Pete Rose was an amazing baseball player—among the best in the game’s history. In death, he deserved better treatment than he got.

The New York Times gave scant attention to his many baseball accomplishments in its obituary of him. The Wall Street Journal did a little better by him. Both focused on the bad news—the gambling, the denials, and the shady acquaintances—as the media is prone to do and ignored the record-breaking performances that thrilled fans for decades.

Unfortunately for Pete, his many vices continued to haunt him even after his passing on Monday. They just couldn’t let him rest in peace. They had to continue to air Pete’s dirty laundry and talk about his tarnished legacy as though that was all that mattered.

Maybe his “legacy” is forever stained in their minds. They are a judgmental bunch. All I know is that during his career as a player he brought a lot of joy to hundreds of thousands of baseball fans. That is what people like me will remember.

I also got to know him as a person. He was definitely one of a kind.

The first time I saw Pete was in the late sixties. A friend and I had driven to Cincinnati after work and gotten free tickets behind home plate because we were newspaper reporters. As I was sitting down, hotdog in one hand and beer in the other, I saw this firebrand rounding third base like he was being chased by the bad guys. Then he launched himself into the air and slid head first into home plate.

I almost dropped my beer. It was fan love at first sight.

When my friend suggested we go to baseball spring training in Florida the next year, I happily agreed. “I’m going to interview Pete Rose,” I said.

This was a time when women were mostly relegated to the newspaper’s society departments, covering weddings and social events. I had escaped that fate and ended up in The Indianapolis Star’s city room with only a handful of other women. While some were skeptical that I would get access to Pete, the Star’s sports editor was more than happy for me to interview this brash rising star “from a woman’s perspective,” whatever that meant. He even made the arrangements for me.

Pete was sitting on a bench and rubbing something on his bat, pine tar I guess, when I strolled into the Redsland Training Camp in Tampa. He said we could talk as long as I wanted. We spoke for more than an hour. He was cocky, funny, very quotable and likeable; surprisingly respectful and accommodating.  The sports editor was pleased with my story and became an advocate for my return visit the next year and several seasons after that.

Over a five-year period and with a little help from Pete and Earl Lawson of The Cincinnati Post, I had easy access to some of baseball’s greats of the time. Pete fed me tips, gossip and story suggestions. He had good news instincts and a great memory for batting averages and other statistics. When I needed help getting a sports book autographed as a present for my then father-in-law, a big Reds fan, Pete took the book from me and collected the signatures from his teammates without me asking. He knew I wasn’t an autograph-seeker.

I also got to know Pete’s wife, Karolyn, who was a gem in her own right. She wanted me to write her story, which I said I would do. We did some interviews but the book never got off the ground. At the end of the day, we were too busy having fun.

The friendship expanded and continued with me making numerous trips to Cincinnati to hang out with the family and enjoy the craziness. When Pete and Karolyn divorced in 1980 and I got married, my trips to Cincinnati ended. Although Karolyn and I remained friends for a time, we eventually drifted apart. It’s been years since I last saw her.

Maybe it’s easy for me to harbor good thoughts about Pete because I wasn’t around when the gambling took control of him and the seedy characters enabled his worst instincts. But even if I hadn’t gotten to know him as a person, I would still be incensed by the lack of recognition in his obituary for his numerous baseball achievements. Why couldn’t they focus on the hits and downplay the scandal, just this once?

Things may not have ended well for Pete. But during the halcyon days, he gave baseball one hundred percent always. Never less. And for that, he deserves better.