Of course, I believe that Mike Piazza is probably the greatest

“Of course, I believe that Mike Piazza is probably the greatest offensive catcher in the history of baseball, only got over 50%. Johnny Bench is the best catcher in the history of baseball, but Piazza has all the records for catchers as far as offensively.” — Pete Rose

Thus spoke Pete Rose, the tireless competitor, the man who played the game of baseball as if it were war and art combined. In this statement, his words are more than a tribute to two men — they are a meditation on greatness, on the balance between skill and legacy, between talent and total mastery. When Rose declares that Mike Piazza was “the greatest offensive catcher,” yet Johnny Bench was “the best catcher in the history of baseball,” he distinguishes between two forms of excellence: one that shines in numbers and another that endures in totality — the kind that blends power, intelligence, and command.

To understand Rose’s meaning, one must first know the origin of this reflection — the story of two men who defined what it means to stand behind the plate. Johnny Bench, the cornerstone of the Cincinnati Reds’ dynasty in the 1970s, was a fortress of precision. He could command a pitching staff, throw out base stealers with lightning precision, and hit with thunderous power. To Rose — who played beside him during those glory years of the “Big Red Machine” — Bench was not simply a teammate, but a master craftsman. He embodied what it meant to be a complete player, one who unified the mind, body, and spirit of the game.

But decades later, another figure rose — Mike Piazza, the underdog who was drafted in the sixty-second round, nearly forgotten by the world, yet rose to become the most fearsome offensive catcher of his era. Piazza’s bat was his instrument, his swing like poetry in motion. His numbers — the home runs, the batting averages, the runs batted in — stand unmatched among catchers. Rose’s praise for him as “the greatest offensive catcher” acknowledges this singular brilliance. Yet, he also laments that Piazza received “only over 50%” of votes in his first Hall of Fame ballot — a reflection, perhaps, of the human tendency to delay recognition of those who do not fit perfectly within the old molds of greatness.

Rose’s statement thus holds a deeper truth: greatness wears many faces. Some, like Bench, embody the ideal — flawless in balance, discipline, and leadership. Others, like Piazza, embody the fire of individual brilliance, excelling in one realm so greatly that they redefine it forever. Both are necessary for the story of human excellence. Bench shows us the perfection of structure — Piazza, the poetry of power. Bench is the architect; Piazza, the artist. Together, they reveal that mastery is not one shape, but a spectrum of greatness where strength and artistry coexist.

This duality echoes far beyond the baseball diamond. In every field — whether it be music, science, or politics — the world is shaped by both the balanced genius and the explosive innovator. Consider the contrast between Beethoven and Mozart. Mozart, like Bench, was pure harmony, mastering the craft of composition with divine ease. Beethoven, like Piazza, was thunder and rebellion, changing music through passion and defiance. Both were great, yet in different measures — one by mastery of the form, the other by breaking it. So too in baseball, Rose’s words remind us that greatness cannot be confined to a single mold.

Yet within this admiration lies a lesson about recognition and fairness. When Rose notes that Piazza received “only over 50%,” he exposes how greatness is often misunderstood in its own time. Society hesitates to honor those who defy tradition — those whose excellence comes in unexpected forms. It is a call to remember that greatness, whether perfect or imperfect, deserves acknowledgment, for it pushes the boundaries of what is possible. Piazza’s power with the bat transformed how catchers were perceived — no longer merely defenders of the plate, but offensive forces capable of defining entire games.

So, O lovers of the game and seekers of greatness, take this wisdom to heart: there are many paths to mastery. Do not measure worth by conformity, nor dismiss brilliance because it breaks expectation. The Johnny Benches of the world teach us discipline and completeness; the Mike Piazzas teach us courage and reinvention. Honor both. For as Pete Rose reminds us, the world’s story — like the story of baseball — is not written by one kind of hero, but by many, each leaving their mark in their own way.

And in the end, when time has weathered the records and the cheers have faded into memory, what remains are not the numbers alone, but the spirit — the fire with which a man played the game, the devotion he brought to his craft, and the courage he showed in the face of doubt. That, above all, is the truest measure of greatness — the one that lives not in the record books, but in the hearts of those who remember.