Against the Pittsburgh Pirates recently in Cincinnati, the rookie center fielder Billy Hamilton, leading off for the Reds, dropped a bunt down the first-base line. The bunt appeared to be poorly executed, hit too sharply to first. The fielder, Gaby Sanchez, fielded it cleanly and intercepted Hamilton’s path to the bag. But Hamilton was gone.

Or rather, he was in the air, legs splayed, having abruptly stopped his motion midsprint. The sudden halt caused Sanchez to overrun him and stumble into foul territory. He gathered himself, but not quickly enough to tag out Hamilton, who by then had re-churned his legs, re-established his momentum and dived safely into the bag.

This happened on the first pitch of the game, and the Pirates looked stunned, as if they had received a jab to the face before they had even heard the bell ring. The play was not so much an illustration of Hamilton’s speed (exceptional), or bunting ability (improving), or even his baseball intellect (considerable). It was mainly an encapsulation of what has made Hamilton — with only five home runs — one of baseball’s must-watch performers.

Reds third baseman Todd Frazier, who watched the play from the top steps of the dugout, said he nearly swallowed his gum. When the next batter, Zack Cozart, came to the plate, Pirates catcher Russell Martin whispered to him, “That was ridiculous.”