Ron Kantowski describes how a buddy’s purchase influenced his decision to buy a new baseball mitt, and how it didn’t take long to realize he was looking for a glove in all the wrong places

Tuesday, Feb. 21, 2006 | 9:33 a.m.

Pitcher and catchers reported to spring training last week. I'm not sure when middle infielders are expected. But this middle-aged middle infielder will be ready when the time comes.

I'll be ready because I did something last week that I haven't done in nearly 30 years.

I bought a new baseball glove.

Last month I turned 49, and as far as I know, I've never had a midlife crisis. So maybe this is it. Some guys dye their hair and buy a sports car. I bought a baseball glove. My wife is just happy I grew up closer to Wrigley Field than Watkins Glen.

Actually, the real reason I bought a baseball glove for no apparent reason is the same one that most guys my age buy something frivolous. A buddy has one.

A couple of weeks ago, he showed me his new first baseman's mitt as an afterthought and let me try it on for size. I felt like Ernie Banks. It was as if I was 12 years old again. I pounded the pocket and let the new glove smell - you know the one I'm talking about - penetrate my olfactory senses.

I knew then and there I would soon be buying a new baseball glove for no apparent reason.

It just seemed like the natural thing to do. So natural, in fact, that at first I didn't think to ask my buddy, who is 47 and just as "retired" as I am, why he felt the need to buy a new baseball glove.

He said he has a chronic sore elbow and shoulder and his doctor - or at least a guy who stayed at a Holiday Inn Express - said that playing catch was great therapy.

It just so happened that the carpal tunnel syndrome in my throwing - er, right - hand had flared up that very day. At least that's my story. And like Raffy Palmeiro, I'm sticking to it.

I can remember every baseball glove I have ever owned. I was a Wilson man because my dad was a Wilson man although my very first glove was a Rawlings. The "Finest In The Field" it said on the "Ed-U-Cated Heel.'' Even back then, baseball gloves had more slogans than Madison Avenue.

They also had signatures. My first glove was a Tito Francona model. In 15 big-league seasons, Tito Francona compiled a .272 lifetime batting average. But hey, the pitching was a lot tougher then.

My dad must have been a Tito Francona fan. Either that, or the glove with his signature in the pocket was on sale. Because I have never bought a baseball glove without the approval of my old man.

He's gone now, having joined the Big Cub in the Sky in 1993, or I probably would have still felt compelled to seek his blessing. It felt weird trying to buy a glove without him.

So the first thing I did was head down to Target. Well, you've got to start somewhere. All I can say is that $39.95 doesn't buy as much glove as it used to. Plus, the gloves were all strung together on a long silver spike. When I was a kid, they came in big, square boxes and were displayed upright and individually on plastic pedestals. Like they way I envisioned the Brooks Robinson wing at Cooperstown.

Pressing on, I went to several sporting goods stores and found much of the same. While the gloves there were more expensive, they were still strung together on long silver spikes. I couldn't bring myself to buy one of those gloves. It seemed so impersonal.

So what did I finally do? I bought a glove on the Internet. Made by Louisville Slugger. When I was a kid, Louisville Slugger made bats, not gloves.

At least it isn't one of the fishing nets that today's defensively challenged players use when they're not swinging for the fences. It's a middle infielder's glove, the kind that Joe Morgan used with the short, stubby fingers. The kind where you can dig the ball out of the webbing in time to make a quick throw and nip a runner at first base.

I really don't expect I'll need to dig the ball out the webbing to nip a runner at first base any time soon. But for some reason, that still seemed important.

Amazingly, the glove arrived in a UPS truck the very next day. Just as amazingly, it was ready for play. No oiling it up or tying a baseball inside the pocket for two or three days. This glove, even in its pristine state, was ready for a web gem. Or at least a catch.

But I still haven't given it a proper breaking in. The only baseball I could find in the house was signed by Pete Rose, and I didn't want to be a Bud Selig and further smudge his name.

So over the weekend, I picked up a couple of "Official League" baseballs for a buck ninety-nine at the same place where the gloves are strung together on long silver spikes. My wife asked why I bought two baseballs.

Well, I told her, that's in case our next-door neighbor keeps the first one after I toss it through his living room window.

Ron Kantowski can be reached at 259-4088 or at ron@lasvegassun.com.