Advice for Roman Polanski from Pete Rose

I should preface this by saying that I’ve never seen your movies. I once put some money on a horse named Rosemary, but that was a mistake.

You’re in some deep shit my friend.

Even I know you don’t mess around with 13 year-old girls. That’s a moral strikeout. I bet against my own team while I was still playing with them. I swung at bad pitches and overthrew first base…for money. Follow me?

I was dirtier than a cleat full of sod and face. But that was still better than what you did. You sexed up a kid.

Of course, that was like 30 years ago, and you’ve lived another lifetime since then, making movies in Europe, winning awards, etc. Fine.

But now you’re caught. Probably shouldn’t have left France. You got cocky and you know it. Just like me placing bets towards the end there as P. Rose or Pete Roses or Ty Cobb. Sloppy. Think you’re above it all, so to speak. I know how that goes.

Hey, I’m not judging. I’ve done stupid things myself. I once refused to touch home base after a double drove me in, beating the spread. That RBI cost me $2000.

Point is: I’m a creep, you’re a creep. So you can trust me on what to do here.

Your best move is to take your medicine. I’m not sure what that means legally. I’ve never had sex with a seventh-grade girl. I just stabbed the game of baseball in the eye. Metaphorically, of course. Oh, and I didn’t run away to France.

Do the time. In fact, you might use this as a growth opportunity. You might consider the best way to tell the story of America’s greatest hitter. (And if you say Ted Williams I’m gonna whop your ass. Just kiddin.)

Fess up, Roman. You’ll feel better. Get that skeleton out of the closet and redeem yourself before the Lord.

One sinner to another, I know you can do it.

I’m betting on it.