Scottsdale, Ariz. --

Relaxing at home between spring-training assignments, Mike Krukow begins each morning with the essentials: a cup of coffee, the newspaper, Internet access and his baseball glove. As he pounds his fist into the pocket, things become clear in his mind. It could only get better if someone showed up to play catch.

"But, Mike, you're a broadcaster," people say. "You haven't thrown a pitch in 24 years."

They don't understand. The glove is Krukow's friend. It's a weathered and trusty companion, the Mizuno glove he used during his 20-win season in 1986. Take away his car keys, his credit cards, maybe all the shirts from his closet - but do not mess with that glove.

"It knows my hand," Krukow said. "It's like a member of my family. You can spit into that thing, throw it against the wall, and it always comes back for more. It forgives."

Do you remember the first time? Working that brand-new glove until the pocket felt just right? Perhaps you still have it, stashed in a closet somewhere. If a cherished glove ever became part of your life, you have a connection with Krukow and countless big-leaguers who play a little kid's game.

It's the glove that reveals the innocence. Ask a ballplayer about the opposing team, a controversial incident or even his neighborhood, maybe he backs off a little. Mention the glove and you've gone straight to the heart.

'Only for games'

"I've used the same glove for four years now," said the Giants' Hunter Pence, smiling as he pulled a seasoned black Rawlings off his locker's top shelf. "It's only used for games. Batting practice and spring training, no - it's too special. When I grab that glove, I almost feel an extra invincibility in the outfield. Like I've got an advantage."

So how long would you stick with that glove?

"As long as it holds up?" he said. "The rest of the way."

Across town in Phoenix, I asked a number of A's players if they had such a strong attachment to their glove.

"Not like (Pat) Neshek, if that's what you mean," cracked pitcher A.J. Griffin.

"Hasn't he had that glove since, like high school?" said Sean Doolittle.

Almost. Before Neshek even got to the minor leagues, he used a glove produced by an obscure company, Katz, out of Meriden, Conn. - and he still uses it. "Goes back to around 2004," he said. "After my first good year in the minors, Mizuno wanted to sponsor me. I told 'em to just stick their logo patch on there, and they did. But then I had Tommy John surgery in '08, and they dropped me. So much for their logo. Back to Katz."

Neshek said he "can't stand" new gloves, "because I can't really feel the ball. This thing here is really maneuverable. It's me. I know the strings could break at any time. If I took it out to play catch with (Grant) Balfour, it would probably break right now (laughter). But I thought it was about done three years ago, and it's still good."

Doolittle, who wore a first baseman's glove until he became a pitcher in the fall of 2011 (Instructional League), admits to a sentimental touch. "I'm still wearing that first Rawlings glove I got for pitching," he said. "I'm kind of superstitious, and check the ID number: 01. Pretty cool. I don't see any way I would pitch without it."

Giants second baseman Marco Scutaro said he might get a look at five identical-looking gloves, all the same model, "but I'm really picky about it. Maybe only one will feel good to me, and when I find it, I'll keep it as long as I can. Going on three years with the one I've got now. When it gets too sloppy, time to change."

In with the new

It might seem logical that shortstop Brandon Crawford would come back with the same glove he used in Gold Glove-caliber fashion last year, "but it's time for a new one," he said. "I could still use last year's, but it got kind of dried out and hard. Maybe I should have taken better care of it, but I have no problem busting out a new one. I spent a lot of last year breaking this one in, during batting practice."

Middle infielders tend to be extremely protective of their gloves, to the point of outrage if someone dares to try them on. "Once you start jamming your hand in there, you're taking away the shape," said A's third baseman Josh Donaldson. "That's not cool. You might get slapped."

Tim Kurkjian, the ESPN analyst who played a competitive second base in his youth, was covering the Baltimore Orioles in 1980 when he asked Mark Belanger if he could try on his glove. "I would kill you," said Belanger, one of the all-time greats at shortstop, "before I'd let you put my glove on your hand."

Duane Kuiper, a flashy and acrobatic second baseman when he played for the Cleveland Indians, used the same Wilson 2000 glove throughout his 12-year career. "If somebody told me at 2 o'clock I'd have to use a new glove in the game that night, I wouldn't have played," he said. "That glove was like my life. One night around 1977-78, about five minutes before we took the field, somebody on my team hid my glove. I went out there with someone else's, and as the baseball gods would have it, I kicked the first ball hit to me.

"I was so pissed, nobody had the nerve to tell me who did it. But when I got back to the dugout after that inning, the glove was there waiting for me."

Kuiper still has that glove, and, like Krukow, he loves everything it represents. "Stays exactly the same," he said. "My kids, my wife, my car, everything in my life changes - but not the glove. There's a certain amount of love involved there."

The stuff of legends

Stories abound about players and their gloves. Omar Vizquel, perhaps the greatest shortstop the game has seen, had a rough defensive patch one season with the Giants and staged a ritual burning in the clubhouse. Kansas City outfielder Willie Wilson used the same glove for years, and if any leather maintenance was required, he'd wait until the Royals got to Oakland so he could visit a certain shoe-repair man in San Leandro. Brian Bocock, who played briefly for the 2008 Giants, was downright obsessive about his glove.

"Road trips, on the plane, wherever, he never let that thing out of his sight," said coach Tim Flannery. "And the way he hit, maybe that was a good idea (laughter)."

There are a number of ways to break in a new glove. "The way I do it," said A's outfielder Josh Reddick, who uses a new black Wilson every year, "I soak it in a hot tub for a couple hours, let the water really soak in. Then I put a ball in there, tie it off with a couple of sanitary socks so it's right in the pocket, and let it dry itself. Then I just pound the pocket and play catch with it for two or three days. Good to go."

Flannery never got the hang of that. He was known as the Great Glove Shark in his playing days with San Diego, because he never had the patience to break one in. "I'm sort of a guy in the moment," he said in the Giants' clubhouse. "Oh, I tried everything. One time I put a glove in the street and had a truck run over it. But eventually I'd just trade. If somebody had a glove I liked, I'd trade him two brand-new gloves for his gamer."

Most of Flannery's bartering was done for the sake of novelty, and he was no flake. When he was playing shortstop or second base, he used the same Rawlings glove for nine years until it finally broke down. "I still have it," he said. "It's old, beat-up, bunch of holes in it - a lot like its owner."

It's only 90 feet between second base and third, but there's a world of difference when it comes to gloves. Robby Thompson and Joe Morgan used tiny, almost comical-looking gloves only slightly larger than their hands, the better to get a sure-thing arrival in the pocket for turning double plays. Matt Williams, the Giants' esteemed third baseman from 1987 to '96, had a different thought process.

"For me, it was all about changing the ball's direction on a really hard shot," said Williams, now a coach for the Arizona Diamondbacks. "I wasn't worried about catching it, just stopping it, getting it where I needed it to be. So I liked really firm, sturdy gloves. I'd go through maybe three a year. I was constantly breaking in a new one, because I knew my glove wouldn't last more than 50-odd games."

I don't think I ever saw a middle infielder pick up a routine groundball as smoothly, as perfectly every single time, as the A's Mike Gallego. He told me he used the same glove for "10 years, maybe 12. All through the big leagues. You want to hear a little story about that glove?"

Unshakable loyalty

It seems that when the Loma Prieta earthquake rocked Candlestick Park during the 1989 World Series, Gallego and about 15 A's teammates were in the visitors' locker room. "The whole place starts shaking, and someone yells, 'Get the hell out of here! This place might be comin' down!' So it's total chaos. There was only one door and the power went out, so everyone's scrambling toward that little patch of light. People bumping into chairs, crashing into each other, just panicking.

"I got about halfway to that door when I stopped, turned around and headed back to my locker," Gallego recalled. "People were like, 'What the hell are you doing?' But it was just a beeline. I got to my locker, started feeling around in the dark ... got the glove.

"That's when I knew it was OK to run out of there. I figured if that glove was going down in the clubhouse, I was going down with it."

It's a story of loyalty, of an athlete best friends with a piece of leather, a man feeling quite like a kid with his very first glove. A story that captures the essence of the game.