Remembering the Wire-to-Wire Reds

The World Series has me reminiscing over the last great Cincinnati Reds team

I watched the 2024 World Series, and I bet most of you did, as well. I’m not one of those who get upset about the Yankees and Dodgers being in the Series — all things considered, I’d prefer that matchup over the Rangers and Diamondbacks — but it was not the most exciting Fall Classic I’ve ever seen. It did, however, prompt me to drift back to 1990, which was the most exciting World Series I’ve ever watched.

A million words have been written about that series, but I’m compelled to jot down just a few more. I was a high schooler who didn’t attend a single game, but I didn’t miss a pitch of that post-season. (Did you attend any of the NLCS or WS games? Leave a comment below, if so.) And I remember it like it was yesterday. None of this will be new to most of you — I’m warning you now — but I wanted to reminisce.

There was no grand parade scheduled for the Reds as the calendar turned to October 1990. The city had some hopes, perhaps, but little more; it had been years since Cincinnati felt the thrill of late fall baseball, and if anyone predicted this was the team to revive it, I don’t know who it was. But with a dazzling bullpen, a lineup filled with sleepers and spark, and a manager as tough as he was wily, these Reds were as hard-nosed and unpredictable as they come. And when they stunned the Oakland Athletics in a four-game World Series sweep, the victory wasn’t just unexpected—it was seismic, pure baseball magic, the kind that sticks in memory like the smell of autumn dirt on a wool jersey.

Cincinnati’s season started with a bang and seemed to run on some strange energy all year. This wasn’t a team of marquee players but of characters—Barry Larkin, the stoic leader and future Hall of Famer; Eric Davis, the quicksilver center fielder with bat and glove as sharp as any in the game; and Chris Sabo, third baseman and flat-top enthusiast, a no-nonsense player who seemed more like an old-school street fighter than a ballplayer. Then, of course, there was manager Lou Piniella, who threw first base into right field one night that August; there was never a shortage of drama with Sweet Lou in the dugout.

The Reds tore into the regular season with a league-best 9-0 start and ended it with a wire-to-wire run atop the National League West. But their dominance felt almost delicate; they were 50-29 before the All-Star break and barely played .500 ball afterward. No matter. By September, the Reds had clinched the NL West, shrugging off the odds as if destiny alone kept them winning.

This will be hard for current-day fans to believe, but it’s true: the Reds faced the Pittsburgh Pirates in the National League Championship Series. Even more amazing, the Pirates were a worthy opponent in the middle of a successful run under manager Jim Leyland, with superstars in the making like Barry Bonds and Bobby Bonilla. Bonds was then a different player from the one who would later hit home runs by the handful; he was fast, wiry, and, in 1990, downright dangerous.

AI doesn’t know anything about the Wire to Wire Reds

But the Reds’ rotation and bullpen were unfazed, holding the Pirates’ formidable lineup to a paltry .194 batting average over six games. Game 1 went to Pittsburgh in a close 4-3 loss, but then came Tom Browning, my man TB, holding the Pirates to one run in Game 2 to even the series. The Reds roared into Game 3 and took control, with outfielder Billy Hatcher homering in a 6-3 win and Sabo breaking a tie in Game 4 with a thunderous two-run blast. Though the Pirates took Game 5, the Reds clinched in Game 6 with a 2-1 victory, Danny Jackson, Randy Myers, and Norm Charlton pitching a near-perfect game while the bullpen’s “Nasty Boys” struck fear into anyone who dared step to the plate.

The World Series pitted the Reds against a juggernaut—the defending champion Oakland Athletics, winners of 103 games, owners of a powerhouse lineup and a rotation anchored by the league’s best closer in Dennis Eckersley. I wanted to believe, but pretty much every pundit said Cincinnati had no chance. Oakland had obliterated the Boston Red Sox in a four-game sweep of the ALCS, and their lineup boasted bash brothers Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire. The A’s were supposed to roll.

But Cincinnati’s bats, bullpen, and resilience had something else in mind. Game 1 set the tone, and if you were watching, you will never forget it. Jose Rijo took the mound opposite A’s ace Dave Stewart, and from the very start, the Reds were all over Oakland. In his first World Series at-bat, Eric Davis, steady and unflappable, sent a two-run home run screaming into center field. As ED slowly rounded the bases and I screamed in my living room, we all started to believe. It was magic.

From there, the Reds piled on run after run, the A’s looking dazed and defeated by game’s end. Rijo, the flamethrower whose arm all season seemed forged for big games, held the A’s to zero runs across seven innings, and the Nasty Boys closed it out. It was 7-0 Cincinnati—a nearly inconceivable scoreline. Just like that, the Reds had a 1-0 lead, and the cracks were showing in the mighty A’s façade.

Game 2 was a tighter affair, a nail-biting reminder of how fickle the game can be. The Reds took an early lead, but Oakland clawed back, tying the game twice and keeping it knotted into extra innings. Lou Piniella made a move that would become legend, sending rookie Billy Bates to pinch-hit in the bottom of the 10th against none other than Eckersley, who hadn’t given up more than a handful of runs all year. Bates chopped an infield single that had everyone at Riverfront Stadium leaping to their feet. Then came Chris Sabo with a single, and Joe Oliver followed with a slicing hit down the line, sending Bates streaking across home plate for the walk-off run. Cincinnati had won 5-4, and now led the Series 2-0.

I was alone in front of the television for the final innings. Everyone in my home was asleep, but I was mesmerized. Didn’t miss a pitch. When Oliver hit the ball down the third base line, I leapt into the air, jumping up and down, trying to be as quiet as I could so as not to wake anyone up. I think I succeeded, but I was unable to sleep for most of the night. The Reds were up two to nothing!

Oakland fans were beginning to sense that the Reds weren’t simply fortunate—they were formidable. The Series moved to Oakland for Game 3, but the script remained the same. Chris Sabo launched two homers, stunning the A’s once again as the Reds tore apart Oakland’s pitching in an 8-3 romp.

Then we got more Rijo. The final game in the sweep would come to embody Cincinnati’s improbable dominance. Rijo, after allowing one early run, was masterful. He retired 20 straight batters in a performance of rare precision and patience, baffling the mighty A’s as he worked through the Oakland lineup inning after inning. In the eighth, Cincinnati, already scrapping with injuries to Davis — a lacerated kidney that would keep him in the hospital until after his teammates had returned to Cincinnati — and Billy Hatcher, broke the 1-1 tie on a sacrifice fly by Hal Morris. The Nasty Boys, waiting for the call from the bullpen, were almost unnecessary. Piniella let Rijo go until the ninth, then called on Randy Myers to close. With the final out—a pop-up caught by Todd Benzinger in foul territory—the Reds had swept the mighty A’s in four.

The celebration on the field — and in my living room, wearing my Reds Starter jacket for some reason — was raw and ecstatic, a team victory as improbable as it was complete. The Reds, who hadn’t won a title since the Big Red Machine days, had brought a championship back to Cincinnati, but this was a different era, a different ballgame. Gone was the intimidating power and near-perfect mechanics of that 1970s powerhouse; in its place was a team of grit, resilience, and a belief in themselves that defied the odds.

Two days later, Cincinnati came out in force for the victory parade. Fountain Square overflowed with a sea of red as fans poured into the streets to celebrate their team, waving brooms to honor the Series sweep. I couldn’t talk my parents into taking me to the parade, and I’m still a little sad about that. Cheers erupted as each player stepped forward. “You guys are the greatest!” yelled Rob Dibble. “You believed in us when nobody else in America did!” Even the normally quiet Chris Sabo got excited: “We kicked their asses four straight! We got the ring!” In a final, heartwarming moment, coach Tony Perez lifted Eric Davis’s #44 jersey as the crowd roared.

I can’t believe we’re still talking about this team, but that’s what happens when your club stinks for the better part of three decades. On the other hand, the 1990 Cincinnati Reds were a team to be remembered. More than the sum of their talents—they were a team that swept in and redefined what it meant to believe, to endure, and to triumph. They may not have been the Big Red Machine, but they made their mark on Cincinnati—and on baseball—forever.

But I’m ready for another Reds championship team, please and thank you.

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What’s Chad Watching?

Didi was great!. The story of an impressionable 13-year-old Taiwanese American boy learns what his family can’t teach him: how to skate, how to flirt, and how to love your mom. Highly recommended.

The Criterion Channel has a Coen Brothers feature this month, so I finally got around to watching Miller’s Crossing which I had somehow never seen. Very, very good. Also recommended.

Caddo Lake was a surprise. Produced by M. Night Shyamalan, it is absolutely in his milieu. You can’t watch it with a phone in your hand because it requires some thought, but the lovely Mrs. Dotson and I really liked it.

House is a highly-acclaimed Japanese horror film that is complete garbage. Don’t waste your time.

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Where Am I?

Time for a new feature here at The Riverfront. Besides sports, I’m completely obsesssed with travel. There’s so much to see all across the world, and I haven’t seen most of it. Yet. So I’m going to show you some pictures I’ve taken and I’ll let you guess where I was. Let’s begin with an easy one, taken with my iPhone, if you can believe it.

Where am I? Give me your guesses in the comments.