After Naval stint 'much bigger than me,' Mitch Harris takes on major leagues

NEW YORK - The fan, sitting above the visiting bullpen at Progressive Field in Cleveland, was relentless, taunting the rookie St. Louis Cardinals reliever.

He mocked Mitch Harris. Teased him. Booed him.

Then, there was silence.

The fan stared into his phone for several minutes, didn't say a word, and then spoke again, this time almost in reverence, as Cardinals reliever Randy Choate tells the story.

"Hey Harris,'' the fan said. "Uh, I just Googled you. Thank you for your service. I'm sorry for getting on you so much.''

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Several minutes later, another fan started yelling at Harris, Choate says, only to be stopped by the googling fan.

"He said, 'No man, stop it,'' Choate said. "'He served. He's good. He's cool. He's cool.'

"It was absolutely hilarious.''

Says Harris: "It's the first time anyone has ever apologized to me for booing me.''

This is what happens when folks find out that Harris happens to be Lt. Mitchell Harris, who graduated from the United States Naval Academy, and served five years for his country. He is the first Naval Academy graduate to play in the big leagues since Nemo Gaines in 1921.

When Harris was introduced at a recent charity dinner for autism two weeks ago in St. Louis, he was the only player greeted with a standing ovation.

When the national anthem is played before games, and the color guard is still on the field, no one returns to the dugout until they get their cue from Harris.

Harris may be a 29-year-old rookie, but he is rarely teased or subjected to the usual rookie pranks, although Cardinals closer Trevor Rosenthal keeps asking him to stop "killing the spread,'' and leaving some food for the rest of the team after games.

"I do love to eat,'' says Harris, 6-4, 240 pounds. "We didn't have food like this in the Navy. So I'm taking advantage of it.''

When you're serving two tours as a weapons officer in the Persian Gulf aboard the USS Ponce, and another on the USS Carr that once halted a cocaine-smuggling operation off the coast of Colombia, there's no waiter asking how you like your filet mignon prepared.

It's the life of a military man, and for nine years of his life, Harris was being groomed to be a Naval officer.

Yet, at the same time, there was a vision that remained, a quest to achieve the unfathomable, to actually be a major league pitcher.

"I always had a dream of being a professional athlete,'' Harris told USA TODAY Sports, "and obviously there were days you were discouraged. When you're out to sea, you get all of the time in the world to just sit and think. There were days you tell yourself it may not happen. Those are the tough days.

"I knew it was such a long shot, but if I ever let myself say, 'I don't think I'll ever be able to do this, what's the point in trying?' I kept telling myself it was going to happen.

"I just figured I'd have to be a good officer first.''

Harris barely got noticed pitching in high school at Belmont, N.C., with only a few Division III and junior college teams showing interest. He weighed just 175 pounds, and got perhaps more accolades for playing the trombone in the marching band than his baseball skills. It wasn't until Buddy Green, the defensive football coordinator at the Naval Academy, happened to see Harris throwing a bullpen session one day. Green found out that Harris wasn't interested in football, but wanted to play collegiate baseball. He asked him if he ever thought about the Naval Academy.

Harris, who had two grandfathers who served in World War II, visited Annapolis two weeks later. He fell in love with the place, was told he could pitch for the Naval Academy team, and the next thing he knew, was signing up.

"It wasn't like I was wanting to go there, or something I was dreaming of,'' Harris said, "but once I got there and understood what it was all about, it meant a lot to me. I loved every minute of it.''

What Harris never figured on was blossoming the way he did as a pitcher. He started throwing the ball 92-94 mph, mixing in a cutter, slider and splitter, set a school record with 113 strikeouts in 82 2/3 innings his sophomore year. He then had to make a choice to commit to the Navy for seven more years, including five years as a commissioned officer, or leave to pursue a baseball career.

"This was something I committed to,'' Harris said, "and it something that was much bigger than me.''

Harris stayed, and kept pitching. More and more scouts started noticing. First, it was an area scout with the New York Yankees. Then, another from the Baltimore Orioles. By his senior year, there were 15 to 20 scouts at his games, filing reports that declared Harris as one of the top collegiate pitchers.

"Mitchell was so excited,'' said his mother, Cindy, who works for a CPA firm. "When he graduated from the Academy, there was that sense of accomplishment. But baseball, that was always his dream since he was 4 years old.''

The trouble, of course, was that five-year commitment he faced. He passed on the chance to leave the Academy after his sophomore season, refusing to risk a career for a baseball fantasy, but believed that perhaps the Navy would permit him to at least shorten his commitment.

The Cardinals believed it would happen for Harris, too, and drafted him in the 13th round after his senior year in 2008. Besides, they had a little inside information. John Abbamondi, their assistant GM, was a former Navy man himself. Abbamondi served nine years as a Navy flight officer, with 40 combat missions over Iraq. He badly wanted Harris, and was willing to write letters on Harris' behalf, seeking an early release.

"That was one of the reasons we took him,'' Cardinals GM John Mozeliak said, "because we thought we had one of the inside tracks to help. He was a big advocate of trying to get him to play baseball, but still understand he has to serve.''

The Navy understood Harris' talent, and knew he could be used as a wonderful recruiting tool, but with the country at war, they couldn't let him go.

"We were in position to help him navigate through the appeal process,'' Abbamondi said, "under the theory that he was a special athlete, and the publicity and the PR impact of that was in the military's interest as well. There was a lot of bureaucratic stuff to go through, but with the nation at war, those requests were denied.

"He respected that, and never once complained. He never had any thoughts about not serving his country or doing what was required.''

Harris, who bought a used 2002 Chevy Silverado after graduating and stashed the rest of his military pay in a savings account, spent the five years without putting on a baseball uniform. He was stationed in Norfolk, Va., and baseball was relegated to being a hobby. Still, knowing how badly his son still wanted to be a pitcher, Cy Harris, a pastor at the North Cleveland Church of God in Tennessee, sent baseballs to him while at sea. Playing catch on the ship deck once a week with one of your cooks hardly is conducive to building arm strength, but it at least kept him active.

"He told me, 'Dad, he was the only one who could catch me,'' Cy Harris said. "I was afraid of hurting the other guys. So I kept sending him baseballs, knowing that if one gets away from you on the deck, it's in the water.'

Meanwhile, Abbamondi, now a vice president of marketing and business operations in the NBA, kept sending letters of encouragement. The Cardinals would be patient, he told him. When Harris got out of the Navy, they would be waiting.

"As you can imagine,'' Mozeliak said, "a lot of people at that time were talking about service men and women who were struggling to find jobs as they returned. I'm not saying he would have struggled to find a job, but I wanted to make sure he had an opportunity.''

Harris got out of the Navy in January 2013 after four years and eight months, with the Navy granting him permission to serve the final four months in the reserves. He immediately called the Cardinals.

"I told them I'm available,'' Harris said, "and I still want to do this. If there's a spot, I would be very happy if I could come and play.''

The Cardinals, honoring their promise, assigned to their short-season Class A team in State College [Pa.] of the New York-Penn League, where some of his teammates were 10 years younger. His arm strength was sapped by the layoff. His 94 mph fastball was being clocked at 82 mph. Mozeliak preached to his minor-league staff to stay patient.

Slowly, the arm strength came back, and last year he soared through three minor league levels, pitched in the Arizona Fall League, and was invited to their major-league spring training camp. He opened the season at Class AAA Memphis, recording two saves and a 2.45 ERA, and two weeks later, got the call he has been awaiting his entire life:

Report to Washington, D.C. You're joining the Cardinals. You made the big leagues.

Harris telephoned his parents, Cy and Cindy, and heard them cry. Then, his fiancée in Atlanta. By the time he arrived in Washington, he had 152 text messages and more than 200 on his Facebook account. He was greeted at the game by officers and friends from the Navy, Tim Crone, his commanding officer from the U.S.S. Ponce, and yes, Abbamondi, invited by Mozeliak.

"For all we do in terms of recognizing returning veterans,'' Commissioner Rob Manfred said, "it's such a remarkable story for him to come back and play.''

The Cardinals players have been trying to treat him like any other rookie, with jokes and pranks, but now they've almost given up. Come on, Lance Lynn says, how can you tease a guy who just served your country for five years?

Harris, who wants to be treated by his teammates no differently than if he were a pimple-faced rookie out of high school, has no idea where his career will take him. The way he figures it, he's got the freshest arm in baseball, and with his late start to the show, maybe he'll be last to leave.

"What I went through, going to the Academy and the Navy,'' Harris said, "it kind of imprinted who I am. I loved where I've been, the things I've done, and wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm proud of what I've done, but I want everyone who served to be recognized, too. When I see those guys, whether in an airport or somewhere else, I'll go out of my way to say hello, just to say, 'Hey, I've been there with you. Thank you for what you're doing.'

"They should never be taken for granted.''

Neither should Lt. Mitchell Andrew Harris.