SAN FRANCISCO — First impressions? They're overrated. Take it from Scott Spiezio.

Ask what he thought the first time he saw David Eckstein jog onto a field at Anaheim's spring training complex in Tempe, Ariz., two springs ago and Spiezio, the Anaheim first baseman will honestly tell you: "I didn't think he could play. If you look at his tools, he doesn't have a strong throwing arm. He doesn't have above-average speed.

"He doesn't have power. He doesn't rank up there in any of the tools that scouts use to rate. But what it comes down to is that he's really good without having the natural ability."

Scouts avoid players such as Eckstein, the way politicians avoid tough questions. They could lose their reputations touting 5-foot-8 shortstops. Imagine a scout watching a teenaged Eckstein in Florida and calling his farm director to tell him the guy can't miss.

"When the farm director sees me, the scout probably gets fired," Eckstein said before yesterday's workout.

The problem is Eckstein can't be judged by stopwatches and radar guns. He can't be measured by tape or conventional scouting tools.

Eckstein doesn't come from central casting. He isn't prototypically lean and long, like Alex Rodriguez or Nomar Garciaparra or Derek Jeter. He makes Omar Vizquel look like Mark McGwire.

Eckstein looks like he should be preparing for the all-around at his high-school gymnastics meet. Or he should be riding the favorite in the feature race at Santa Anita.

He doesn't look like a shortstop, until he plays shortstop. He doesn't look like a big-leaguer until they throw the first pitch.

"He's just a ballplayer," said Adam Kennedy, who was moved from short to second to accommodate Eckstein. "He's the perfect leadoff hitter, something that's kind of been lost in the game because of the power surges."

Too small. No tools. Can't play. There's nothing you can tell Eckstein that he hasn't heard before.

"Nobody's actually come up to my face and told me I couldn't play, but you hear it through the grapevine," said Eckstein, who has an eight-game postseason hitting streak. "I've heard that all my life. But I think they could really improve this game if they'd take one look at a person's heart and look at the person's intangibles more than how hard he can throw or just his natural ability.

"But the way it is now, because they're paying these prospects so much money, a scout's not going to put his name on the line if you're not the prototypical person."

Eckstein comes from a family of fighters, a group that doesn't listen to people who tell them what they can't do. His older brother and two sisters have had kidney transplants. They continue to be his inspiration.

"If anybody knows anything about the rest of our family, we don't care what other people think,"' said Eckstein, 27. "We just go about our business and try to do our best every single day. Growing up as a little kid and seeing what my brother and sisters had to go through, I mean, their biggest goal sometimes was just making it through the day.

"My two sisters were on dialysis five times a day just so they could sustain a healthy life. And because of that they never were able to do anything sport-related. Watching them go through all of that gave me a lot of perspective. Besides, in this life, you like to prove that you've earned everything you've accomplished. I feel like I've done that."

Watch David Eckstein in the on-deck circle, pinwheeling the bat, first with his left arm and then in his right arm. He looks like a human toy soldier cranking the key in his back to start himself in motion.

Watch Eckstein pacing back and forth like a nervous football coach, wearing a path in the sod in front of the Angels dugout. Watch him taking practice cuts so hard you'd think he'd throw out his back. Watch him jumping up and down before his next at-bat, a one-man aerobics class.

"First time we saw him in the circle we thought he was going to swing one of his arms off," Kennedy said. "We don't see how his shoulders make it through the season. We try not to look at him anymore. It gets us tired out."

Watch Eckstein play baseball. See the love he has for the game. A love that is so apparent it makes you want to throw on a uniform and play beside him.

He runs everywhere. Runs to first on walks. Runs around the edge of the outfield grass from his shortstop position to the dugout between innings. He runs to every cutoff spot on every base hit and every fly ball. He runs the way no one in baseball has run since Pete Rose.

All of us should show the kind of enthusiasm for our jobs that Eckstein shows.

Eckstein is the Angels' fire starter. He scored three runs in the 11-10 victory Sunday. Singled to the opposite field in the first. Bunted for a base hit in the second. Singled ahead of Tim Salmon's game-winning home run in the eighth.

He also made a diving stop to his left to rob the Giants' Rich Aurilia in the first and backhanded a ball in the hole and hung up Reggie Sanders between second and third to stall a rally in the fourth.

Even though he hit .293 in the regular season and three of his eight home runs were grand slams, Eckstein is more than his numbers. Even though he has hits in 10 of his 11 postseason games, his worth can't be measured in statistics.

David Eckstein is a ballplayer. And the impression he is making this month will last a career.