With his majestic home runs -- like the stunning shot he delivered in the ninth inning of Game 2 -- Barry Bonds is impossible to ignore, if sometimes difficult to embrace. Teammates and opponents alike stand in awe of Bonds' raw power.

Not so with David Eckstein, who could easily be mistaken for the bat boy. When he winds the bat maniacally in the on-deck circle, it sometimes seems as though Eckstein is going to be knocked to the ground, overtaken by his own boundless energy.

Watch Eckstein for a game or two, as many casual fans are doing in this World Series, and he may inspire you with his plucky determination. Watch him for a few weeks, however, and you realize this is no novlety act.

Eckstein is baseball's Everyman -- if Everyman could be capable of perfect positioning, blessed with unfailing instincts and possessed of an iron will.

Each at-bat is approached like a military campaign, with a plan of attack and a determination to win the battle. It's not unusual for Eckstein to work through eight, nine or 10 pitches, discarding the ones he doesn't want -- but can't afford to take -- and grinding down the opposing pitchers resistance.

In Game 1 Saturday night, needing a ball hit to the right side of the infield to advance a teammate from second, Eckstein expertly fought off an inside pitch and produced the desired result. The at-bat was once awkward and artful, with Eckstein drawing the bat back in order to inside-out a pitch that would have handcuffed others.

Sunday night, in Game 2, Eckstein squared around to lead off the bottom of the second and perfectly executed a bunt, a simple enough task once, but now a lost art in baseball. It was one of three times he reached base; naturally, he came around to score each time.

At shortstop, Eckstein has the uncanny knack of being in the right place at the right time. What may look to others like an uncanny sixth sense is actually a survival skill -- he needs to be perfectly positioned to compensate for his arm.

His throwing motion -- completely overhand and labored -- only reinforces Eckstein's appeal. How can a guy who throws like that be a major league infielder?

And that's the essence of Eckstein. When Bonds blasts a 500-foot homer into the upper reaaches of the right field bleachers, as he did Sunday night, his strength seems almost super-human. He makes the impossible seem possible

When Eckstein perfectly executes a hit-and-run or treats every plate appearance like some endurance test, he makes the routine seem special.

Baseball may never see another talent like Barry Bonds. In the meantime, it could a lot more players like David Eckstein.