SARASOTA, Fla. - You like the way his name spins from the ballpark P.A. announcer's lips - WilyMo PAIN-ya - like a 16-pound bowling bowl angling at the 7-10 split. You like those Popeye arms and that beer-keg chest. Did the kid really steal 26 bases for Single-A Dayton in 2001? Ooooh. You like that, too.

You remembered the batting practice session at Cinergy Field late last summer, when WilyMo PAIN-ya launched 400-foot bombs like he was playing beer-league softball. Big Klu, with sleeves.

The Reds like to brag on their youth, at least when it comes to hitters. They haven't said much yet about Wily Modesto Pena, 21 years old (apparently), of Lagunda Salada, Dominican Republic. Some people believe that's just a matter of time.

"I saw this big human being in Dayton two years ago," offered Mike Easler, a Reds roving hitting instructor, "and I said, my God, if this kid ever puts it together . . ."

Easler has worked extensively with Pena. Easler played 14 years in the big leagues. He batted .293 lifetime. His nickname was Hit Man. He knows some things. "Touched by God" is how he describes Pena, who is 6 feet 3 and weighs 215 pounds.

Easler likes Wily Mo. Likes him? In 10 minutes, he compares Pena to Bo Jackson, Mark McGwire, Dave Parker and Dante Bichette. "God almighty, he's strong," Easler says.

The Reds have to keep him in the big leagues because he's out of options. They'd have to expose him to waivers to get him back to the minors where, most agree, he needs to be. They won't do that, so Wily Mo will spend the summer learning to be a big-league hitter.

Easler is teaching Pena what all hitters must know to make the jump from bus rides to room service. "Patience. Discipline. That's what Austin Kearns and Adam Dunn have. That's why they're in the big leagues," Easler says.

Pena is learning to know himself. Which pitches he likes, which he doesn't. Which he can hit, which he can't. Each at-bat is like a buffet line. The trick is to take only what you know you can eat.

"Don't swing at balls above your hands," Easler tells Pena, every day. "Learn what you like and what you don't. Read the ball. Look at the spin on it."

Pena, Easler says, is an eager learner with a veteran's ability to forget the bad days. "He's going to be one of them special guys when he puts it together. Put it this way: With his size and ability, they're going to expect that. If he hits .260 with 12 homers, he won't stay in the big leagues."

Right now, Pena swings at too many bad balls. He has trouble with breaking balls. He isn't ready for big-league pitchers who know how to spot the ball. Easler says the Reds will have to "pick their spots" to use him. "Finesse pitchers, who occasionally make mistakes. He's going to hit some mistakes that will win the club some games," Easler says.

In a game Monday, Pena got behind in the count, then went the other way, shortening his stroke and slashing a single to right field, a veteran move.

Pena is another dancer in a conga line of "ifs" facing the Reds. In baseball, a $60 million payroll allows you to say "maybe" a lot. Maybe Brandon Larson will do in six months what he did last year in one. Maybe Danny Graves will win 15 games. Maybe Aaron Boone will play second base like big brother Bret. Maybe Barry Larkin and Junior Griffey will play a whole season without taking a month-to-month lease in the training room.

Maybe WilyMo PAIN-ya will learn quickly and become Bo Jackson.

It is March. What good is March in Florida if you can't dream?

E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com