![]() “If you want to make this team next year,” Giles would say, “you better play hard tonight.” Pete Rose took it to heart.īefore free agency and interleague play became commonplace, the All-Star Game and the World Series were the only meaningful times when players from both leagues could settle scores. With a clenched fist, he was known to deliver impassioned pre-game pep talks that let players know just how much it all meant. Former National League president Warren Giles, who had served as Cincinnati Reds president and retired before the 1970 season, used to treat the All-Star Game as his chance to assert the National League’s superiority. True, it was an exhibition game, but to the players, teams, and more than 2 million fans who voted for the starters, it mattered. Even former Cincinnati Red Frank Robinson received a rousing ovation in his first trip to the plate. The raucous, National League–inclined crowd of 51,838 roared each time one of their guys came to bat. Even Richard Nixon-two years into his first term as president, with the Vietnam War raging and deep unrest rumbling across the land-was in the stands that night. An estimated 60 million people gazed at the still-under-construction Riverfront Stadium, watching to see if the American League could overcome years of dominance by the National League. More televisions were tuned to the 1970 All-Star Game than any Mid-Summer Classic before or since. ![]() Like any bright young rookie would, Fosse peppered Rose with questions about his teammate, the great Johnny Bench. The trio, their wives in tow, enjoyed an evening on the river at the Sycamore Shore and finished with a nightcap at Rose’s home in Oak Hills. McDowell agreed and brought along his Indians teammate, a newly-married rookie catcher named Ray Fosse. The night before the 1970 MLB All-Star Game, Reds outfielder Pete Rose called his friend, Cleveland Indians pitcher Sam McDowell, and asked if he’d like to go out to dinner.
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