His first glove, the one he got when he was maybe 4 or 5?
‘‘I had one of those Mizuno, the ‘power flexes,’ I think they were called,’’ shortstop Dansby Swanson said the other day in the Cubs’ clubhouse. ‘‘Basically, it was like they had this little slot that your thumb can go in that kind of just helps you close the glove better because you’re not that strong.’’
If he still has it, Swanson said, it’s probably tucked away somewhere in his parents’ basement in Georgia, where he was raised.
His glove, he said, is something he always has viewed as worthy of his TLC. Something to be treasured. Not to be left out in the rain, like many remorseful Little Leaguers have been known to do.
‘‘My glove is and always has been something I took care of,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve always taken care of my glove from a young age. I never threw my glove. You know how some kids just chuck it? I never threw my glove. I always set my glove down.’’
It was true then, and in the big leagues, no diva is pampered more than the Wilson A2K 1787 model that is Swanson’s glove of choice. The glove, measured from the bottom of the heel to the tip of the index finger, is 11¾ inches. Dark-brown-dyed cowhide leather, infused with touches of red and blue to reflect the Cubs’ colors. Inscribed on the thumb of the glove is ‘‘All Dai,’’ a tribute to an old high school and college friend, Dai-Jon Parker, who died in a tubing accident.
The glove occupies its own shelf in Swanson’s locker. When he travels, it has its own special carrying case.
Before the Cubs boarded their flight to Texas after their game Thursday against the Reds, Swanson massaged his glove with mink oil.
‘‘I do it now just to coat the leather and protect the leather and moisturize the leather,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve done that since I was little.’’
He gives the glove that treatment about once a week but always before a road trip.
‘‘Because leather can dry out on a flight,’’ he said.
Swanson might not know the whereabouts of his first glove, but the A2K 1787 never will require one of those AirTags people attach to their car keys to locate them. Swanson knows where his glove is. In the dugout, he always leaves it on the third step. If it’s not there, he knows someone has moved it without asking.
Other people are allowed to touch his glove, sure.
‘‘But no one puts his hand inside my glove,’’ he said.
Does everyone on the team know that?
‘‘It’s kind of an unwritten rule,’’ he said. ‘‘I don’t put my hand in — I don’t use it until the regular-season games. I don’t use it in spring training. I keep it in its little case, safe.’’
When the season is over, other equipment is packed up and kept in the clubhouse. Swanson takes his glove home with him.
Scott Paulson, a Wilson rep from Chicago, has supplied Swanson with his glove ever since Swanson played a dozen years ago at Vanderbilt, a Wilson client. Back at Vandy, Swanson took to naming his gloves. One he called ‘‘Charlotte.’’
Every spring, Paulson supplies Swanson with two or three new gloves. Every year since the pandemic year, 2020, Swanson chooses the same glove to be his game glove. Seven seasons of shelf life is a long time for a baseball glove.
Swanson is giving no thought to replacing it any time soon.
‘‘I hope it lasts the rest of my career,’’’ he said.
What makes this glove so different from the rest?
‘‘I’m, like, a very feel-oriented person,’’ he said, ‘‘and no other glove broken in has been able to feel like this one.
‘‘At this point, it just feels like an extension of my hand, and I don’t do anything special to break in gloves; I never have. The neat thing to me about gloves is, like, leather is always different, right? It can come from the same cow and still be different, how it gets stretched and laced and even the dye. Who knows how the dye impacts the leather?’’
You know how some NBA players can just look at a rim and see it hasn’t been set at precisely 10 feet? That’s how Swanson is with gloves. Not everyone’s glove. His glove. He can feel the difference in the leather. He also can tell, by an eighth of an inch, whether the glove is 11¾ inches. He actually prefers if it shrinks it 11⅝.
‘‘I feel bad at times because Wilson has always done everything I’ve asked,’’ Swanson said. ‘‘They’re amazing; they’ve treated me like family. They’re the best. But I feel bad because they can hand me a glove and I can, like, touch it and know if it’s good or not, really.’’
It’s all in the leather, he said.
‘‘There’s a softness in leather,’’ he said, ‘‘but there’s also a firmness and stiffness in leather. I tend to like the stiffness in leather more. If I feel I can bend it around the first time I put my hand in it, it’s too soft.
‘‘[Cubs second baseman] Nico [Hoerner] likes his glove super-stiff all the time. But mine is, like, formed so perfectly, it just closes the exact same way every time. It’s, like, stiff around the edges, but everything else is, like, supple and soft.’’
Swanson has won two Gold Gloves playing short, the first for the Braves in 2022, the second in his first season for the Cubs in 2023. Shortstop traditionally has been defined as a glove-first, bat-second position, although that started to change with the arrival of Cal Ripken Jr. and successors such as Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter and Nomar Garciaparra.
When he was a kid, Swanson wore out an old VHS tape called ‘‘Superstar Shortstops,’’ a montage of great fielding plays by shortstops from the time of Luis Aparicio. That film isn’t a distant memory. When the Cubs were rained out last month in Cleveland, he clicked on
‘‘Superstar Shortstops’’ and watched it on YouTube.
‘‘I’ve watched it all the time,’’ he said. ‘‘That’s why I really fell in love with the position of playing shortstop. Nomar was my favorite. Just something about his game.
‘‘But Derek and I have a little bit of a relationship. We have the same agent. We’ve had conversations. I have an appreciation for being great at what you do.’’
Whatever greatness Swanson has experienced in his career, he knows the A2K 1787 has been a part of it. He hasn’t given it a name yet, he said, but he has one picked out if he does.
Old Reliable.