What is there to say about this late period Pete Rose ad? It’s a dick joke. A 30-second long joke about how enormous Pete Rose’s wiener is. The only thing missing is the sound of a person in an off-camera stall farting.

Rose, like all great auteurs, was interested in telling one story that he wove through all of his advertorial work: the plight of the American male. Someone who was judged on the quality of his aftershave, the grace with which he accepted aging, or the tenacity with which he attacked dandruff.

And while media studies classes could endlessly analyze the dystopian future promised in Rose’s advertisements, the man knew how to move product. Whether as the happy-go-lucky man of the 70s, at peace while smiling like an idiot in his underwear, or as the grim-faced Rose of the 80s, whose hair becomes a literal helmet for protection against the uprising technopunks of the future, Rose could sell. He could hit and he could sell.

Pete Rose may have been an outfielder/first baseman, but in my book, he’ll always be a closer. And a visionary.

Thanks to Butch.