As we move closer and closer to a day that we can start beginning to think of a plan to start playing baseball (and I guess moving to Arizona, yikes), I’m realizing that my Padres content quota is sorely lacking. An entire preseason, with bonus pandemic time, and only one (one!) post highlighting a swinging Friar? WHAT NECROMANCERY IS THIS? Yeah, no clue how dark magics in all caps entered the chat, but this lockdown has been long, the flesh has been weak (don’t look at me like that when yours is too!), so I ask you: what exactly would be the downside of becoming bizarro Harry Potter with evil witch powers? +5 to magic missile, bro. [*Crosses arms, drops shades, waves wand in a counter-clockwise motion, raises the dead.] Regardless, I’m supposed to be talking about whales. Not just because San Diego is named after the vahina of one (silent ‘g’ for our NSFW friends), but because a literary tale as old as the last pandemic has just been referenced (give or take 50 years, but you get the point). The point is, I’m struggling connecting anything thematic in this lede, so we’ll just get to the part where I tell you about my Padres-content quarantine ending (check), the fact that I’ve somehow ended up writing about nothing but value pitchers the last month, so a hitter (a prospect no less!) would be a nice change of pace, and quite simply put: while Ismael Mena is prospect on the fringes, I’m here to convince you that you there might be something special here. Plus, I get to quote Herman Melville. NO DOWNSIDE FOLKS.

“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.”

That’s what she said…