Baseball's World Series concluded a week ago last night, but instead of celebrating the New York Yankees' second successive championship (the Bronx Bombers encountered little resistance in the four games it took them to decimate the Atlanta Braves), sports fans and sports writers alike continue to wage passionate arguments over the propriety of a contentious television interview conducted earlier in the week.

One of the events held in conjunction with this year's Fall Classic was the unveiling of the "All-Century team". Allegedly nominated via a ballot of baseball fans (a select committee was also employed, mainly to correct any oversights on the part of the electorate), the event was a moneymaker from its inception. Indeed, Major League Baseball (MLB) had sold, for untold millions, the title rights to the All-Century team to MasterCard before the first vote was cast.

It was reportedly at MasterCard's insistence that the name of Pete Rose was included on the ballot. And for muddled reasons that undoubtedly have a sound fiscal underpinning, MLB commissioner Bud Selig went along.

In his playing days, Pete Rose became baseball's all-time leader in base hits before lapsing into disgrace. A decade ago, when he was managing his old team, the Cincinnati Reds, he was banned for life, after an investigation commissioned by one of Selig's predecessors concluded that his runaway gambling habits had led him to wager on baseball games, including those involving his team.

Rose also did a stint in a federal penitentiary for tax evasion uncovered during an investigation into his gambling habits.

Since then he has continued to support himself by flogging memorabilia over the television airwaves and by presenting a radio talk show emanating, ironically enough, from the floor of a Las Vegas casino.

Rose's exile also resulted in his exclusion from baseball's Hall of Fame (HoF), which has always struck us as a bit ludicrous. Denying admission to the game's all-time hit leader, it seems to me, demeans the accomplishments of everyone else who has been honoured. The HoF's ruling bodies, with continued encouragement from the commissioner's office, have steadfastly pointed to a clause which allows "moral character" to be considered along with a potential member's on-field accomplishments.

Nonsense, say the Rose apologists. Babe Ruth unapologetically and quite voraciously imbibed throughout Prohibition, when drinking was theoretically illegal, but he is in the Hall of Fame.

If baseball continues to regard Pete Rose as a non-person, barred from any official connection with Major League Baseball, then what was his name doing on the All-Century ballot?

The answer is simple. Money talks.

Selig claims to have gone for a long walk on his own in Milwaukee one night to consider the troublesome issue, resulting in his conclusion that the decision belonged to the fans, and that if they wanted Rose, he deserved to be introduced on the field along with the other all-time greats.

Persistent and well-founded reports have MasterCard lobbying for Rose's inclusion.

Before the World Series even commenced, Dick Ebersol, the president of NBC sports, which was televising the event, promised to unleash his designated badger, Jim Gray, on Rose on the night of the festivities. Ebersol said that Rose would get the opportunity to apologise on national television for his past transgressions. Gray, who also works for Showtime on its boxing telecasts, enjoys a reputation as a tough and skilful inquisitor.

My problem with his technique is that he can, while wearing his NBC hat, grill a second baseman whose error has just cost his team a game like a cop interrogating a murder subject; but put him at ringside in a tuxedo and he treats Don King with kid gloves, conducting "interviews" so fawning that one would, if one didn't know King was paying the freight, wonder why the network bothered to show them at all.

In any case, Gray, as promised, went straight for Rose's jugular the night of Game Two in Atlanta. Rose, plainly surprised by the belligerent tone of the conversation, battled back in a heated mixture of counter-charges and excuses.

And Gray, rather than allow the matter to slide, escalated it with what appears to have been excessive zeal. Once it became clear that Rose had no intention of apologising to anyone, Gray had the opportunity to simply let it drop. Instead, he persisted with a confrontational line of questioning that came off as just plain snotty.

So naturally the switchboards at NBC and at affiliates all across the country lit up that night and the following day. The reaction of the public was overwhelmingly so pro-Rose, or at least anti-Gray, that it soon developed into a story bigger than the World Series itself. A web site set up specifically to demand that NBC fire Gray became extraordinarily popular.

Two nights later, after the Yankees' Chad Curtis had hit a game-winning home run to spark a come-from-behind victory, he humiliated Gray on-camera by refusing to submit to a post-game interview, citing Gray's "unfair" treatment of Rose. Another Yankee player, Jim Leyritz, said that Gray (but not Rose) had tarnished "the integrity of the game".

Fans at Yankee Stadium turned out for Games Three wearing T-shirts that read "Jim Gray Sucks". Gray responded by noting that he had reviewed a tape of the conversation and found no impropriety.

But then two things happened. First, MasterCard issued an official statement demanding that Gray apologise to the baseball fans of America. And, shortly thereafter, Jim Gray did apologise, which, to my mind, was the most disgusting development of the entire affair.

At least that's where it ranked until earlier this week, when I read what MasterCard spokesman Chris O'Neill had to say to Richard Sandomir of the New York Times about the episode. Then I really wanted to take a shower.

"In a bizarre way, through all the calls and e-mails, it became like a giant focus group," said O'Neill. "Through it all, people knew MasterCard was baseball's partner."