By the time Gregory Scott Daves—better known inside the ropes as Cincinnati Red—took his last bump, his fingerprints were all over Southern California wrestling. Not in the glossy, pyrotechnic-laden way Vince McMahon would brag about, but in the quiet, gritty reality of the indie scene: the VFW halls, the high school gyms, and the converted warehouses where dreams either died or got tough enough to survive.
The Blackjacks, the Red, and the Rough Start
Daves broke into the business the way so many journeymen did in the mid-’90s—paying dues, taking beatings, and losing to men with names bigger than the checks he cashed. He trained under Bill Anderson and Jesse Hernandez, and debuted as Blackjack Daniels, a tribute act to the legendary Blackjacks tag team. But it wasn’t long before he ditched the borrowed cowboy gimmick and pulled on the moniker that would stick: Cincinnati Red.
In 1995, he found himself in the National Wrestling Conference, where the odds were rarely in his favor. His first night was a double-header in humiliation—getting stomped in a three-on-one handicap match, then pinned by a guy simply named “The Thug.” He spent his early NWC tenure as what the industry politely calls “enhancement talent,” which really means you’re there to make the other guy look good. Jim Neidhart, Rob Van Dam, Larry Power—you name it, they beat Red. And yet, every time he lost, he gained something rarer than a payday: credibility in a business that eats rookies alive.
Grappler’s Den and the Birth of a Teacher
By ’96, Red moved into more fertile territory, becoming part of the inaugural show for Jesse Hernandez’s Empire Wrestling Federation. He had the honor (or curse) of wrestling in the promotion’s very first match. If EWF was a gamble, Red was all in.
But it wasn’t just the in-ring grind that defined him. During a hiatus from active wrestling, Red and Gary Key opened The Grappler’s Den in Oxnard. That little wrestling school didn’t just teach kids how to run the ropes—it became the seed for the Impact Wrestling Federation, a scrappy local promotion that lit up Ventura County. Out of that school came one particular student who’d go on to headline pay-per-views across the globe: a young man named Samoa Joe.
For every match Cincinnati Red lost in the ring, he won tenfold by producing the next generation. That was his quiet legacy.
The Heel Who Took Center Stage
In 2001, Red laced up the boots again when Millennium Pro Wrestling got rolling. This time, he wasn’t the fall guy—he was the villain everyone loved to hate. As MPW’s top heel, Red leaned into his grit and nastiness, playing foil to anyone in his way. He even snagged the MPW World Title, holding it for 168 days.
Red wasn’t the slickest talker, nor the flashiest worker, but he had something indie crowds respected: believability. When he snarled, you booed. When he cheated, you wanted someone—anyone—to shut him up. And in a world where charisma sells more tickets than cardio, that’s what kept him on the card.
Back to Empire, Back to Family
By 2005, Red circled back to the Empire Wrestling Federation, this time pulling double duty as booker and agent. He wasn’t just bumping around anymore—he was shaping stories, guiding green talent, and making sure the next show had a pulse.
He returned to the ring in 2006 with a tag match that reads like fan fiction: Cincinnati Red teaming with WWE Hall of Famer Greg Valentine. They beat Syrus and Puma, proving that sometimes the indies give you strange bedfellows.
That same year, Red won the first-ever Great Goliath Battle Royal, honoring Pablo Crispin, a SoCal legend. Instead of cashing in the guaranteed heavyweight title shot, Red handed the trophy to Crispin’s daughter. It was one of those small, sincere gestures that said more about the man than any championship run ever could.
One Last Match and a Haircut from Piper
By 2010, Red was winding down, but he wasn’t done entirely. He showed up at Millennium Pro Wrestling’s cheekily titled “Not Another Pointless Reboot” event, booked in a “Hair vs. Badge” match against his former protégé, “Lethal” Logan X. It was supposed to be Red’s swaggering comeback moment. Instead, he lost—and none other than “Rowdy” Roddy Piper grabbed the scissors to shear off Red’s trademark hair.
It was humbling, humiliating, and hilarious—everything pro wrestling is supposed to be. And Red, ever the professional, sold it to the hilt.
The Final Bell
On March 20, 2015, Jesse Hernandez announced that Gregory Scott Daves had passed away from a heart attack at just 40 years old. The indie community lost a stalwart, a teacher, a heel, and—perhaps most importantly—a guy who kept showing up, even when the spotlight wasn’t pointed at him.
Cincinnati Red was never a household name, never an Attitude Era superstar, never the guy on the lunchbox. But in the small arenas of California, where kids who dreamed of being wrestlers went to train, he was the guy holding the door open. He was the man who bumped, taught, booked, lost, won, and never stopped giving the business everything he had.
The Legacy of the Indie Workhorse
In the grand pantheon of wrestling, Cincinnati Red won’t get the statue, the Hall of Fame induction, or the WWE Network documentary with ominous slow-motion clips. What he leaves instead is something quieter but more vital: the legacy of the journeyman.
He was the guy you saw on a flyer tacked to a laundromat wall. The guy who got in the ring with legends and rookies alike. The guy who taught Samoa Joe how to hold a headlock. The guy who wasn’t too proud to lose, too stubborn to quit, and too humble to ever call himself a star.
In wrestling, there’s the glitz of WrestleMania, and then there’s the grind of the indie circuit. Cincinnati Red lived—and died—in the grind. And for that, the business owes him more than a three-count.
