BASEBALL 2005: Armed for the Future

Rob Wheeler is nothing if not hardy. He’s a native Minnesotan, after all, a breed that rolls with the punches of a state boasting but two seasons: winter and July.

But nearly four years ago, when Wheeler traded the baseball diamonds of suburban Minnetonka for that of Harvard’s O’Donnell Field, the first baseman didn’t know just what he had in him.

“I contemplated quitting freshman year,” Wheeler, now a senior, admits. And it’s no wonder.

Once a big fish in the small pond of Blake High School, Wheeler played only five games in the field his rookie year with the Crimson, starting just once and batting an underwhelming .143. His six appearances on the mound were good for a bloated ERA of 7.50. His sophomore campaign offered only more of the same, with just six opportunities to start all season.

Wheeler began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, his numbers might reflect a true inability to adjust.

“Obviously, it’s frustrating,” he says, “and obviously, you want to be out there making the plays.”

Ultimately, though, “I just couldn’t quit”—and for reasons that would make Hollywood screenwriters drool. Wheeler loves the game. He loves his teammates. He loves what he learned from his father, Bill, a Tennessean catcher who earned a scholarship to Vanderbilt, only to blow out his knee before backstopping a single pitch for the Commodores.

“Look,” Wheeler told himself last year, “only two more years of the game you love. Play it like you love it, and not like it’s your job.”

And lo and behold, the new attitude earned him 10 starts and 42 at-bats his junior season—modest numbers to be sure, but improvements nonetheless.

As soon as he stopped looking at each at-bat as a “life-or-death situation,” Wheeler recovered that confidence he’d lost somewhere between Minnetonka and Cambridge.

Now eager—rather than afraid—to enter games, the 6’3 right-hander rarely faces a pitch he gives up on altogether.

“Whereas before,” he laughs, “I definitely thought there were pitches I couldn’t hit.”

Already this season, Wheeler has maintained a healthy .320 batting average in 11 games and seven starts, splitting time as a first baseman, a designated hitter, and a pinch hitter.

Which makes it all the more interesting that today, of all times—now that it is all coming together for the 22-year-old—Wheeler is ready to give the game up.

Just like that.

On June 23, exactly two weeks after he graduates from Harvard, Wheeler will ship out to Fort Jackson, S.C., for the nine weeks of the Army’s Basic Training. And then will come 14 weeks of Officer Candidate School. And then it will be time to get specific, with an Officer Basic Course.

For Wheeler’s family, this is all something of a surprise.

Nobody from his parents’ generation has any military experience, and Rob himself, the oldest of five Wheeler children, had never joined the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC), a commitment he would have had to make when he was 18.

Because when he was 18, after all, he hadn’t yet seen the horrors of Sept. 11, 2001 unfold. Nor had the Beslan school attacks of last September yet occurred, an event which, he says, crystallized his thoughts.

“You can go be an I-Banker, which is what I did want to do originally,” Wheeler explains. “But I just feel like when a country’s given you the opportunity to do as many things as America has, then you should be willing to give something back to your country. And this is the best way that I saw to do that.”

Not that the June 23 ship-out date was exactly what he—or his family—would have chosen.

“They didn’t take it too well when I told them that,” Wheeler says of his parents’ reaction. “That’s definitely the worst part of doing it—seeing the people that you care about worried. It is, for them, probably more of an adjustment than it is for me.”

For now, though, Wheeler has two good months of baseball and college left to enjoy.

Not that he’s followed the typical Harvard path in the latter respect, either.

His concentration, Applied Mathematics, awarded just 36 degrees last year—not exactly the stereotypical jock-gov degree.

“I just love...” Wheeler trails off, rethinking his word choice. “I guess I don’t really love math and economics, but I figure it would be a good degree to have once I get out of here.”

“Guys give him a lot of crap for it,” captain Schuyler Mann says, “just because he’s taking a lot of the hard courses that other guys couldn’t do even if they wanted to.”

It also means that Wheeler gets to spend a good deal of time helping his teammates with homework.

“We all contribute our various talents to the team,” Wheeler says diplomatically. “I try to help guys out wherever I can, if I can.”

It was a credo to which Wheeler subscribed faithfully early in his career, as he watched the action from the bench and realized that his mark on the team, if he were to leave it, would have to come via his personality, rather than his presence at the plate or in the infield.

If he wasn’t going to hit home runs, he could at least help in warm-ups. And if he wasn’t going to turn double-plays, he could at least be the social glue of the team, making time to befriend everyone.

“I love Doggie, good buddy of mine,” junior Josh Klimkiewicz says, using Wheeler’s squad-given nickname. “He brings a smile to everyone’s face. He’s a smart guy, but you wouldn’t know that from talking to him.”

Which means what, exactly?

“He doesn’t give off the Applied Math character,” Klimkiewicz continues.

Which means what, exactly?

“Takes care of his work, and he plays hard, too,” Mann says.

Or just listen to Steffan Wilson, the rookie phenom, wax poetic about Wheeler’s sense of humor.

“Doggie?” asks Wilson. “I declared him my honorary older brother.”

Wheeler’s role is somewhat expanded this season, already his most successful to date. Still, though, Wheeler is ready for the Army—ready for the commitment, ready to leave behind Minnetonka and Cambridge, and ready to part with his role as a player.

“I’ve gotten everything I want to get out of baseball,” he says. “I never thought I’d come to Harvard, and part of the reason I’m here is because I can play baseball. I couldn’t ask for anything more out of a game.”

He is completely satisfied with his career, he states firmly. Completely satisfied.

Until conversation turns back to the army.

“Even the army has a baseball team,” he interjects, “and if I’m good enough, I could maybe play with them.”

—Staff writer Rebecca A. Seesel can be reached at seesel@fas.harvard.edu.