(On almost not being cast in Eight Men Out (1988)) I was one of the last ballplayers to be cast. They couldn't find this guy, Chick Gandil, anywhere. They had called up several theaters around town. They got my name a few times. So they called my house after getting my number from some of the theater directors. They wanted me to send in a tape for this role. I think it was one of the smaller roles. But I said, "Where is the production?" It was in Indianapolis, Indiana. I said, "Well, my God, I'm going down there on a family barbecue this weekend. Why don't I just try to swing by and do the reading when I get there?" They said, "Okay, yeah, we'd love that". Of course, I lied through my teeth. I don't know anybody in Indianapolis, Indiana. But at that time, video sucked, and I would do anything to get in to do the audition physically without doing a video. Now, I gotta be there. I didn't have an agent at that time. I just fired all six of my agents here in Chicago. I went around the city, firing all my agents and taking back all my head-shots, because they weren't doing shit for me. It was a turning point in my career. I had decided "I'm not going to do film anymore, or TV. This is bullshit. I'm gonna do theater the rest of my career. I'm just going to do theater. I don't need this bullshit anymore". So, I went around and fired all of these schmucks, and I got back all my head-shots and resumes. And literally two days, three days later, I got this call from this film company. So I basically lied and I got into the audition. I borrowed $40 from my sister, drove down to Indianapolis in my Pontiac with a hole in the floorboard. I had to keep my windows open the whole time. Before I got there, I called the one and only agent that I hadn't been with in Chicago and said, "Look, you're my agent. I got an audition on this film. They're going to call you. I gave them your number and name. They're going to call you. Make the appointment. That's all you gotta do, okay?" "Okay". "Thanks, bye". That's all they did. They made the appointment and called me back and said, "Oh, yeah, you have a reading with John Sayles". I'm like, "Holy shit, great!" And so I went down there the whole time thinking "I'm going to have a reading with John Sayles!" So I get there and I'm talking with the casting lady, and there's no John Sayles to be had. He's not there. I didn't notice at first, and we were talking, and we start arguing about, "Well, where's John Sayles? I mean, I drove all this way to meet the director and read with the director." "Well, you can't do that." She wouldn't tell me he wasn't in town. So we have this whole row about it. We have this big argument about auditioning and "Where's John Sayles?", and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. And so finally she yells. We're yelling in the office, and I'm a little upset because I drove this whole way. It's my last $40 in the world, and it wasn't even mine. I had borrowed it from my sister. Finally, she said, "Well, you have to read with me first no matter what." And then I was just, "Oh, okay. No problem." So as we're going back through the hallway, she gives me the sides, "Here, read these." It's some three lines, some thug or something. As I'm going back through the hallway, there's photos of the ballplayers on the wall. And as we're going back, I'm still a little teed off, because I'm not reading with John Sayles. I borrowed my sister's last $40, and I begged her for that, and I'm like, "Oh, fuck me." Walking through the hallway, I go, "Well, you know what? If I was going to play anyone in this stupid movie, I'd play this fucking guy here." And I smack the photo. And it's Chick Gandil. I smack the photo of Chick Gandil, who is the only ballplayer they couldn't find. Everybody else had been cast. They couldn't find Chick Gandil, and lo and behold, and she stops and looks at me, because when I smacked it, it made a loud noise. She turned around, and she looked at me, and she looked at who I smacked and she said, "Here, read this. Give me that." And she took away the old sides and gave me the Chick Gandil sides. And we went into the room, and I fucking did the audition and blew her away, and the rest is history. She asked me to stay for the weekend, and I said, "Yes, of course." And then I slept in my car until Monday morning to meet John Sayles. She wanted me to read for John Sayles. She invited me out to dinner and wanted to get to know me, make sure I wasn't some crazy person and I was a real actor. And I got to read for John Sayles that Monday, and ended up being his first choice. Then I was saddened, because even though I was his first choice, he couldn't cast me, because his producers in L.A., Sarah Pillsbury and Midge Sanford, it was their character to cast. He had already cast his allotment. They split up casting. This was their choice. The Chick Gandil role was their choice to cast. So he said, "They won't cast him." By this time, I'd already won over John Sayles. I was his choice. I won over the casting director. She loved me by this time, and I was her choice. And he was like, "Has he done anything? They want to see him on film. Has he done anything at all?" She said, "Well, he has done this one thing." I had given her a VHS copy of Henry, and she had seen part of it and locked it away in the drawer thinking, "No, I better not show this to anyone. He won't get the role for sure if I showed this to anybody." So he was like, "Well, what is it? What is it?" She finally gave it to him. "Well, it's this. I don't know if it's what we're looking for." So he went upstairs and saw it, immediately cut out maybe 45 seconds to a minute of the table scene from the movie, when Henry's talking about his mom, sent it off to L.A., they saw it and said, "Cast him." I got the role because of Henry, and because of whatever, the stars. I did everything you should never, ever do to get this role. I fought with the casting director, I was an asshole. I was upset. I mean, I was everything Chick Gandil was. Hence, Eight Men Out.
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