“John” would be John Stockton, the longtime and long-retired Jazz point guard, 10-time NBA All-Star and member of the league’s 50th anniversary all-time squad. On almost every Sunday morning, on holidays and birthdays, in snowstorms and through power outages, he can be found in the same place, with the same people, for the same purpose: basketball indoctrination, at the purest level of the sport, done mostly by former Zags.

The building is named The Warehouse Athletic Facility, and it’s a short drive from the campus of the top-ranked team in the men’s polls. Stockton bought the space and renovated it back in 2002, adding five basketball courts, six volleyball ones, an indoor baseball complex and a fitness/dance studio. But none of that defines The Warehouse quite like Sunday Ball, the nickname for Stockton’s invite-only games and perhaps the most exclusive—and important—informal run in college hoops. “There’s always been sort of a Fight Club–feel to it,” says Matt Santangelo (class of 2000 at Gonzaga), an off-and-on participant.

Stories abound and most involve Stockton (class of 1984) in one way or another. Like the time he and Winston Brooks (2003) argued over whether Stockton had been fouled in one meaningless game chock full of meaning. The action stopped, the debate intensified and, at one point, the Hall of Fame point guard yelled, “You guys are going to cheat us out of this game!” The courts fell silent, as teammates awkwardly looked at their sneakers, as if they were children watching an argument between two parents. Brooks admits to kicking the ball high in the air. Stockton? He retrieved the punt, tucked the ball underarm, turned off the lights in the gym—and left!

Most Sundays, says Mike Nilson (’00), are relatively tame in comparison. But once a month or so, the action heats up into a basketball boil. Nilson recalls one Sunday when he took an elbow to the nose, forcing blood to drip down his face. He rose slowly from the ground, red liquid pooling on the floor below. He believed he had a concussion. But while players on the other team asked whether he was O.K., Stockton took the ball and called a foul—on Nilson. Then he started to run down the court again. “He’s not even joking,” Nilson says. “He’s serious.”

There’s a point to all of this, of course, and this particular point travels all the way to the 2020–21 men’s NCAA tournament. It has long been inaccurate to describe Gonzaga’s men’s team as a mid-major, a Cinderella or anything other than an elite basketball force. And yet, the Bulldogs are a rare, if not the only, truly major program (in terms of resources) with the soul of a much smaller team—an ethos, a way of existence that is taught, reinforced and passed down from one generation of Zags to the next. That happens, in part, through Sunday Ball and the network of alumni who live in or return to the city known as Hooptown USA, their group led by the most-intense point guard who never forgot his roots.

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Gonzaga’s current rotation, for instance, features a local forward, Anton Watson, who started playing in these games years ago while starring for the AAU team that Stockton coached. When he showed up at The Warehouse, Stockton made sure to introduce Watson to the veterans, describing Watson as a “great kid who works really hard.” Those same veterans began pulling Watson to the side, offering tips and helping him to become a significant reserve contributor (7.5 points per game, 3.5 rebounds) for an undefeated team this season.

Current players do not play Sunday Ball during the season, to avoid injury in most years and also a global pandemic in this one. Some don’t ever join. But all know and lean on the alumni network, and the seeds for Gonzaga’s rise are sown right there, on those Stockton-bought and Stockton-swept and Stockton-controlled courts. All participants learn the history of the private game. They’ll hear Stockton tell stories about Magic Johnson and Larry Bird and playing against Michael Jordan in the NBA Finals. They’ll hear Zags tell tales of one glorious run after another. And, for those who arrive early enough, they’ll see one of the best players to ever dribble a basketball jogging up and down the courts, wearing those same purple Nikes from his Utah Jazz days, broom in hand, making sure even the floors meet his exacting standards.

“It’s a relational experience for those guys,” says Travis Knight, the team’s performance coach. “It reinforces the tradition.”