They told us these Redlegs were unkillable, and for a feverish week or two it felt true. It was actually fun for a moment! They snuck into October on the season’s final day, tied with the Mets but winning the tiebreaker, and then sprayed the champagne to offer us some hope. And 48 hours later, the Dodgers sent everyone home with an 0-for-L.A. That, my friends, was the season in miniature: a good story that never quite became a good team.
If you’re searching for moral victories, you won’t have to look far. The rotation finally looked like the plan that had been drawn up on a whiteboard at 100 Joe Nuxhall Way. Hunter Greene took yet another step toward acehood. Nick Lodolo and Andrew Abbott often looked like rotation anchors and playoff starters. Brady Singer was a stabilizer, and rookie Chase Burns made some cameo appearances in high-leverage spots. On most nights, the starting staff carried Cincinnati.
But when the season turned truly high-leverage, the bats failed to make an appearance. Situational hitting—you remember, that thing manager Terry Francona has been preaching about since March?—was the gremlin they never exorcised. It simply never helped the Reds when they needed it. In the elimination game, the Reds loaded the bases twice and came away with one run total. They were 3-for-10 with runners in scoring position, stranding eight runners in the final four innings. If you want the whole season in a single frame, there it is.
And so the “can’t kill us” cockroaches got swept out of a borrowed October. But there is some good news, if you can believe it. The foundation is sturdier than cynical Reds fans (like me, I concede) may want to admit. This was the best-organized Reds pitching we’ve seen in years. Even with the bullpen running on fumes late in the season, the overall run prevention profile felt real, not fluky. Greene, Lodolo, and Abbott are a legitimately good trio. The only question is health, but that’s always the question for every big league staff. Burns flashed stuff that makes you believe he’s destined for future stardom. And if Rhett Lowder’s body finally cooperates (he’s headed to the Arizona Fall League after an injury-riddled year) the Reds could actually have a talented six-deep rotation come spring 2026.
We even saw some positives on the offensive side of the ledger. Noelvi Marte reinvented himself as a right fielder, and I actually believe in his future there. TJ Friedl grinded through another year of table-setting. And, well, that pretty much sums it up. There were weeks when you could kind of see a coherent, annoying-to-play Reds team: good starting pitching, enough athleticism, barely enough power, and pressure on the bases.
For months, however, the offense felt like trying to start an old mower: Tito was pulling on the string over and over, but the club didn’t have nearly enough ignition. The power was lacking, and a lack of power in 2025 is fatal. The Tito approach never worked. September offered a flicker or three (Elly De La Cruz bursts, a Will Benson streak here, a shot of Sal Stewart there), just enough to keep the math alive.
If we zoom out, that “progress” is a rounding error. Cincinnati finished 83-79. Two seasons ago, the Reds finished 82-80. That’s one more win for all your trouble. One. Making the playoffs feels like a big deal, and it should! But have the Reds really improved at all over the last two years?
And now the front office has said the quiet part out loud. All of Terry Francona’s coaches have been invited back. The budget is to be determined. The biggest path toward improvement, in the words of Nick Krall and Brad Meador, is the young core simply playing better. In other words, don’t expect any big moves in the off-season. If you loved 2025, great news: You’re going to get more of the same over the next 12 months!
To be fair, the Reds now appear to have a dependable pitching staff. That’s not nothing. But it’s also fair to say a bottom-third offense won’t magically become a top-third offense just because you asked nicely and have your fingers crossed. The Reds simply must add some thump—at least one legitimate middle-of-the-order bat. Period. That’s the test for Reds management. If they don’t add a slugger, they aren’t serious about contending. Everyone on the planet knows it’s the franchise’s biggest need.
This season did answer big-picture questions about the young position players. They’re real, with real ceilings and real holes in their games. De La Cruz had stretches that were MVP-adjacent and stretches where routine plays and breaking balls made him look silly. Matt McLain still seemed to be on last year’s injured list, but the flashes were there. (This is something I want to believe. I’m not sure it’s true, but just go with me here.) Marte turned himself from almost an afterthought into an integral piece for the future. And Stewart, well, should have been in Cincinnati earlier and should be in the everyday lineup next season. Yes, he has flaws, but he can mash baseballs. He doesn’t fix the offense for 2026, but he does narrow the shopping list.
Ultimately, there’s a cold conclusion lurking underneath the cockroach bravado: This franchise, as currently managed from the top, is comfortable being perfectly average. That’s not an insult, it’s just a fact. It’s an operating philosophy. The Reds want to make the floor solid, pray the kids improve, and sell hope to a beleaguered fan base. We’ve seen it now year after year after year.
Bring back the coaches? Fine, whatever. Continuity has value, I suppose. Count on internal jumps from Elly, McLain, Marte, Friedl, Steer, and the rookies? OK, that should happen to some degree. But if the owner’s box doesn’t also fund one bonafide middle-order threat, then we’re all signing up for another season where the rotation keeps tossing the life preserver while the lineup forgets how to swim.
I once heard a great leader say: “Don’t tell me what’s happening. Tell me what’s next.” What’s next in Cincinnati? Hope, always. Hope that Elly’s routine-plays gremlins get evicted. Hope McLain’s second year post-surgery is the bounce-back. Hope Stewart is the right-handed power bat we’re dreaming of. Hope Burns becomes the second coming of Greene. Hope Lowder looks like Lowder by March.
But, as I say literally every single October, hope is not a strategy. If you want a real championship team at Great American Ball Park, it won’t come from the clubhouse. It won’t come from the coaches. It has to come from the top, with ownership opening the checkbook.
Until then? The Reds are exactly who they showed us they were: a resilient team, often likable but always maddening, and average. Cockroaches who can survive anything … except for that one moment when they need a timely base hit.
Chad Dotson helms Reds coverage at Cincinnati Magazine and is co-author of “The Big 50: The Men and Moments That Made the Cincinnati Reds,” revised, updated, and available in bookstores now. His newsletter about Cincinnati sports can be found at chaddotson.com.
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