Of the 30-some movie scripts that aspiring screenwriter Jon Secrist has peddled around town over the years, none is based on his brief moment as a professional baseball player.
"It's a great story if the guy in the end wins," the Westlake Village resident said, after taking a sip of Coke at a Calabasas restaurant the other day.
"But I don't. I lose."
Eight years ago, it sure looked as if Secrist won something. Maybe Hollywood needs to decide.
Establishing shot:
The St. Paul (Minn.) Saints of the independent Northern League were coming up on the end of the first half of their 1999 schedule with a couple of starting pitchers on the disabled list. They were in a 4-16 tailspin but had a chance to make the first-half playoffs.
For the six previous years, Secrist, a Monroe High of North Hills grad who had been tossing a knuckleball around with some success in various semi-pro leagues around the San Fernando Valley for about 20 years, thought he had proved to the team what he could do during league tryouts at Pepperdine, sometimes striking out various Double-A players.
Secrist had a connection with Saints hitting coach Barry Moss and kept track online of the team each
Cue the inspirational music:
It was nearly at a moment's notice that Secrist got a phone call, hopped on a plane to St. Paul, signed a standard five-page contract calling for $700 a month and, within an hour, was taking the mound against Fargo-Moorhead.
With that, on July 13, 1999, the 44-year old had become the oldest rookie in pro baseball.
On Page C4 of the St. Paul Pioneer Press newspaper that day, the announcement of Secrist's arrival was somewhat inauspicious. The headline read "Saints will try old guy tonight" in a story in which Secrist's first name was not only misspelled (asJohn) but also had him even older (45).
"He was the best guy available for us," manager Marty Scott told the paper. "He could either become a great story or another guy with an opportunity that didn't work out."
Dissolve to Mike Veeck:
For the Saints and maverick owner Veeck, this wasn't such a crazy idea. Three years earlier, Veeck gave 34-year-old Darryl Strawberry a chance after his battles with drug problems on the major-league level. It led to him joining the New York Yankees. A year later, the Saints signed Ila Borders to be the first woman to pitch in a men's pro league. This Saints roster that Secrist joined had former Dodgers outfielder Billy Ashley and ex-big leaguer Matt Nokes, trying to keep their careers alive.
In truth, Secrist's signing wasn't such a publicity stunt. But it was soon clear to him he was joining a team that didn't do things normally.
That night he made his debut, the back of his jersey read "Tomorrow." The Saints were doing a "Who's On First?" promotion, and every starting player had the appropriate name that fit the Abbott and Costello skit.
Start the violin music:
Secrist's dream and baseball's fickle reality collided quickly.
The first two Fargo-Moorhead batters reached on balls that were misplayed by the center fielder, leading to one run. The No. 3 hitter, one-time Dodgers third baseman Mike Bush, then hit a home run. Off a fastball, not a knuckler.
Four innings later, Secrist was charged with seven earned runs, twowalks and a strikeout of the last batter he faced in a 9-3 loss.
"Nothing went right," Secrist remembers.
In the St. Paul paper the next day, Secrist said: "I wanted to head straight for those railroad tracks behind left field, lie down, and wait for the next train to come."
His pro career wasn't over. As he traveled with the team, Secrist soaked up the lifestyle, riding the buses, signing autographs, taking the time to talk to kids.
Seven days later, Secrist got another shot, but hardly one worthwhile. Trying to stop the bleeding of a 14-0 deficit, he was called on in relief to pitch the final 4 2/3 innings of what would be a 16-2 loss to Schaumburg.
"I let the knuckleball fly, but I really had no control of it then," said Secrist, who walked four. Still, he sensed his time was near an end. His name wasn't on the back of his jersey that day.
Scott eventually called him into his office afterward and simply said: "It's over. We've released you."
In Secrist's 10 days as a Saint, the team went 1-6. His final stats: 0-1 record; 9.34 ERA; 8 2/3 innings; 16hits; 10runs; nine earned runs; five walks; two strikeouts; threehomeruns allowed.
Back home, he pitched in just onemore semi-pro league contest, a 7-2 complete-game win, but decided he was so disappointed about the St.Paul experience, he lost all desire to play.
Close up on Secrist, sitting in the restaurant:
"Unfortunately, there's not one day that's gone by that I haven't thought about that (first) game," said Secrist, working these days as a mobile notary public and legal document courier. "Maybe the saddest thing is there's probably not one person who was part of that game who thinks at all about it, except me.
"I know I'd never have made the big leagues even if I struck out all 27batters. But all I really wanted to do was make it to the end of the season. It still bothers me, what might have been."
The postscript:
The pitcher signed to replace Secrist went 0-8 with an ERA worse than 10.00 the rest of that season.
The team issued a set of baseball cards that year; Secrist wasn't in it. And that $700 contract? Secrist said he never saw a check.
A year after that, Secrist tried out for the Billy Crystal movie about Roger Maris' pursuit of Babe Ruth's single-season home-run record, "61*." Secrist won the part of Baltimore Orioles pitcher Hoyt Wilhelm - a knuckleballer who shared the same build.
Crystal told him to shave his mustache and report for duty.
Three days before the shoot, Secrist was informed by a third party that former big-league pitcher Tom Candiotti was instead given the role. Secrist never went on an audition again and let his Screen Actors Guild card expire.
Then, in 2001, high school science teacher Jim Morris parlayed a spot on the Tampa Bay Devil Rays' roster at age 35 into a book called "The Oldest Rookie," which was made into a hit Disney movie, "The Rookie."
Secrist's life story sits in his home computer.
"I see my life as essentially someone who failed at every endeavor he tried, and the baseball story is just one part of it," the 52-year-old said. "I came so close."
What if the Saints called today and asked him to try again?
"I used to tell people I'd throw the knuckleball with the letters facing the batter so he could have something to read while he's striking out," Secrist said, taking another drink of Coke. "Within three months of working out, I know I can throw a professional-quality knuckleball and get batters out. I know that."
So maybe this script isn't finished after all.
