.
Remember when losing weight meant starving yourself for two weeks only to gorge after you lost your two pounds only to gain 7?
So yes, Pete and I are both back on the field—him metaphorically, and posthumously, me literally, because my knees no longer sound like a popcorn maker and I can climb a flight of stairs without sounding like the engines from a Boeing 747.
If that’s cheating, pour me a Gatorade and hand me a bat. The game’s always changing, and frankly, I’ve got a date with a salad that won’t eat itself. Just use the promo code FAT to get $10 off your first bet on ESPNBet.
(Get more from Kamler on X as @chriskamler)
