This trip to the World Series begins with a bus ride from Logan Airport to Lowell. A couple dozen virtual strangers, barely past hasty introductions, clamber off the bus and head toward the temporary clubhouse of the minor league Lowell Spinners, whose general manager, Shawn Smith, is seeing his team for the first time.

Smith stops one blond-haired boy who looks a good half-foot shorter than the rest. He figures he must be a friend or relative of one of the players.

''Excuse me, son,'' Smith says, ''is there something I can help you with?''

''No sir,'' the boy replies. ''I'm your second baseman.''

Last Thursday night, David Eckstein, fresh off a Series winning-engagement in Anaheim, a tour of Japan with a team of big league all-stars, and a dinner last week with President Bush, was scheduled to return to Lowell, five years after that first hello. The freak ice storm that hit the South (Eckstein lives in Athens, Ga.) kept Eckstein from serving as guest of honor at the Spinners' charity dinner for Kids in Disability Sports.

But he hooked up by phone for the benefit of the 350 people who showed up despite the snowstorm. And the Spinners, who hated to see him leave the Red Sox organization, went ahead with the announcement that he was the recipient of the first annual Dick Berardino Lowell Spinners Alumni award, named for the longtime (35 years) Sox employee who was Eckstein's first minor league manager.

Berardino, a former Yankee farmhand who grew up in Watertown and has lived in Waltham for the last 36 years, played with Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris in spring training. If you ever find a copy of that 1962 cinematic classic, ''Safe at Home,'' starring William Frawley and the M and M boys, that's Berardino throwing batting practice as they alternate hitting balls out of the park.

Berardino has been involved on some level with every Sox star for almost four decades, from Yaz to Boggs to Mo to Nomar, as well as the hundreds and hundreds of kids who never get a whiff of the majors. His eyes are trained to spot talent. The word on Eckstein, a walk-on at Florida who had been drafted in the 19th round, was that he was an organizational player, meaning no one was projecting him to be on Yawkey Way one day.

''I thought he was like a utility guy,'' Berardino said. ''But then in our third game, against the New Jersey Cardinals, we put him in at second base and he made a couple of plays on balls hit down the right-field line, and I thought, `Wow, how did he get those?'

''All of a sudden, we couldn't get him out of the lineup. He did all the little things, squeeze, hit and run, make all the plays in the field. Rafael Santana, who played shortstop for the Mets, was my coach, and I asked him, `How do you like this Eckstein kid?' `Impressive,' he said. `I didn't know this kid could play.'

''David was one of these kids whose helmet always was too big for him, but he grew on you. After a week in the lineup, the kid was a catalyst, no doubt.''

Players in the lower minor leagues make $850 a month. Take out taxes, money for dormitory housing, the all-you-can-eat lunch the team served daily, and they were clearing about $120 every two weeks, according to Smith. Eckstein sent as much of the money home as he could. Even when he reached Pawtucket, where most players either have their own apartments or stay in a hotel, Eckstein lived with a host family to keep costs down.

Berardino didn't know about this till much later, but Eckstein came from a family in which three older siblings required kidney transplants. His mother, Patricia, donated a kidney to her daughter, Susan, a life-saving gift. Other donors were found for his brother, Kenny, and his sister, Christine. Doctors have not been able to explain why the same family would be afflicted three times in the same way.

Eckstein was spared the loss of an organ, but not the suffering of his siblings.

''David made it clear that his focus was to take care of his family the best he could,'' Smith said. ''He has a very strong faith, he has a great sense of family, and he cares about his teammates.''

One early Sunday morning Berardino came down to the lobby of the team hotel and found Eckstein sitting there.

''I thought maybe he had come down for breakfast, but he told me he was looking for a church,'' Berardino said. ''I thought he was Jewish. I said, `Are you Catholic?' He said, `Yeah.' We went to Mass together that morning, and we did every Sunday.

''That continued over the years, when I was a roving instructor and came to where David was playing. Sometimes, he'd come with my wife, Kathleen, and me. He is still my wife's favorite player.''

Eckstein hit over .300 everywhere he played in the Sox organization - Lowell, Sarasota, Trenton - until he got to Pawtucket.

''Greg Biagini was our hitting coach there, and he changed his hands,'' Berardino said. ''David being David, he didn't fight it, but he didn't want to do it.''

Eckstein had his champions in the Sox organization, including Berardino, Luke Wrenn, the scout who signed him, and former infield instructor Mike Gallego, another little guy who played on championship teams in Oakland. But some of Dan Duquette's top advisers were less enamored, and when a roster spot had to be created for Lou Merloni's return from Japan, Eckstein was placed on waivers while guys like Izzy Alcantara and Ed Sprague were protected.

The Angels quickly claimed him, and when he reported to Triple A Edmonton, they told him to go back to the way he used to hit. Soon, Eckstein was back to hitting .300 again, and startled the Angels by hitting four home runs in his first three weeks there.

The rest of the story, which ended with Eckstein in the middle of a pile of celebrating Angels after beating the Giants in Game 7 of the Series, Sox fans know only too well. An injury to regular shortstop Gary DiSarcina created an opportunity for Eckstein to win a job on the big-league club in 2001 and he responded by being named the Angels' outstanding player in spring training. Berardino, who had Eckstein when his arm was barely adequate to play second, marveled at Eckstein's ability to make the switch to short.

''I'm not sure how he did it,'' Berardino said. ''But his arm got stronger. He still doesn't have a true shortstop's arm, but he makes the plays.

''I've heard Mike Scioscia say that when scouts talk about tools a player is supposed to have, they need to add two things: brains and heart. David has both. I probably missed more signs as a manager than he did as a player.''

Eckstein still lives what many would consider a spartan existence. When in Anaheim, he seldom goes anywhere except the ballpark and his apartment. In the offseason, he lives with his brother, Rick, an assistant coach at Georgia. The morning after his visit to the White House, he was back working out. None of this surprises those who knew him in the beginning.

''When the Angels come to Boston, we have lunch with David,'' Smith said. ''I asked him about what he does on the road, whether he goes to museums or does any sightseeing. He said he needs to get his sleep, eat right, and follow his routine.

''He said, `All I've done is earned the right to be here. Now I want to earn the right to stay. When I've done that, then maybe I'll enjoy life.'

''I promise you, whether David Eckstein goes on to be a Hall of Famer or just has two good solid years and that's the end of it, he's not going to change as a person. He's only going to get better.''