Everyone has a place that they can call or have called home. For many, this is where you grew up. You played outside with your friends, or in the backyard with siblings or parents.

Others, myself included, have had multiple homes in their lives. I know I've loved every house I've lived in. At some point, though, we are forced to move on and move out. Not many can call one place home for virtually a full lifetime. But so is the case with the University of Kansas basketball program and Allen Fieldhouse.

The bond that fans seem to share with this building, and the respect it garners nationally (from analysts, players, and coaches), are unparalleled. With its rich history and deafening noise, the Fieldhouse has become a must-visit site for any fan of the game.

If basketball is a religion, Allen Fieldhouse is the cathedral, the Sistine Chapel of the sport. But how did it get like that? How did this 344 feet by 254 feet building, made from some 650,000 bricks, rise to historic fame?

It all started on March 1, 1955, when the building was dedicated and the Jayhawks played their first game in it, beating Kansas State 77-66. Over 17,000 people showed up to that first game. (Since then, the fire department has enforced some tighter rules, and now, 16,300 is the maximum capacity.)

From there, the building hosted several NCAA tournament games, and was home to some of the world's greatest players. In all likelihood, what contributed the most to the legacy was simply winning, a lot.

As of February 4, 2016, the Jayhawks are a remarkable 740-109 in 61 years of playing in "Phog" Allen Fieldhouse. That averages to less than two losses a year at home. For 61 years.

That is absolutely insane.

Their winning percentage (87.1 percent) is higher than most of my grades in one semester. Since I was born, which was over 19 years ago, Kansas has lost just 15 times in Lawrence. Those kind of numbers should have anyone believing that this home is the right home.

There's one more thing, too.

The Phog.

The word "fan" is short for fanatic, so it might rightfully come off as a little crazy when people start to talk about the Phog. This term refers to Forrest C. Allen, whom the Fieldhouse is named after. He coached at Kansas for 39 years and is known as "the Father of Basketball Coaching," which sounds like a great reason to name a building after someone.

Anyway, a popular saying around here is "Pay Heed All Who Enter, Beware of The Phog," implying that there is a little more than meets the eye at Allen Fieldhouse. And there is.

Sometimes things happen that don't always make sense. The Jayhawks find a way to win games that some may argue they have no business winning. Almost like they are getting help from someone, or something else.

The Phog.

I'll give the most recent example: against Kentucky, in the final seconds of regulation, Tyler Ulis, who had been having a tremendous game, uncharacteristically turned the ball over with just over two seconds left. This kind of unforced error hadn't happened all night, and Ulis was having his way.

But it happened anyway. Maybe there isn't a mystical power or ghosts from basketball's historic past helping the Jayhawks. Maybe there is. I like to think so, just like how I like to think that this is the best home court in all of basketball. A place where people come together to cheer on something they have a real passion for.

There is no place like our home. Rock Chalk.