One possession game, three minutes to go. Two minutes. A stop needed in the last 40 seconds, or a play call that must produce. Double-digit leads evaporating in five laps of the court, up and back. Once-easy marks evolving into gritty puzzles, with no particular dread of what’s historically been a hellhole or a second thought to even recent history. Nobody seems to care anymore that Gonzaga is, well, Gonzaga.