Pete Rose, Dikembe Mutombo and true greatness

On the last day of September, two revered athletes died.

For more than 20 seasons, Pete Rose played baseball obsessively with the Cincinnati Reds, Philadelphia Phillies and Montreal Expos. As he ran around the bases, he launched himself headfirst like a projectile toward home plate, or catcher, or anything else that got in his way. When Rose retired as a player in 1986, he had scored more hits than anyone in the game’s history, 4,256.

Dikembe Mutombo dominated basketball no less as a defensive giant and tireless shot blocker for six teams during his 18-year career. Known for his signature finger movement after denying an opponent a crowd-pleasing dunk, Mutombo was named Defensive Player of the Year four times and was inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame in 2015.

Both Rose and Mutombo deserve to be remembered as great players in their respective sports. But only one of them is celebrated as a great man.

Many tributes to Mutombo, who was just 58 when he died of brain cancer, have spoken of both his humanitarian efforts and his basketball skills. Concerned about the lack of adequate and affordable medical care in his homeland, the Democratic Republic of Congo, he built the Biamba Maria Mutombo Hospital in Kinshasa, that country’s capital. Since opening in 2007, the facility named after his mother has treated more than a million patients.

Mutombo served on the board of directors of the CDC Foundation, the independent, nonprofit partner of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention; UNICEF USA; and the Special Olympics. When Mutombo retired in 2009, David Stern, then NBA commissioner, chose him to be the league’s first global ambassador. In a statement Monday, Adam Silver, the current commissioner, said Mutombo was “a humanitarian at his core.”

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It’s an understatement to say that Rose’s legacy is more complicated. Unlike Mutombo, Rose, who died at age 83 of high blood pressure and heart disease, is not in his sport’s Hall of Fame, nor should he be. For as much as he expressed his love for baseball, he did not respect the game enough to not repeatedly violate one of its cardinal rules – betting on his own sport.

When Rose, then the Reds’ manager, received a lifetime ban in 1989 for betting on baseball games, including his team’s, A. Bartlett Giamatti, then MLB commissioner, said that Rose had “tarnished the game.” He concluded: “It must also be clear that no individual is superior to the game.”

Rose thought it was him. Even his nickname “Charlie Hustle,” a reference to the effort he put in every game, seemed different after his banishment, as if it were due to his gambling habits. Protected by his championship rings and historic records, Rose succumbed to the hubris born of the worship that makes athletes believe they are untouchable because they can run fast or hit a ball far.

Rose denied betting on baseball for years. He eventually publicly admitted his guilt, but only for one price – when he wanted to sell an autobiography, “Pete Rose: My Prison Without Bars,” written with Rick Hill. Appropriately, media coverage of Rose’s death described him as “controversial,” “disgraced,” and a “crass opportunist.” There is little evidence that Rose did much good for anyone other than herself.

Mutombo lived an exemplary life as a man who looked to what he could contribute to others rather than what he could take from them. Rose, baseball’s hit king, never seemed to get over what he felt was unfairly taken away from him – the name and image forever enshrined in bronze in Cooperstown.

None of this is intended to diminish the sadness of Rose’s family, friends, fans and former teammates. With his achievements on the field, he brought immeasurable joy and pride to the cities in which he played. But as painful as it may be, there is grace in speaking about the messy truths of our lives. And those who work to smooth out Rose’s rough edges are doing hard work that he couldn’t be bothered to do.

Decisions have consequences. Even death doesn’t change that. And the choices both Mutombo and Rose made mean the difference between being a great player who changes a game and being recognized as a great person who changes the world.

Renée Graham is a Globe columnist. She can be reached at [email protected]. Follow her @reneeygraham.