SAN FRANCISCO -- After he is finished with his role as a major playoff contributor for the Anaheim Angels, David Eckstein knows what it will be like when he returns to Sanford, Fla.
''Anybody who knows my family knows that when I go back home I'm going to be low man on the totem pole,'' Eckstein says. ''Nothing changes in the household. I'll have to wake up at 7 o'clock in the morning to take out the trash.''
If there was a postseason award for unpretentiousness by a player in a starting role, the 27-year-old shortstop would be one of the favorites.
Eckstein still lives at home, drives a hand-me down car from his sister (a 1999 Nissan Maxima) and has his $280,000-a-year paycheck deposited in an account that is also in his mother's name.
''She can take out whatever she wants,'' he says.
A fan favorite in Anaheim, Eckstein (Eck-STINE) has emerged in the national spotlight during the playoffs for his high-energy style and enthusiasm.
Angels fans call it the Ecks-Factor. The leadoff man has been the catalyst for the team's high-powered offense, batting .364 in the World Series (news - web sites) (8-for-22) and .312 for the entire postseason. He has hit safely in 12 of Anaheim's 14 postseason games, including a nine-game hitting streak that was broken Wednesday. Before Thursday's Game 5 loss got out of hand, Eckstein helped start three rallies with two singles, a walk and a stolen base.
The Ecks-Factor, off the field, is family and baseball, the centers of his world.
One of five children, Eckstein's parents are school teachers who instilled in him the discipline that has made him successful in baseball. His siblings have given him a lesson in what's important in life.
His brother Kenny and two sisters, Christine and Susan, were diagnosed with kidney ailments when he was in high school and required dialysis for up to two years before receiving transplants. Susan was gravely ill before his mother, Patricia, was able to donate one of her kidneys to save her.
''It puts life in perspective in that you never go out and take a day for granted,'' Eckstein says. ''That's why you'll never see me take a day off.''
It's also a reason baseball doesn't worry about the 5-6, 165-pounder trying to bulk up illegally. ''My brother and sisters have to take steroids as anti-rejection medicine for their kidneys. I've seen the stuff they have to battle, so I would never consider taking that.''
Eckstein is a classic overachiever, a player who has been surprising coaches and teammates for 10 years. He was a walk-on at the University of Florida, getting noticed by hanging around the batting cage for six weeks before practice and tryouts began.
He was signed by the Boston Red Sox (news) for a $1,000 bonus after being picked in the 19th round of the 1997. After being released by Boston in 2000, he was picked up on waivers by the Angels.
He stepped in at second base last year when Adam Kennedy was injured and played well enough to warrant a shot at short when the regular returned. He won the position and this year hit .293, tying an Angels record for highest average by a shortstop.
''I don't have the best talent in the world. If I'm not disciplined, I don't make it here,'' Eckstein says. ''I'm very focused. . . . In college, the focus was on school work and playing well; that was something my father instilled in me.
''My life is baseball. It's one of the things you have to sacrifice if you want to make it,'' he adds. That doesn't just mean no bright lights -- he says he doesn't even have a girlfriend.
''I've had girlfriends, but they definitely had to know baseball came first. That's the way I handled it,'' he says
How did they handle it? ''They're not with me now,'' he says with a laugh.
Eckstein presented a perfect portrait of himself as a ballplayer when he walked in the clubhouse last Friday. The right side of his uniform pants was caked with dirt. After batting practice on an off-day.
''I was trying to get game-like situations,'' he says, likely frustrated by the week-long layoff.
The Anaheim leadoff hitter is a man in perpetual motion in the on-deck circle, twirling the bat over his head, swinging it back and forth, constantly moving. On the road, the catcalls from visiting fans are part of the ritual.
''They're all just like, 'Calm down,' or 'Stop!' '' he says. ''That's the only way I know to get ready to hit. I want to get my heart rate up and be focused to hit.''
Once he gets in the batter's box, he resorts to another form of aggravation -- being a pest.
''I do whatever it takes to get on base or try to make the pitcher throw as many pitches as possible,'' he says. ''The goal is to make the pitcher work if I don't get a hit. I like to see at least six pitches every time I'm at the plate.''
His approach at the plate, it seems, is an all-purpose description.
''I like being in constant motion.''
