By Lyle Fitzsimmons

Baseball and boxing have very little in common.

A loss in one provides frustration that can be avenged with another game 24 hours later.

In the other, the pain persists far longer.

Still, the longer I sat and watched a preview of HBO’s 83-minute documentary “Assault in the Ring” – which premieres Saturday night at 10 – the more I thought of Pete Rose.

In vividly recalling the Luis Resto-Billy Collins Jr. bout, whose result led to Collins’ untimely death and Resto’s prolonged poverty, producer/director Eric Drath deftly weaves a tale in which the Puerto Rican slugger – similar to the Cincinnati hit king – is initially defiant, then tearfully contrite.

Two decades later, I’m not sure either man is better off for his admissions.

While Rose’s book-fueled confession of baseball gambling may yet lead to Hall of Fame enshrinement, it’s done little to convince the public he’s actually sorrier for what he did than for having been caught doing it.

Some call him tragic. Others… pathetic.

Clearly the stakes are higher and the circumstances more catastrophic in Resto’s case.

“You know, I think about that fight almost every day,” he said. “When (Collins died) I wanted to commit suicide.”

But I’m not so sure the on-camera tears wash away the brutality.

Whether his complicity with tampering that night in 1983 was complete or peripheral, the chilling passage in which he admits to wanting to “destroy” Collins in the ring seem to belie any regret actually felt over 30 fateful minutes at the Garden.

In fact, he not only admitted to wearing gloves stripped of half their padding, but also claimed to have knowingly had his hand wraps augmented by a plaster-like substance eerily similar to that used by Antonio Margarito in January.  

And while the post-confession apology to Collins’ family and confrontation of trainer Panama Lewis are admirable, a more visceral take-away is Resto’s panicked look to the corner when Collins’ father grasps his hand after the fight and immediately senses an irregularity.

Plenty of chances had existed to come clean over 10 rounds.

But, like Rose, he appeared more concerned with being caught than with what he’d done.

And if he had gotten away with it… it’s anyone guess.

Would Resto have experienced a convenient burst of tearful conscience somewhere down the road, or self-servingly kept the secret until another dressing-room conspirator uttered a damning deathbed confession?

Problem is, unlike Rose, the parties he cheated earn no real retribution either way.   

If any sympathy is warranted, it’s only in comparing Resto’s prison aftermath to that of a bling-laden, Florida-based Lewis, who seems well off financially and is still able to train high-end pros in the gym in spite of a ban from the actual corner on fight nights.

Resto never fought after the Collins incident, ending his career after 31 fights.

Collins died in a car wreck nine months later, at age 22.

“For the longest time, he would just sit in the apartment and smoke and drink and trash the apartment by himself,” said Andrea Collins-Morse, Billy’s former wife.

“It’s like everything was taken that night in the ring.”

Lyle Fitzsimmons is an award-winning 20-year sports journalist, a full voting member of the Boxing Writers Association of America and a frequent contributor to sports radio talk shows throughout the U.S. E-mail him at fitzbitz@msn.com or follow him at twitter.com/fitzbitz.