I want to establish myself as the first Eric Davis, not the next Willie Mays.
I remember in 1990, there were five of us making $3 million a year. When guys passed us, we didn’t cry. Why would we cry? You didn’t get mad when someone got $6 million. Or $8 million.
I tell you, revenge plays a big part in momentum down here.
Life is too short to worry about anything.
I will be a role model for cancer patients for the rest of my life. But you know what? When I was getting chemo, those people inspired me.
If you’re feeling pressure, then you shouldn’t be here.
It’s easy to see why pitchers respect McGwire. If you hit behind him, they’re saying that they don’t respect you. You have to change their thinking.
Just putting my uniform on keeps me going. Being able to get out there keeps me going. That’s the best therapy.
My only goal is to play 162 games and help this team win. If I can do that, everything will take care of itself.
There’s only one Mark McGwire. The man walked over 160 times. Just think. If he walks 60 times, he might hit 100 homers.
You can’t get more appreciation than that, to be elected by the fans. That’s the ultimate, really.
That’s just my family’s mentality. We are a very loving, hugging and kissing kind of family. And we grew up in a church atmosphere and still have that atmosphere. There is no negativity.
I know people are pretty well embarrassed just at the mention of colon cancer. Sticking a tube in you to find out what’s wrong is not a nice thing. But I can tell them, a 30- or 40-minute test is worth it. We have to make them feel more comfortable about getting screened.
I was able to get operated on four days after I was diagnosed. It was just a matter of getting this baseball-sized tumor out of me. I reflect now on how lucky I was to be in the situation where I could get the best possible help and treatment.
I was fortunate to play for Pete Rose and have teammates like Ken Griffey Sr., Tony Perez and Dave Concepcion. I grew up in the game with a mature attitude. I’ve always known it was better to be seen and not heard.
I’m being compared to the impossible. I never saw Mays, Aaron or Clemente play. What about the people I face every day? Tim Raines is the best? Mattingly is the best? Why not compare me to my peers?
I’m not head-strong, and I’m not egotistical. I understand certain things better now. I won’t be trying to be play everyday. There’s only one Cal Ripken, one Lou Gehrig and one Joe DiMaggio. What is good for them isn’t necessarily good for Eric Davis.
I’ve been hearing this since I first joined the Reds organization, that I’m going to be the next this or that. It’s tough on a young player coming up. You show some positive things and everybody jumps on that and says you should be the next Willie Mays.
People saw me as being heroic, but I was no more heroic than I was with other injuries I had, like the lacerated kidney I suffered during the 1990 World Series. It’s just that people haven’t known anyone with a lacerated kidney, but everyone can relate to someone with cancer.
The last two times I went to spring training, I had to win a job, and if I didn’t get off to a blazing start, I’m on the bench. Now, I’ve proven myself, so it’s not essential that I get off to a real good start.
I don’t listen to what people say about me and I don’t read what they write about me. People can compare me to anyone they want to, but I’m not going to worry about it.