This morning we go in search of the elusive “one.”

In today’s basketball vernacular, the “one” refers to the point guard. A “two” is a shooting or off guard. A “three” is a small forward. A power forward is a “four.” Centers play the “five” spot.

Don’t ask me why numbers have come to define positions that previously took two words to describe (centers were also pivot men), although one explanation might be that today’s coaches are mostly products of the digital age (digital clocks, digital watches, digital VCRs etc.) and are therefore more comfy with numerals.

Anyway, in the land of the digitally defined, the one is king. Of this there can be no doubt.

Why? Because to win, every team needs a one. And good ones are as rare as a smooth road in Maine.

It goes beyond hoops. The vast majority of the population are twos, threes and fours. We punch the clock and do our specified jobs. To us, the game is compartmentalized. Score. Rebound. Defend. Work hard and expect others to do likewise.

Fives are mostly products of unusual genetics – the biggest kid on the block, or the strongest. Although great fives can have elements of a one in them, generally, a five without a one on the same team usually looks like a racehorse without a jockey.

Ones are a different breed. They come in all shapes and sizes. They are at once easily recognized yet hard to define. So much of what makes a player a one is internal.

Talk to coaches about ones and they get misty-eyed, as if talking of unicorns. This is what they say:

A one thinks first and foremost of how to make those around him better.

A one can see the big picture without losing sight of the details. Great ones see the whole floor, all the time.

A one always wants his team to take the best shot available, so a one’s first inclination is to pass. The best ones enjoy making a good pass more than scoring.

Still, a one always recognizes when he must take the shot. A great one can always be a scorer, although not all scorers can be a one.

A one is someone who thrives on handling the ball against pressure.

When the time comes to take the shot to win the game, a one always wants the ball. A one is a killer on the foul line.

The best definition of a one: When a one has the ball, everyone else on the same team feels confident and relaxed. And the opponent is nervous.

Watch the NCAA tournament and the great ones blaze through the TV screen. This is because most of the 64 entrants don’t have great ones.

Bobby Hurley at Duke has been the college game’s best one going on four years.

Drew Barry at Georgia Tech is a freshman one who already radiates the aura of greatness.

Ditto Jason Kidd at California, whose last-second drive and “pretzel shot” gave the Bears a win over LSU Thursday night.

Then there is freshman one Steve Nash of 15th seed Santa Clara, who quietly handled the ball most of the game against No. 2 seed Arizona Thursday in the West Regional, then hit eight of nine free throws in the closing minutes to seal a 64-61 win. Nash has the aura, as well.

Want to pick the Final Four participants? Start by identifying the best ones before you look anywhere else. Great ones can lift a mediocre surrounding cast more easily than a great surrounding cast can make up for a mediocre one.

Can a team have more than one one? Of course.

Look at this week’s Class A state champions, crowned in action at the Bangor Auditorium. South Portland had a fine one in senior Bert Rich. But the Bangor boys had, in essence, two good ones in seniors Mark Reed and John Tennett. Two ones proved better than one. About 25 points better.

There is no better one in schoolgirl basketball than Lawrence’s Cindy Blodgett, even though her scoring might disguise that fact. Blodgett’s true abilities as a one probably won’t be seen until she’s in college, should she choose that route.

Whether ones are born or made, who can say? Ultimately, all that matters is we all find a one for our team.