Call it what you will, this old, ugly barn on Buck Street.

Call it the Mecca, like some do. Call it the Auditorium. That’ll work. People will know exactly what you’re talking about.

Or, you can do what many of us here in Eastern Maine do each February.

You can call it home.

Sounds overblown? Just another sportswriter trying to tweak some of those old Norman Rockwell, ain’t-rural-life-great heartstrings? Maybe not.

Figure this: For a few weeks, many of us eat there. We work there. If they’d let us set up a cot (and give us a key to the concession area so we could whip up a midnight hotdog-and-nacho snack) we’d probably sleep there.

Rumor has it that way out west, next to a murky inland ocean in Utah, the world’s athletes have gathered for the Games. Around these parts, we know that’s not exactly true.

Sure, they’re skiing, and skating, and luging up a storm out there.

But if you can get from Calais to Lee without a road map, and you’re Mainer enough to know that just south of Van Buren, there’s a spot where you have to slow down a mite because you’re likely to spot a moose or two, you probably recognize something else.

The Olympics might be in Salt Lake City. But the Games? They’re gonna be right here in Bangor. Just like they are every year.

Our collective love affair with this high school basketball tournament begins in many ways.

Some learn about it when their kids earn the privilege (and let’s not forget that’s exactly what it is)) to run onto the hardwood floor and hear hundreds of fans erupt in delight.

Others (though probably not many who have read this far) will never understand. They can’t fathom why entire towns make the trip to Bangor, proudly pointing out the signs that eager cheerleaders have tacked on nearly every telephone pole along the trek. … and reading them aloud, just like a past generation read the Burma-shave ads.

And others? Many of us simply grow up with this tourney. We know the history … or a bit of it. For a few weeks, we know the players … and 15 years later, we’re introduced to somebody we know only by name and high school, and we say, “Hey … I remember watching your team play at the Auditorium.”

And they smile. Every time.

First memories? I remember watching Foxcroft Academy battle Orono for a regional crown. It was 1974. I was 9. My dad took me.

I remember watching on TV as Cony’s Gary Towle bounced a ball off the floor and into the hoop. I remember Cindy Blodgett doing what she did … for four straight years. … and shaking my head. I remember seeing the same faces in the crowd, year after year after year.

We do remember the faces, you see. And the tears, and the grins that come with capping a season with an Eastern Maine championship.

And then, shortly after the final PA announcement of the week … it’s always the same, it seems – There will be a reception at (insert school here) tonight at the high school cafeteria. Fans will meet the bus at (insert local landmark) two hours after the game – we all head out into the night, vowing to return.

Not for the Shrine Circus. Not for a concert. Not for a trade show.

Not for anything of the sort. For basketball. For while the Bangor Auditorium hosts many other events, for many of us, it’s simply the region’s home gym.

Overblown? Try this: How many buildings are there that you can think of the exact day you visited it last?

For me … and the Bangor Auditorium … it’s easy.

It was a Saturday. March 17. The day Joe Campbell gathered in Zak Ray’s miss and hit the shot that beat Deering and won the state title for Bangor.

Forty minutes later, I was still there, milling around on the floor with a few hundred others, reluctant to let go of the image … the excitement … the play … and the tournament.

Since then, the elephants have come and gone. I could have headed over to the Auditorium to check out boats, or RV’s, or a concert or two. I could have.

But I didn’t.

For a few weeks every year, this old building doesn’t seem quite so old, dark and replaceable. For a few weeks every year, it’s not an Auditorium at all. It’s just a gym. Our home gym.

And we’ll be there. We’ve got to be there. Because if we’re not? You know what will happen, don’t you?

Maybe another Joe Campbell will make another shot. Or perhaps another Gary Towle will bounce one in off the floor. Another kid nobody outside of his own hometown even knew will step forward and do something special.

And if we’re not there, sitting comfortably, in our own less-than-comfortable home gym?

We’ll miss it. And we’ll regret it. Not just until next year, mind you. Forever.

These moments – the ones you’ll see over the coming weeks – are like that. They’re part of our history, and their retelling is part of our lore. Of course, you already understand all that. Because you’re back. Again.

Welcome home, fans. Enjoy the games. I certainly will.

John Holyoke is a NEWS sportswriter. His e-mail address is jholyoke@bangordailynews.net