DETROIT — This used to be their playground.

Magic Johnson and Isiah Thomas. George Gervin and Chris Webber and and Dave Bing, the NBA Hall of Famer now running for mayor. On and on, the names of famous players roll — men who brought their game to this small red brick gym, and made it the epicenter of basketball in Detroit.

Some came to St. Cecilia Gym as high schoolers dreaming of the future. Magic Johnson, for instance. Some as collegians, honing their games for a national title run. Michigan's Fab Five all played here. Some came as pros, because this was the place to be, if a man wanted to go against the best.

In the heyday of the 1980s and '90s, there were July nights that the Ceciliaville summer league might have had the best collection of basketball talent in the world.

In Detroit, St. Cecilia came to mean to the game what the Motown studios meant to music.

--

As Detroit is granted center stage this weekend, shouldn't St. Cecilia at least take a bow? You will find it a 15-minute drive from majestic Ford Field and the Final Four. Do not expect much glitter in the neighborhood surrounding the gym and church. Across the alley is Jay's Muffler Service. Next door is a deserted building, with boarded doors and windows that long ago lost their glass to rocks.

The basketball floor itself is aging, donated 40 years ago by the Pistons. The court has a wall on one side and posts on the other, so chasing loose balls is a test of manhood. The scoreboard carries a huge sign, informing it was donated by Jalen Rose. A picture of league founder Sam Washington.

Stand on the court, and the walls seem to be closing in. It must have felt like trying to dribble through a closet, when the long arms of future Hall of Famers spread sideline to sideline on a press.

Kids and high schoolers still keep the summer league busy, which is important. But the big names do not play quite as much any more. What St. Cecilia Gym has is memories, and a legacy. To many, the sign that hangs over the front door will never die:

"Sports capital of Detroit.''

Our three tour guides are Father Theodore Parker, pastor of St. Cecilia, Ceciliaville board president Mark Jones and the league director Mike Smith.

They mention how Washington had his idea after Detroit's deadly riots in the 1960s, and from the debris of the fires, a basketball league arose. The church sought to appeal across racial and political boundaries. On one side of the street, basketball games in a gym built in the 1920s. On the other, Black Panthers meeting in the church basement.

By the 1970s, anyone who knew Detroit basketball knew St. Cecilia's.

"It's a badge of honor to say you play here,'' Jones said. "If you played basketball, did you play at St. Cecilia? If you said no, you weren't a real player.''

"They'd come from all over the city,'' Smith said of the crowds who poured in to watch. "Doctor, lawyers, judges, all kinds of people.''

They came not just to see well-known stars, but local legends on their way to nowhere. Curtis Jones, for instance.

"The first Magic Johnson,'' Smith said.

Rumor had it, the men say, that Jones could throw a bounce pass to the other end of the court, run down the floor and be waiting for the ball. He tried junior college but could not read, and fought drugs, dying at 50.

A better road has awaited many who play here. Part of the charm of the place is that nothing comes easy. Not even comfort. Don't even think about air conditioning

"A sweat box,'' Jones called it. "It might be 120 degrees.''

"But nobody minds,'' Father Parker said. "We had a discussion about that a couple of years ago, and it was 'No, no. no. It has to be the way it is, the way it's always been.' ''

There is uneasiness about the financial future. Who doesn't have that now? Some pros assist, but not many. The Pistons help, as does an annual golf tournament. But nothing is certain. Not any more.

"Everyone knows us,'' Father Parker said. "People are convinced all those pro players are helping us, and they don't.''

The men are hoping to get money to replace the court on the 40th anniversary of the league, hoping to always keep the games going, even if the rosters are not quite as dazzling as before.

What would it mean to lose St. Cecilia basketball as this city knows it?

"We're losing so much of Detroit as we go,'' Jones said. "They talk about losing our jewels, this is a silent jewel.

"Ford Field will never have the aura this place has.''