So I'm heading down Vine, turning left on Shattuck, aiming for the cafe and two women are crossing north-to-south in front of me and one of them is saying "...but the other point guard was John Stockton."  They are  both cute, early twenties; one is carrying what looks enough like a law school text to trigger my mild PTSD; and their conversation continues in praise of his wonders.

"Excuse me," I say, "but it's surprising to hear John Stockton discussed so early in the morning."

"You can never say too much about John Stockton," one says -- and they keep going.

"But who was the first point guard?" I call.

"My uncle," the other sings over her shoulder.

Ahhh, Gonzaga, I think.