Where baseball is concerned in Bakersfield, Calif., Tim Wheeler is pretty much an institution – as much a part of the landscape as the blast-furnace summer heat, the sunsets over centerfield and the ballpark itself.

How he happened to achieve institutional status is a story of happenings. Stuff that may have not have seemed particularly earth-shattering at the time but led to things more consequential.

Stuff happens, after all, and Wheeler knows that as well as anyone.

Now the Pecos League’s administrator and statistician, as well as for the league’s Bakersfield Train Robbers team, Wheeler was fascinated early on by the statistics on the backs of his baseball cards. Then he discovered as a youngster that scorers at the local Little League games received free hot dogs and soft drinks, and he decided that was the job for him.

Several decades later, he’s still doing it.

"I’ve been involved with baseball in some way – as a player, coach, umpire, administrator, scorekeeper – since I was eight years old. Baseball is my heroin, he said with a laugh.

The baseball addiction began as Wheeler grew up in El Segundo, Calif., a beach town that abuts the Los Angeles International Airport, is home to various aviation- and entertainment-related companies, and has been home to the likes of influential rock guitarist Dick Dale, former major-league pitcher Scott McGregor and the four baseball-playing Bretts (George, Ken, John and Bob).

From that point, the pull of the game only grew stronger, even as he launched a career as an accountant. Then one day in 1988, something happened that pulled him northward.

Searching for something to do, he noticed a tiny dot on a map denoting Wheeler Ridge, an unincorporated village about 90 minutes from El Segundo and just a half-hour south of Bakersfield, and decided to go.

“I stayed in Bakersfield, checked out the home prices and other stuff, and something just clicked – It felt right," Wheeler said. “I landed a job and stayed.

So I ended up here purely on a whim," he added, “kind of like the way I got into the official-scoring stuff with the minor-league team."

Ah, now that’s a story in itself, another example of stuff just happening.

Bakersfield had had minor-league baseball virtually every season since 1941. The team was the California League affiliate of the Los Angeles Dodgers from 1984 to 1994, after which the franchise relocated and the Bakersfield Blaze replaced it. Wheeler went to an early-season game, and that’s when serendipity struck.

“I noticed a guy in the press box who had been an umpire for me when I’d worked some leagues near Bakersfield," he said, “and he told me he was the official scorer. I ran into him again after the game, and he was upset. He said people were constantly on him because of his scoring decisions, and it was taking a lot of time after the games to write reports for the league office. I volunteered to do the reports, and he called me later that night and asked if I’d meant that. I said ‘certainly’.

“I got a call the next day from the club general manager about it, and I said I’d be there the next day. I love baseball and have always been a numbers guy, so I was in Hog Heaven."

And it wasn’t long before another happenstance occurred, with Wheeler again in the right place at the right time.

In a game later that season, a first baseman dove for a foul pop-up and missed it. The official scorer called it an error, which caused quite a bit of consternation.

“Everybody said, ‘Are you kidding?!’", Wheeler said. “The guy threw his pencil out of the press box and stormed out. People asked if I could do it, and I said, ‘Sure.’"

Jack Patton was the team’s general manager at the time and remembers the incident well.

“I was having to help the official scorer a lot, and it was really adding to my workload. Then the guy reached a point where he kind of cracked – he couldn’t take the criticism – and left in the middle of a game. I asked Tim to take over, and that’s how the monster began," Patton said with a laugh. “I couldn’t get him to go away."

Wheeler was there for 1,540 games until the franchise moved elsewhere following the 2016 season. He had a streak of 1,439 that ended only when he was diagnosed with cancer in 2016 and underwent surgery. Even then, he only missed three games, and the club gave him a special jersey with his name and the number “1439" on the back.

“I had a portable chemo pack that gave me doses that would last 48 hours," he said. “I came up with the motto ‘Have Chemo. Will Travel’. I had to get back into the press box."

Liz Martin, by then the club’s general manager, said, “It took cancer to knock him out of the press box, but he still just missed a few games. He would have done the games from his bed, if we’d let him. Tim will do this until his dying breath."

Dan Besbris, who for six years served the club in multiple roles, including play-by-play announcer, added, “As soon as he could drag himself up to the press box, he did. He wanted to be a part of it – to be attached to something that had brought him so much joy for so long."

The streak hadn’t occurred to anyone, including Wheeler, until he heard the radio announcer for the Rancho Cucamonga team say the team’s official scorer had just had his streak broken – “That’s when people started talking about mine."

As with any streak of this length, there have been near-misses. He’s worked quite a few games when he didn’t feel well. Once, he was hindered by back spasms. Another time, by a painful abscessed tooth.

“I just didn’t want to be a Wally Pipp," Wheeler said, referring to the New York Yankee first baseman who sat out a game because of a headache, was replaced by Lou Gehrig and never got his job back. “That’s essentially how I’d gotten the job, and I didn’t want to be replaced."

Probably the most serious threat to his streak came in 2006. An injury more than a decade before had left his right leg paralyzed below the knee, and he needed a brace to walk. Eventually, doctors recommended that leg be amputated below the knee.

“This was in August, and they told me they could do the surgery on the 23rd. I thought they meant September, but they actually meant August, and that would have been in the middle of a home stand. So I asked if we could put it off until after Labor Day. I’d said I’d even bring the saw," he said, probably only partly in jest.

“Luckily, they said it would be OK, so I was able to keep my streak alive."

As one would imagine, he saw a lot in those 20+ years. He calls the second season – 1996 – his favorite, though the Blaze finished last in the league with a 39-101 record, lost their last 22 games, and were outscored by an average of 3.5 runs per game.

“The games near the end weren’t even close, and the end of the season was the only thing that kept the record from being worse," Wheeler said wryly.

Managed by former New York Yankee star Graig Nettles, the club was the only one in the California League not affiliated with a major-league team. Eleven different MLB clubs contributed players, and though a few eventually played in the major leagues, the roster was not very talented. The Blaze did win 25 games in the first half, which wasn’t too bad considering the situation, but things totally fell apart in the second half.

The roster kept dwindling because when an MLB club wouldn’t send a replacement after moving a player up. It got to the point that the team was signing local players to fill out the roster. At one time in August, the roster had shrunk to 12, and the team activated its 44-year-old pitching coach.

The general manager made an emergency call to a pitcher named Wayne Edwards, who had three seasons with the Chicago White Sox on his resume and had pitched for Bakersfield the season before. Edwards told the GM that he was working as a process server for a lawyer in the Los Angeles area but would drive over as soon as he finished.

“We stalled the start of the game as long as we could," Wheeler said. “But we finally had to start, so we activated the pitching coach. Wayne got there in the second inning, dressed quickly and went the rest of the way. We lost by something like 14-2."

Another time, a Blaze pitcher was getting rocked – not surprising for a team that finished the season with a 6.77 ERA and 1.89 WHIP. Nettles went out to the mound, put his hand out for the ball, and the pitcher turned and threw the ball over the leftfield fence.

“He was released before Nettles got back to the dugout," Wheeler said. “Nettles wouldn’t even let him on the team bus, so one of the boosters had to give him a ride back to Bakersfield."

Late in the season, there was another incident of a pitcher getting hit hard. As he was coming off the field, a woman suddenly bolted out of the stands toward the gate the players would take to the clubhouse, took off her ring and threw it at him.

“She took off and was never seen again," Wheeler said with a chuckle. “Apparently, he’d been cheating on her."

Through everything – the funny, the odd, the bizarre – Wheeler persevered and enjoyed it all. The press box family was just that, a family.

Patton, who was with the club from 1995 to 2004, said, “I wanted people that were fun to be around and who wanted to come to the ballpark, and Tim was that way. I felt like it was a family, and I know he thought the same. It was often unorthodox, but it was fun."

“The pre-game and in-game banter was great," Wheeler said. “If you didn’t know us, you’d think we were mad at each other. It was one big adult fun house, but were serious about doing good jobs."

Indeed, and Wheeler no less.

Patton said, “Tim is really regimented and old school in some ways, but it serves him well because his job requires so much attention to detail."

Besbris added, “He is funny, meticulous to a compulsion. Tim has his timer set up and gets to the ballpark about the same time each day. I had several roles with the club, so I had some really long days, but Tim is one of those unique personalities that made it a lot of fun. There were very few lines you couldn’t cross in the Bakersfield press box."Wheeler can be superstitious, particularly concerning the long-time practice of not mentioning that a pitcher has a no-hitter going.

“If there was a no-hitter after 4-5 innings, I’d go into the press box and say something about it," Patton said with a laugh. It would drive Tim crazy. He’d see me coming and say ‘lock the door’."

Besbris added with a chuckle, “My assistant broadcaster, Dave Gascon, once sat next to Tim in the last four innings of a no-hitter and tortured him with mentions of it. And it worked – our guy got the no-hitter."

Wheeler’s job requires a person not afraid to make a decision but who will listen to other opinions. A thick skin is imperative, as well, because there will always be people who disagree with calls.

Wheeler learned early on to not discuss calls with players, but he’ll always talk with a manager about a call.

“I don’t have an ego," he said. “I want to get the call right. If a manager comes to me after a game and wants to talk, that’s fine. I’ll ask him to describe what he saw, and if what I saw was different, we’ll talk about it. Sometimes, I’ll see a replay on TV when I get home and realize that I blew the call. Then I’ll change it the next day and tell both managers. If you stay consistent, you’ll be all right."

Wheeler has worked approximately 1,700 minor league games during his stints with the Blaze and the Train Robbers. In addition, he’s one of two statistics people for the Pecos League’s Wasco team and on the stat crew for Bakersfield Junior College football and Cal State-Bakersfield basketball. He also works press-box operations for Cal State-Bakersfield baseball and is an off-ice official for the Bakersfield Condors of the American Hockey League.

Given that level of activity, there have been some contentious situations, but Wheeler says there haven’t been many.

“Very few, really," he said. “One I do remember was on a fly ball to right-center. The right fielder caught the ball but dropped it when the center fielder collided with him. I called it an error. My reasoning was that if both fielders had been running at the time of the collision, it would have been a hit, but the right fielder was camped under it.

“The hitting coach – a former major-leaguer – gave me the go-hang-yourself sign twice. I didn’t appreciate it, and I told the manager afterward that I would only deal with him and the pitching coach going forward."

Martin said, “That upset him. He alerted me to it, but he was very professional about it. And it didn’t intimidate him – he kept making calls."

But it looked for a time as he wouldn’t be making any more after the call was made in 2016 to pull the plug on the Bakersfield franchise. It was an extremely difficult time for Wheeler, who was also dealing with the tragic loss of his son, Johnny, in a traffic accident in July of that year.

“Both of those things together made it a one-two gut punch," he acknowledged. “As for the baseball part of it, I’d worked with a great bunch of people who had made the press box an enjoyable ride season after season. I was never happier than when I was in the press box. It was sad when the Blaze ended – I would miss press-box family and wouldn’t have baseball.

“For the first time in my life, I had no idea what I was going to do as far as baseball was concerned. I felt as if I was being forced into retirement. I had other stat gigs between seasons, but I was dreading the upcoming baseball season with zero prospects."

Then the cavalry arrived, in the form of the Pecos League.

Stuff happens, after all.

After the Blaze season ended, a friend emailed Wheeler about a rumor that an independent league was considering putting a team in Bakersfield. Wheeler then contacted Pecos League Commissioner Andrew Dunn to apprise him of his interest if a team did come to town.

And one did.

“Andrew got back to me and mentioned he already knew who I was and hoped I would come on board with the Train Robbers," Wheeler said. “It took a micro-second for me to accept. I was back in the saddle again."

Dunn, who founded the league in 2010, was ecstatic that Wheeler wanted to be a part of the organization.

“Tim’s name came up quickly when I started looking for people who could help with the team," Dunn said, “and I was really happy when he got in touch. He does a great job for the team and the league."

Wheeler not only keeps statistics for the Train Robbers but keeps an eye on all the league stats, in addition to being an information resource.

“I fix box scores, rosters and whatever else needs it. I look at every box score to match up runs and earned runs. I remember once a team scored several times, and there were no errors or passed balls in the box score. Yet, the runs were charged as unearned. I asked the scorer why, and he said, ‘Oh, the pitcher just needed a break.’"

Analicia Torres, the club’s operations manager, enjoys working with Wheeler and often draws on his experience.“Tim is a baseball nut; he has a real passion for the game," she said, “and that’s great. We’ve always been able to express ourselves to each other – ideas, frustrations, etc. He understands a lot about minor-league baseball and the business side of it. He’s been very supportive of me all along, and he’ll also play devil’s advocate, which has been really helpful."

The press-box atmosphere at Sam Lynn Ballpark is different than when the Blaze were the tenants, primarily because there are fewer people – often just Wheeler and Torres. But Wheeler is happy to be there.

“I'm still having fun," he said “I’m just lucky that I still get to go the ballpark for another season."