We’ve seen it before: Matt Chapman charging in from the deep reaches of the infield to pluck an ambling grounder from the grass, a slow roller so poorly hit it was perfectly hit, destined to be legged-out, destined to wreak havoc, destined to ruin a pitcher’s day, a game, a weekend series, a postseason push.
The San Francisco Giants are a round object on a flat edge, subject to the slightest tilt, servant to the universe’s whim. A position so precarious that a swinging bunt could send it careening into an abyss. It might have been in the 6th inning of Sunday’s rubber match in Cincinnati.