The Peskiest Platoon: Samad Taylor and Dustin Harris Have a Chance to Become Folk Heroes

If Ramón Laureano stays healthy, we might never even see Samad Taylor get a legitimate chance to play for the Padres. As of early June, he was what he's been for his entire decade of professional experience: a fringe guy, barely catching anyone's notice and barely hanging onto Triple-A rosters. He signed a minor-league deal with the Padres in late January, after being outrighted for the second time in a year by the offense-needy Mariners and electing free agency, but he didn't crack San Diego's roster until the beginning of June. He's a former 10th-round pick who didn't debut in the big leagues until six years after being selected, and he's still never batted more than 175 times in the majors in any season. When Laureano suffered what's turned out to be a season-ending hip injury, though, Taylor was suddenly thrust into the fray.

If Luis Rengifo stays healthy, we might never even see Dustin Harris get a legitimate chance to play for the Padres. When he signed his first minor-league deal for the team, they became his third organization of the season. That was in early July, though, and a month later, he'd yet to crack the big-league roster. The team released him just after the trade deadline, but the opportunities for him were so sparse that Harris turned right around and signed a new minor-league deal. This is the life he's used to, too. He was an 11th-round pick in 2019 and didn't debut until 2024. and then only excruciatingly briefly. He's belonged to the Oakland, Texas, Houston and White Sox organizations, but never found much of a foothold in any of them. He got the call to the majors on August 24, though, and when Rengifo hit the injured list for good a few days later, Harris became an emergency platoon starter in left field.

Neither guy offers upside the way the game likes it served, these days. Each has 30-grade bat speed, by big-league standards. Neither is exceptional defensively, though both are fast and athletic enough to make up for the occasional misread. Since Harris made his Padres debut, though, this duo is hitting an aggregate .312/.363/.422. They're far from the sexiest part of the Padres' dramatic late-season offensive upswing, but they've been superb at the plate. They keep the line moving. They make things happen. And they do it in interesting, unusual ways.

Taylor's is capable of filling up the big part of the field, with a swing geared for line drives back through the box. His signature move, though, is the bunt hit—and not even a typical one. Of his seven bunt singles this season, Taylor has pushed almost all of them toward first base. Normally, a righty trying to bunt for a hit will drag the ball up the third-base line, forcing the pitcher to pounce and make a play moving away from his target or a third baseman to charge quickly and make a clean pick and throw. That maneuver requires some skill, but it's as much about maximizing the space the defense has to cover and the length of the throw as anything else; the runner's speed is the most important element of the tactic.

Not so with Taylor. He's developed a devilish skill of pushing the ball almost straight down, but managing the spin of it with his lumber. The ball hits the dirt in front of the plate and bounces high (but not far) toward first base, making a hard read for a pitcher coming off the mound and for a first baseman who might need to charge. Meanwhile. Taylor himself screens the catcher momentarily as he breaks from the box, and he drops his bat right in the path the catcher might take to the ball. It's difficult to do, but even harder to defend—and Taylor seems to have mastered getting it down.

This skill is especially valuable when Taylor is in a platoon role, too. A lefty pitcher who falls off the mound toward third base is in even worse position to field that dribbler up the first-base line than a righty would be; the spatial puzzle becomes almost unsolvable for the defense.

Taylor's speed and bunting skills create chaos. So does Harris's management of space, in a different way. Like Taylor, he has a slow but short and direct swing. Unlike Taylor, he also stands as close to the front of the batter's box as just about any hitter in the league.

His swing is not geared to generate any meaningful chance of extra-base hits. It's no coincidence that Harris has no home runs this year. However, he's also striking out at a 13.2% clip, and a healthy share of the balls he puts in play so relentlessly are line drives that feel indefensible, even if they never have a hope of being more than a single.

For a pretty big guy to have so little power feels wrong. Again, Harris doesn't play great defense, despite his speed. It's easy to see why teams have been reluctant to give either Harris or Taylor significant playing time. As a tandem, though, they're part of a dynamic team that can beat you in a wide variety of ways. They're not just hitting for average. They move runners over. They've stolen 19 bases in 23 combined tries.

It's tempting to say that a team like the Padres will go as far as its stars take it. Fernando Tatis Jr. and Manny Machado are the heart of the lineup and the roster, and Mason Miller, Adrian Morejon and the rest of that game-shortening bullpen make this team intimidating in a short series. October is beguiling, though. The game's history is chock-full of unlikely postseason heroes. Entering this postseason, it feels just possible that the X-factor for the Padres will be a left-field platoon cobbled together in response to injuries, comprising two guys several other teams didn't want and who have ridden a lot more buses than first-class flights. 

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