Days have progressed into weeks. January steeled, has bittered into gray, and I am still thinking of Mike Tauchman.
Earlier this month, I wrote Tauchman’s 2021 season in review and snarkily referred to it as “part one” of a possible trilogy.
I guess the joke there was after taking a deep dive on his once-in-a-generation snag, there wasn’t much more to talk about. He unequivocally had a bad 64 games for the San Francisco Giants–his glove lifting him only momentarily out of the raff of acquisitions and dumps. Yet, here I am, still thinking, still milling over his multiple home run robberies, his wiffle bat whiffs, his gate collisions and warning track rolls, his high socks, his eye black and changing facial hair, his ultimate and inevitable relegation.