It’s Not His Fall

From an apartment above a gym in a small town south of Chicago, he watches.

When the Angels fall behind, he fidgets. When the Angels need a big hit, he’s ready.

He has lost his team, lost his cheering section, lost the celebrated persona that once helped him swagger from Letterman to Leno.

But he still has his memories. He lets them dangle in front of his mind like one of those trademark locks of hair, and when the Angels are in a jam, he reaches for them.

Then, for a few blessed moments this fall, he is once again Scott Spiezio.

“I’ve been watching the guys coming to bat in the playoffs, when the team is down, and I put myself in their place,” Spiezio said this week. “I remember how I felt, what I needed to do, how I had to do it. It’s like I’m there again.”

Oh, he’s still there.

October will forever mark the return of the moment that changed the Angels forever, his moment, his swing, his three-run homer that sparked the biggest elimination-saving comeback in World Series history.

Without Scott Spiezio, the Angels probably lose Game 6 of the 2002 Series, giving the championship to the San Francisco Giants.

With Spiezio and his two-strike, seventh-inning moon shot into the second row in right field, the Angels began turning a 5-0 deficit into a 6-5 victory that led, one night later, to a World Series title.

“I was just praying all the way down the first base line, praying that it would go out,” Spiezio said. “Then I saw Reggie Sanders run into the wall and saw the ball drop over his head and I thought, ‘Cool.’ ”

Cool, but cautionary.

From Moe Drabowsky to Darrell Porter to Gene Larkin, World Series history is filled with ordinary men who create extraordinary moments, then disappear beneath them.

Spiezio’s moment is untouchable.

But Spiezio, the man, is unemployed.

Three years after being the most recognizable Angel, he has no team.

The Seattle Mariners released him this summer after he batted .064, and, no, that’s not a misprint.

Struggling with injuries and sent to the bench by high-priced free agents Richie Sexson and Adrian Beltre, he was given only 47 at-bats, managed only three hits, and was sent packing in August.

“A real nightmare,” Spiezio said.

His job isn’t all he has lost.

Spiezio also doesn’t have 30 pounds that he carried when he played with the Angels, saying the injuries and rehabilitation have led to the new look. In today’s climate, this sort of weight drop brings raised eyebrows.

“The only people who would ever accuse me of having been on steroids, they haven’t seen me with my shirt off, I’m even in better shape than before,” Spiezio said. “I was one of the union’s biggest fighters against steroids.”

He’s no longer in a lineup, no longer huge, and no longer even the leader of a rock band.

Remember how his Sandfrog group was famous for about 10 seconds after the World Series? Well, Spiezio’s brother-in-law is a member of the band, and Spiezio recently divorced his wife of 10 years, so it was difficult for him to continue.

“It’s sort of awkward,” he said.

There is one thing Spiezio has gained since his home run. It’s his first tattoo, on his left biceps, an artist’s rendition of his model-fiancee Jennifer Pankratz.

“Some people think I’ve changed,” Spiezio said. “I don’t agree, but it’s hard. Since that home run, lots of things have changed.”

These days, he is not only watching the Angels on TV, but working out and hoping to get a job with them next spring training.

The Mariners owe him about $3 million for next season, so he can play for a minimum salary. He’s still only 33. He still has time. He’ll do anything.

“Now that we’ve made the playoffs, we have to live every minute of it,” the Angels’ Jarrod Washburn said. “Scott Spiezio is an example of how fast it can all end.”

Spiezio was never a great player. But he was the perfect role player for the persistent Angel environment, smart and battling and fun.

Then October 2002 arrived, and he became something different, something more, delivering big hits with seemingly every at-bat, going from journeyman to star in three short weeks.

“Scott was loving and living every minute of it,” Washburn said. “He did all the shows. There wasn’t a party he turned down. He pushed his band. He was everywhere, living it, it was great while he had it.”

He did Leno, Letterman, anything and everything including a concert for Sandfrog, a band that had never produced a CD.

“I told myself, I might not ever get here again, so I’m going to enjoy every second of it,” Spiezio said.

Who knew how right he would be?

Two years later, without a position with the Angels, he signed with the Mariners, where he was miffed at a lack of team chemistry and a lack of at-bats.

Today, he realizes how much heaven he left behind.

“Every time I came back to Anaheim, they have given me a standing ovation, it’s almost made me cry,” he said. “I played those playoffs like I would never get there again. I never thought it would be true.”

Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous Plaschke columns, go to latimes.com/plaschke.