I know exactly where Pete Rose’s Hall of Fame plaque should have hung – for three decades.

You would have found it among a collection of powerhouses in the plaque gallery – nestled between the Tom Seaver and Reggie Jackson plaques. Among other things.

Thousands of baseball fans would have marveled at it by now. I can still imagine them reading that board and trying to understand that more than 23,000 men played in Major League Baseball – and Pete Rose scored more hits than any of them.

But that’s exactly what could and should have happened, in a what-if world where the Hit King was only known for those 4,256 hits and not for… well, so much more.

For three decades, it has saddened me to look at this spot on the wall in Cooperstown, New York, and ponder why Rose’s plaque was missing from this land of legends. And on Monday, that sadness only grew as news spread that Rose had died at the age of 83.

I have often said and written that Pete Rose was the saddest baseball story I have ever covered. Now let me explain where this sadness comes from. Like so many others who knew him, it comes from the inescapable thought that his story should not have ended this way.

Pete Rose was so good at baseball. But more than that, it was so much fun to watch him play baseball. He was a daily fireball of dust and dirt, line drives and head-first belly flops, jokes and quotes that made you laugh.

He was a rookie of the year at 22, an MVP at 32 and still the league leader in hits at 40. The Pete Rose Show was really something.

He scored in 44 consecutive games. He passed Stan Musial and set the all-time scoring record in the National League. He passed Ty Cobb to lead the entire continent in hits. He was a walking, talking baseball history museum. And he knew everything about everything that anyone could have crammed into this museum.

He was the most magnetic baseball figure of my life. And I don’t say that casually. I’ve thought about it for years. We couldn’t stop watching Pete Rose whenever he set foot on a baseball field. We couldn’t stop talking about him as he left the baseball field.

He had an infectious smile. After 1,566 walks, he sprinted to first base. He could put on his nightclub act and entertain you whenever it suited him. He could make himself the center of the baseball universe. He was the strongest presence in every room he ever walked into.

If only we had spent the last few decades talking about it The Guy.

But once the truth about the other world Rose lived in was revealed, it would never be the same. If only there had never been such a thing as gambling. If only the Hit King hadn’t been attracted to so many of the shady characters of this other world. If only he hadn’t left so many other troubling allegations, particularly related to his treatment of women. If only…

If only he had understood that he wasn’t bulletproof. If only he had taken things more seriously when Commissioner Bart Giamatti asked him to talk to him about the gambling allegations that the Commissioner’s office had gotten wind of. If only that had been a wake-up call…instead of the impetus for the suspension that would mark Pete Rose for the rest of his life.

It has been 35 years since I sat in that ballroom in New York where Giamatti announced that he was “Mr. Rose” for life because he played on his own team. I will never forget the murmur that went through the room when the Commissioner uttered those words on August 24, 1989. How could this happen – Pete Rose’s career ended not on a ballfield but in a ballroom?

That felt completely wrong – but not because Giamatti’s decision was wrong. Because the man he suspended had made so many bad decisions that he had accepted this fate.

But it turned out that it was not the end of the story. Over the next 15 years or so, Rose may not have had the chance to be reinstated and work in baseball, but at least to be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Of course you know how that worked out.

He had so many chances to save himself. But whatever he had to do to make this happen, it felt like he was doing the opposite. Over and over and over again.

Pete Rose hits 4,192 in his career, surpassing Ty Cobb as baseball’s hit king. (Bedman / Getty Images)

In 2002, his friends Mike Schmidt and Joe Morgan arranged a secret meeting between Rose and Bud Selig, then baseball commissioner. The Hit King had to know he would never have a better chance than this.

Selig explained what baseball expected of him if the league even considered adjusting his life sentence. Rose would have to stop gambling – all gambling. He would have to stop hanging around all those casinos and racetracks.

And finally, there was this: He had to hold a press conference – to admit his “crime,” to admit that he had bet on baseball, to apologize to everyone he had defrauded, and to promise none of it ever would happen again. They shook hands. And then…

Rose left the meeting and headed straight to an appearance at a sportsbook in Las Vegas. The inspector and those around him were angry. Rose’s fate was sealed forever that day. It’s hard to argue that it was anyone’s fault but his own.

Since then, I knew exactly how this saga would end. Since then, I knew that Pete Rose’s induction day in Cooperstown would never happen. Since then, I knew that there would always be a place in the gallery where his plaque would never hang. I knew ever since that I would be writing this column on the day he died.

But knowing this was coming doesn’t make it any less sad.

Can you feel that sadness and yet understand that no one was more responsible for how this ended than Rose herself? I believe you can. Why can’t both be true? I think it’s possible – even sensible – to have two sets of Pete Rose memories.

The hits, the hustle, the records, the indelible moments, the laughter, the fun that came from watching the Hit King play baseball – I won’t ban that forever. I will think of her and smile forever.

But the turn that the rest of his life took – why shouldn’t I look at it with sadness? I think about what should have been and I wish he would have done so many things differently.

It’s strange to think now that he was suspended “for life” by Giamatti. And now that the “life” portion of his ban no longer applies, does that mean the league could one day open a door to allowing Pete Rose a spot in the Hall?

Why not? It never made sense to me that the Hall of Fame wouldn’t find some way to honor the man who had more hits than anyone to ever stand in the batter’s box.

Why isn’t it possible to celebrate all the hits while honestly acknowledging the other side of the story? Why can’t his badge do both? This is what I would do if I were the “plaque czar.”

But you know, and I know, that won’t happen. I have met many authors who feel that Rose has served his time. So if he ever showed up on our ballot, they would vote for Pete Rose the Hit King even if they had problems with Pete Rose the Bet King. But it’s a waste of time to even think about it. There’s a better chance of Taylor Swift appearing on our ballot than Rose ever appearing on the writers’ ballot.

And even if Rob Manfred or a future commissioner ever changed his mind, what version of a veterans committee would ever elect him? Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens found out two years ago that their door was still locked. So why should we believe that Rose would be any different?

Could Pete Rose end up in Cooperstown? At the moment it is difficult to see a path. (Getty Images)

And now that he’s gone, it might never have the same meaning again anyway. I’ve always wondered what Pete Rose’s induction day would have been like. Not true? How many baseball fans would have spread out across the hills of Cooperstown to hear it The Speech?

What would he have said that day? What would the other Hall of Famers have said about him? How many would have found something else to do this weekend? It would have been an induction day like no other – one we would have talked about for decades.

Just like the Hit King himself.

It will take me a while to understand this. As long as I covered baseball, there was always Peter Edward Rose, who made our lives much more interesting. He was always there whenever we needed a column topic on a quiet day. And everyone who knew him had a story to tell.

Now there’s one thing I know for sure. I will never forget the life and times of Pete Rose – especially as I walk the halls of Cooperstown and stare at the spot where his plaque should hang.

Required reading

(Top photo of Pete Rose in 1984: George Gojkovich / Getty Images)