After sharing Project Zero’s vision, mission, and core values last week, I started trying to sketch out a roadmap for this project.
Honestly, it was a mess. Some ideas seemed reasonable, others were still stuck in vague intuition. Deep down, I still didn’t know what the next step should be.
But I knew I couldn’t keep standing still.
So I sent this rough draft to Coach Matsui—the former assistant coach of Japan’s B3 team Kanazawa Samuraiz who first inspired this crazy idea.
I expected him to give me some advice, maybe point out areas for improvement.
But he only said one thing:
“The most important thing is the hometown.”
Not the business model, not the recruitment plan, not the marketing strategy.
“You must choose a place you love, and a place the locals will fall in love with. Without belonging, nothing will truly begin.”
That one sentence made me rethink everything.
How Do You Survive Without Money? Real Stories from Japanese Teams
Of course, I still worry about practical issues. While people are interested in this project and some say they want to help, ultimately, whether they’re doing marketing, administration, or operations planning, they all deserve to be treated fairly.
So I asked Coach Matsui: “How did Japan’s small teams manage in the beginning? How did they survive without money?”
He answered without hesitation: “Most B3 teams have corporate parent companies supporting them. But many teams, when they started, only paid salaries to foreign players. Everyone else was a volunteer or with minimum salary. Teams in Mie and Shinagawa relied on university student interns to keep operations running in the early days. That’s how everyone made it through.”
Not because there were shortcuts, but because there were no other options.
This sparked my curiosity, and I started researching cases myself.
I discovered something surprising: teams like Kagoshima, Kanazawa, Yamaguchi, and Kagawa in B3 didn’t have massive budgets, perfect systems, or smooth starts. But they all had one thing in common—they first chose a home city, then built deep connections with the local community.
From Volunteer to Manager
One case particularly impressed me.
At Tokyo United Basketball Club (TUBC), there’s a staff member named Kota Kanda. He started as just an event volunteer. No title, no pay, just helping out.
Later, he became an intern. And now, he’s the team’s Partnership Manager.
Not through his resume, but because he believed in this project from the beginning and chose to stay during the most chaotic, uncertain times.
We don’t often hear these stories. But maybe this is how teams are really built—not through resources or formulas, but through belief and the process of growing together.
Where Should Our Home Be?
Could this model work in Malaysia?
We don’t have a home court, players, funding, or full-time staff yet. But we have something perhaps more important: a question worth exploring, momentum that’s taking shape, and some people willing to believe and begin.
Now I want to ask you:
If we really establish this team, which city or community do you think would be most suitable as our home court?
Is it where you grew up? A place you feel is overlooked but full of potential? Or somewhere you’d be willing to cheer for, to support?
More specifically: What conditions do you think an ideal home court should have? If it were your hometown, how do you think the local community would respond to such a project?
We’re not rushing to decide, but I know the answer will gradually emerge.
Because a home court isn’t chosen—it’s built together.
I really don’t know if this model will work in Malaysia.
But I think it’s worth trying.
Just like what “Blackie” Chen Chien-chou said when I interviewed him a few years ago: “Never try, never know.”
Yes, how will we know if we don’t even try?
— Jordan
