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_“This is going to stop right . . . now!”_ The words echoed through the Angels clubhouse late Thursday night, wrapping themselves around a floundering baseball team like a crude life

preserver. _“There’s going to be no finger pointing! I don’t care who you are! It’s over!”_ The words were loud enough to be heard by startled Angels in the shower, stunned Angels in the

lounge, and shocked reporters behind a closed door in the manager’s office. _“We either go down as a team or we win the whole ... thing as a team!”_ The words offered a rare glimpse into the

occasionally rancorous soul of a room that has long churned out baseball’s best chemistry. The words offered an even closer look at the heart of their speaker. “First time I’ve ever been

quoted through a door,” said Darin Erstad. Yeah, it was him. Of course, it was him. When the Angels engaged in an embarrassingly public family feud Thursday night, it was Erstad who shut

them up. It was Erstad who reminded them what it was like to play for a team. It was Erstad who reminded them what it was like to be an Angel. _“We’re going to pull for everybody! No talking

behind anyone’s back!”_ Erstad, shouting like this while batting .238 with no homers and four runs batted in. Erstad, scolding like this while on the disabled list because of an aching

ankle. Only a true leader would dare sell something while dressed like that. Staring down a team brimming with resentment, Erstad tried to sell it as if their season rested on it. “He

doesn’t speak like that very often,” said Adam Kennedy. “But when he does, we listen.” Who knows how closely they listened? Who knows if this undermanned and underachieving team even has the

strength to listen? The outburst certainly did little to stop the immediate bleeding, the Angels falling eight games under .500 with a 16-3 loss to the Dodgers on Friday in the first game

of the Freeway Series at Dodger Stadium. The outburst couldn’t persuade Jeff Weaver to pitch the ball decently, nor the defense to consistently field it, nor many of the Angels to manage

decent at-bats against a pitcher, Aaron Sele, who had a 5.00-plus earned-run average for them during three recent seasons. But the outburst made one thing clear. If the Angels have any

intention of imploding with 120 games left in the season, the walls will have to collapse against the weight of an ornery, snuff-dripping former football player. “I stand by everything I

did,” said Erstad of his speech. “Good or bad.” While the Angels could have used another outburst after Friday’s loss, the one heard by the media occurred after an equally lousy Thursday

game. In the seventh inning with the score tied against the Toronto Blue Jays, and runners on first and second and none out, Kennedy put down a bunt that should have moved lead runner Chone

Figgins to third base. But Figgins did not take a proper lead, and was thrown out at third. Kennedy barked at Figgins in the dugout. Then, later in the clubhouse after the 8-4 loss, another

player shouted at Figgins. Then Figgins shouted back. While conducting the customary post-game interview with Scioscia in his office, reporters heard the yelling coming from the showers. Tim

Mead, Angels vice president of communications, closed Scioscia’s door with the reporters inside. It was then that the reporters clearly heard Erstad screaming for unity. Because such

speeches are usually given immediately after games, when baseball clubhouses are closed to the media, outsiders rarely hear them. Because such anger and passion are usually cooled by the

time reporters are allowed inside, outsiders rarely experience it. Angels players and front-office personnel have long claimed that Erstad is the unofficial guardian of the team’s work ethic

and spirit. But, until Thursday, outsiders had never actually seen it. Not that Erstad was trying to show anyone. Did he know the media were inside Scioscia’s office when he began his rant?

“Hell no!” he said Friday. Erstad said he saw Scioscia’s closed door. “I figured he was just upset,” he said. Erstad said he saw Mead standing in front of the door. “I thought he hadn’t let

the media inside yet,” he said. Erstad said he didn’t know anyone had heard him until his wife read it on the Internet on Friday morning. “I didn’t force it, I don’t force anything,” Erstad

said. “Well, except my swing.” It was Erstad being Erstad, the rock of the 2002 world championship team, a .300 postseason hitter, the guy who has served as Scioscia’s clubhouse conscience

for all of Scioscia’s seven years here. Said Erstad: “I’m just being myself. Whatever that entails.” Said Scioscia: “It’s what Ersty is.” Pretty soon, it will be what Ersty _was_, as the

Angels are expected to allow him to leave when his contract expires after this season, his bat and step having slowed in 11 seasons here. But he will not go easily. Darin Erstad concluded

his Thursday night address with cliches that spoke for a culture that at least one Angel is desperately trying to preserve. _Let’s pull for each other! Let’s go!_ * _Bill Plaschke can be

reached at [email protected]. To read previous columns by Plaschke, go to_ _latimes.com/plaschke._ MORE TO READ