Bold takeaway first: true greatness isn’t measured by individual awards—it’s measured by what a team and a city feel when they win together. Now, here’s the full rewrite with clarity, warmth, and a touch of edge to spark conversation.
GOODYEAR, Arizona — Imagine what a World Series title would mean for Cincinnati and for the entire Greater Cincinnati area, a generation that has never known Reds championship glory. That weight was the message Eric Davis delivered to the Reds’ players during a spring-training workout on Thursday morning.
Davis, a centerpiece of the franchise’s history and a member of the 1990 World Series-winning team, pressed the point that Reds players must play for something bigger than personal hardware. You play for the city, he told them.
The former outfielder—who starred for the 1990 squad—addressed the team at manager Terry Francona’s request. Not one member of the 40-man roster was alive the last time Cincinnati captured a title in 1990; even reliever Emilio Pagan was born more than five months after that championship. Davis emphasized the importance of a message from a franchise legend reaching a younger generation.
After speaking to the group, Davis explained his philosophy: “You can’t be told what to do every time. You can be encouraged. But at some point, you shouldn’t have to tell guys what it means. I told the guys, ‘I’ve never seen a parade for a Cy Young winner or an MVP.’ That’s for a small circle. You win the World Series, that’s for millions of people. That’s for the city.’”
There was extra emotion for Davis in this moment. He recalled the void left by not being able to celebrate Cincinnati’s 1990 sweep of Oakland—an injury in Game 4 left him hospitalized, preventing him from joining the ticker-tape parade in Downtown Cincinnati or meeting the President at the White House. “I had the success, but I didn’t have the celebration, so (it feels) empty,” he told me. “And the only way I can get it now is through you guys.”
Davis joined the Reds in 1984 and spent nine seasons with the club across two stints. He earned All-Star honors in 1987 and 1989, and many believe injuries kept him from a potential Hall of Fame career. Now 63, he serves as a senior advisor to Reds president Nick Krall, a role that includes duties as a spring training instructor, a label he earned as “Eric The Red.”
Tito Francona, Davis’s former teammate in 1987, recalled asking him to speak at a players’ camp in January about what it means to wear the Reds uniform. The session went so well that Francona asked Davis to address the entire club. “I’ll tell you what. He was really good,” Francona said. “He spoke from the heart.”
Davis also highlighted the Reds’ long lineage of all-time greats who prioritized team success over personal accolades. He referenced former teammates and legends such as Barry Larkin—an essential figure on the 1990 team who is present at spring training—alongside Frank Robinson, Vada Pinson, Lee May, Jim O’Toole, Johnny Vander Meer, Tony Perez, and the era-defining Big Red Machine.
In particular, Davis reflected on Larkin and Robinson, two Hall of Famers. He noted that Robinson, despite never winning a World Series with Cincinnati, played in one for the Reds in 1961 and exemplified the mindset he wants current players to embrace: someone who pursued the Triple Crown and MVPs, yet put the team first and despised losing.
If you’re new to Reds history, this moment is more than nostalgia. It’s a call to imagine how a city-wide celebration could redefine the franchise’s future—and a reminder that the path to a title is paved by unity, grit, and shared purpose.
So, what do you think about the idea that a championship could heal or redefine a city’s connection to its team? Do you agree that team-first culture is the tipping point between good seasons and a lasting championship era? Share your thoughts in the comments.
Contact columnist Jason Williams at jwilliams@enquirer.com
