For much of the year, the Bangor Auditorium is just a big, funny-shaped building. Sure, they’ll put on a concert or two, and let a few elephants in through the back door to wow the crowd when the Shrine Circus conducts its annual invasion of the Queen City.

But no matter which boat or camper show is drawing the crowds, for about 48 weeks a year, the old barn is pretty much just that: an old barn. Just ask the elephants.

And then, there’s tournament time. For 30 magical days and nights, the old barn wakes up.

For four weeks, give or take, this old house turns into our old house.

You know what I’m getting at. It’s the place where you see enough of the same-old to make you feel nostalgic – and enough of the new to make you sit on the edge of your seat.

But mostly, it’s home.

It’s comfortable. Just like that proverbial pair of slippers. Heck, the place even smells kind of like old slippers sometimes.

There are constants, here. You’ll see.

Jonesport-Beals fans will show up en masse to support their boys and girls teams (tough guess, huh?).

Oh, but there’s more.

I see a sign. A big, bright, painted sign that stretches from endline to endline, atop the top row of bleachers.

“Welcome to the Ordietorium,” the sign will say. And there “Welcome to the Ordietorium,” the sign will say. And there, on the sideline, will be the institution himself – the Royals boys coach for the past 31 years. He’s Ordman on his birth certificate and Mr. Alley to his players, but Ordie to everyone else. And he has won nine state championships. And you know what? He’ll be comfortable.

And there, every single night, will be Harold Hoar. I think he’ll be wearing a suit and tie, and will be schmoozing with the officials like he’s the state’s chief evaluator of zebras.

Harold is mildly retarded and severely hoop-conscious. He’ll shake hands and work the crowd like a pol, and everyone will welcome him like they’ve known him all their lives. Some have. And Harold will be comfortable.

Then, when Calais comes to town, so will Joyce Frost. She, too, is a tourney fan. This is her yearly vacation.

She loves her Blue Devils – especially, she admitted last year, hustling guard Bif Churchill. She’ll stay in a hotel for a week and watch the Blue-and-White take on all comers, chasing another regional title, and she’ll be comfortable.

At some point, it will rain. It always does. And at some point, some weak spot in the odd, winged roof will leak. And if we’re lucky, it will force a barn full of people to wait, and wait, and wait … for a classic that lasts five overtimes before an Eastern Maine champ emerges.

That happened back in 1986. Dexter and Rockland. OK, so maybe after that much sitting, we won’t be so comfortable.

Someone will make a last-second shot. Or someone will miss one.

The Jonesport-Beals boys will run and gun and the Calais girls will press.

People will laugh, and dance, and cry.

And the Mount Desert Island band will play.

Bands always play. And MDI always plays one song that is 100 percent, true tourney.

They’ll play their version of “Jesus Christ Superstar” so loud it would make your ears hurt – if it weren’t so, so, good.

They’ll rock. Both sides of the barn will rock with them, school affiliation forgotten for three minutes.

And we’ll all be comfortable.

John Holyoke is a NEWS sportswriter.