Neal Justin: Pete Rose documentary isn’t just for sports fans

I wouldn’t seem to be the target audience for “Charlie Hustle & the Matter of Pete Rose.” My battling average during one excruciating year of Little League was 0.000. I’d rather watch “The Bad News Bears” than the World Series.

But great sports documentaries are always about more than sports. “Hoop Dreams” (1994) consistently pivoted toward frank discussion on race and class. “When We Were Kings” (1996), which chronicles the heavyweight bout between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman, captures the best and worst of the mid-’70s. “Tiger” (2021), an unvarnished profile of Tiger Woods, showed how loneliness can lead even the most blessed down stupid paths.

“Charlie Hustle,” which premieres at 8 p.m. Wednesday on HBO before becoming available for streaming on Max, isn’t as memorable as those classics. But it’s still well worth watching, in large part because it’s more interested in Rose’s psyche than his power at the plate.

Rose, 83, made himself readily available for the four-part series. He’s clearly hoping to use the new burst of attention to get into the Hall of Fame despite a lifetime ban for betting on baseball.

Director Mark Monroe offers a pretty strong case for his induction by using stunning statistics — Rose remains the all-time leader in hits — testimonials from the likes of Mike Schmidt and Al Michaels and footage of the former Cincinnati Reds superstar sliding into bases like he’s escaping a grenade blast.

But the goodwill campaign keeps getting sabotaged by the same person: Pete Rose.

Every time he’s made progress with the league, he does something stupid like calling a female reporter “babe” or boasting about his gambling prowess.

“What’s the next stupid question?” he says when asked about accusations that he had sex with a 16-year-old girl during his playing days.

He’s a consummate liar. At one point, he insists that he never visited Gold’s Gym, a vow that is immediately followed by an old video of him sharing how he works out there on a regular basis.

Regret and humility aren’t in his DNA. When reflecting on the five months he spent in prison for tax evasion, he focuses on how the other inmates treated him like a celebrity.

In his mind, greatness compensates for any transgressions.

“I put more into the game than any two players ever,” he says shortly after referring to himself in the third person.

Cockiness isn’t a crime. Sometimes it can be charming. When Ronald Reagan called to congratulate Rose for breaking Stan Musial’s record for base hits, he chided the president for putting him on hold. The line got big laughs.

But the bravado often comes across as pathetic, like an insecure kid still trying to live up to the expectations of his demanding father. Watching him record birthday wishes on Cameo or limp into autograph sessions is more depressing than a rain delay. Those scenes reminded me of how heavyweight champ Joe Louis was relegated to greeting guests at Caesars Palace. But Louis was the victim of racism; Rose’s downfall is arrogance.

“Charlie Hustle” keeps suggesting that the stubbornness that made Rose such a formidable competitor has also made him a feeble human being. Those who know more about William Shakespeare than Babe Ruth may not be familiar with the highlights from the 1975 World Series that turned Rose into royalty. But they’ll certainly recognize the similarities to King Lear and Macbeth.

Perhaps the saddest shot in the series lands in the final episode. It’s a closeup of a plaque that shows Rose finally getting into the Hall of Fame — for the Cincinnati branch of the Hard Rock Casino.