8 People You Meet at Every Tournament

Christian Homeschool Speech and Debate Kids are...interesting people. We spend our time researching obscure policies, talking to walls, and celebrating making people cry. Within our group, there are certain people you will surely encounter. After spending my middle school and high school years at countless tournaments, I've noticed that there are eight people you meet at every tournament.

1. The Prepared

These competitors come to the tournament with not one, not two, but three debate boxes. How they fit those in the back of their van the world may never know. Going into rounds, they pull out three six inch binders. And that's just for affirmative rounds. They wrote their speeches in August and memorized them the first week in September. Chances are, if you need a brief for your round, they will be able to provide.

2. The Unprepared

The exact opposite of the Prepared, the Unprepared wrote their speech the week before the tournament and memorized it yesterday. They are the LDers who write entire neg cases during the AC, the interpers who cut lines on the way to script submission, the expos-ers who tape things to their board outside of their rounds. Occasionally Always stressed.

3. The Napper

They stayed up late the night before the tournament because they forgot about script submission. Now, in the ten minutes between rounds. this competitor is asleep on the couch in the lobby. Don't worry; they will wake upon the postings stampede and attend their round on time*.

*Punctuality is not guaranteed with the purchase of a "the Napper."

4. The Casual

This person is not competing at the tournament. Most likely, they showed up a couple of hours after everyone else, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, making all the formally dressed teenagers super jealous. This is not to be confused with someone who didn't break and is now wearing the sweats of depression. This is a person who did not ever participate in the tournament, except to make everyone aware of how uncomfortable dress shoes are. Often overlaps with the Alumni, but not always.

5. The Breaker

Also known as the Medalist or the Winner, the Breaker is that one person who breaks in every event they compete in. Most people don't compete in as many events in prelims as this student competes in in finals. In many cases, this person is also the Humble, who never acts like breaking in literally everything (including that event you had no idea they were doing) is a big deal and is always looking shocked during the awards ceremony.

6. The Snacker

Goldfish, Pringles, those organic maple leaf things from Trader Joe's, this kid brought everything. If you're lucky, this person will share their treasures with you. This person knows how to make friends. The key to the heart of debaters is snack food. In that time between meals, hunger strikes. The snack kid strikes back.

7. The Alumni

They show up, Starbucks and ballot in hand. Since their last NITOC, they have grown an attempt at a beard. They wear converse and flannel and joggers. Everyone is overjoyed to see them. The ballots they return have handwriting just legible enough to read the many, many comments they've written. They stroll around the student area with plates loaded with judges' food. Not because they're hungry, but just to show off the fact that they can now eat judges' food*.

*Also, they're hungry. College students are always hungry for free food.

8. The Humble

Typically a fifth or sixth year competitor (though there are exceptions), the Humble is the person everyone says they want to be when giving the devotional at club, but few people actually are. They don't care what club someone is from, how well they do in competition, how old they are, how fashionable others' suits are--they just care about you. They are friends with anyone and everyone, and are always helping break down the tournament once everything's said and done. They may do well in competition, they may not. But everyone knows their name, not because it's been announced 12 times during the awards ceremony, but because this person made an effort to be loving and friendly with as many people as possible.

Vote affirmative, so I can be the Breaker.

Speech & Debate Crushes - The Fifth Year Letters

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. So does being around someone for 3-4 straight days, including early mornings and late nights, eating meals with them, and being high strung on emotions because you haven't gotten enough sleep in two weeks.

Tournaments are one of the best ways to get to know someone. You see everyone at their best and worst, and also see everyone in their suits which increases attraction by at least 60%*. It's no wonder why so many find themselves with tournament crushes. Hormones run high, tournament nerves run even higher than usual. If you find yourself looking after a suit-clad cutie, I have a few A+, very subtle crush tips**.

*According to no scientific study ever.
**As an older and wiser homeschooler I cannot legally recommend having a crush because of the Law of Homeschooling. Go find some edgier homeschooler to give you dating advice.

1. Postings Stalking

After eluding the stampede of teenagers who haven't gotten enough slept, stalking postings is the first step in proper tournament crushing. This step is vital to many other parts of getting to know your crush. Having conversations at tournaments hinges on knowing what events the other person is competing in and when they're competing in them.

2. Item Placement

When coming into the student area in the morning, hang around until your crush has placed his or her debate box/brief case/stringed instrument at a table. Casually stroll over (being careful not to attract extra attention to yourself by tripping over chairs/debate boxes/juniors) to that table and set your belongings down.

3. Casual Conversing

Before just straight up talking to your crush, you must first find a group conversation in which he/she is participating in. Enter the conversation if AND ONLY IF a good friend of the same gender is in the conversation. Otherwise your crush will totally know you're stalking him/her. This is totally foolproof. Totally. 100%. Recommended times: during/just before meals, while waiting on judges outside of your round. Which reminds me...

4. Hallway Lurking

This is where stalking postings comes in handy. Find out where your crush is competing, and see if another friend is competing in the same area (statistically speaking, this is very likely). Go to watch your friends speech but oops the friend isn't here/already went. When your crush shows up, start a conversation by asking what event they're in this hallway for (even though you already know because postings). If it is for a prepared speech, ask about the topic/piece. This leads to the crown jewel of tournament crushing/flirting.

5. Round Watching

As your crush is standing up to go into the competition room, ask if you can watch. There's a high chance the response will be yes. Watch the speech. Afterwards, compliment the speech, mentioning specific things you liked about it. Ask if he/she wants to watch your speech later.

While there are many other aspects of tournament flirting (such as adjusting his tie or brushing off her blazer, which is on a whole other level), these five are the basic foundation. Going into this tournament, I hope you have fun getting to know suit-clad cuties other CHSADKs.

Vote affirmative, and remember: speech and debate isn't just about trophies; it's about the community, friendships, and future marriages. 

Stoa Olympics

People from all over, coming together for fierce days of competition. Bitter feelings are forgotten, replaces by friendly rivalry. All come together in one grand location for one reason: speech and debate nationals. (And the Olympics too I guess.)

There are many parallels between our forensic activities and the great Olympic games. Not the athletic ability, obviously. There's a reason we're debaters and not football players.

But aside from the coming together of different peoples (you know, Stoa South, Colorado, California, and all those scattered everywhere else), there are other similarities between the Olympics and homeschool speech and debate. Don't believe me?

There's water polo, which nobody really understands (what's polo anyway? I thought that was just a kind of shirt), but people enjoy watching because they'd never do it themselves (sports are hard enough with people splashing chlorine in your face). In other words, it's parli. People who don't do it don't understand and everyone who does do it looks crazy.

Table tennis is a sport that's fun to watch because you're like, 'hey, I can do this.' And then when you actually try to do you realize that yes, even table tennis requires talent. Like the talent not to call it ping pong. It's kind of like TP. You watch it, think, 'hey, that's looks so easy.' Then you try to do it and regret all your life decisions. And calling table tennis 'ping pong' is like calling TP 'toilet paper.'

LD is like the swimming and running. You get all excited while it's happening, and then it's over and you don't know what happened because if all happened so fast. How could anyone go that fast?

I tried to find an equivalent to extemp, but the Olympic events are all pretty interesting. So, uh, I'll just borrow a winter sport and say ... Curling? Close enough.

Gymnastics is the event everyone loves to watch. While no one would intentionally tune in just to watch curling (I mean really, curling?), everyone wants to watch gymnastics because it's fun and interesting. It's like interps. No one wants to watch extemp, but you're lucky if you can find a good spot on the floor in HI finals.

I'd say duo is like synchronized swimming, but synchronized swimming is just weird and duo is awesome.

Vote affirmative, because you'd rather watch duos than volleyball.

Legacy - the Fourth Year Confessions

"When I became a senior, I didn't expect a massive out-pour of love."

I'm going to be a senior next year.

Since a lot of my friends are just barely older than me, I've heard a lot about what it's like to be a senior. There are college applications and ceremony plannings and stress and senioritis. But my best friend Hannah told me something that's stuck with me all week: "When I became a senior, I didn't expect a massive out-pour of love."

Hannah has been in speech and debate since she was twelve, and now she's graduating. That entire time, I've been able to watch her grow into the incredible woman of God she is. I see the people who spend time with her, and I realize that's what I want.

I don't want to be known for a bookshelf full of trophies. I don't want to be known for my points on Speechranks. I don't care about being draped in a dozen medals. Two years from now, I don't want to be remembered as the girl who won a lot of stuff at NITOC, for people's mentions of me to consist of awards. I want to leave a legacy.

Leaving speech and debate and high school, I know the legacy Hannah is leaving behind. She's given the example of being kind to the least of these. She sat with the juniors during the awards ceremony. Not 11th graders, but with those 12 and under who are too young to compete. She spent time having vulnerable, spiritual conversations instead of stressing about her speeches. She gave a speech about leadership and lives it.

I know the impact Hannah has left in our obscure little community because I see it, I feel it, I'm impacted by it.

I can't imagine doing speech and debate without Hannah being there. When I hugged her after the awards ceremony, I started crying because we need her and more people like her. We need people who don't just say they care more about relationships than competitive success, but people who live like that. We need leaders who know their influence. We need wisdom. We need love.

When I'm a senior next year, I want to leave a legacy. I want the people around me to say, 'I want her love, her grace, her leadership.' Not because I'm so incredible, but because I want God to use what little I have to make a difference. I want that difference to spread throughout the entire Christian homeschool speech and debate community. I've seen the difference Hannah and so many of my other friends have made in this community and I'm amazed by how God uses those who are humble, those who know it's not about themselves.

Here we are, at the end of the year. We won't be debating about East Asian trade policy (thank goodness) or education or developing countries. We won't be giving motivationals. We won't even have two LD resolutions. And that doesn't matter.

What matters is that we'll still be living with kindness. That we'll still be giving grace. That we'll have joy and love.

If I have learned anything this year, it's that everything will be okay because we will still have love. We still have people who are true friends, who are honest, who are leaving a legacy of Christ-like character.

Whether or not you're a graduate this year, you are leaving a legacy. It's up to you if that is a legacy of love or not.

Vote affirmative, because you shouldn't make a negative impact.

Competitor Stereotypes 2 - The Fourth Year Confessions

While there are no limits on who can do what event (we all know that amazing LDer who also always wins at interps), there are stills certain qualities which belong to those who compete in certain events. These are those qualities. (Continued from here.)

Interps

HI

Only the truly, deeply hilarious can have a shot at this event. Their comedic timing is more on point than that one tournament director's. Usually a younger competitor, HIs are typically loud and energetic. But every now and then, the quiet, seemingly serious competitor who usually wins TP will start competing in this event. And winning. All the time. And everyone will be like, 'wow how did you make your voice sound like that and why are you suddenly the most hilarious person I know?'

"I can't believe I missed TP finals breaks because I was still in HI finals!"

DI

While the dramatic interpretation competitors seem like they would be, well, dramatic. You will not find them crying in the corner (unless they're giving their speech to a wall). You will not usually find them telling stories about holocaust survivors (again, unless they're giving their speech). They do not randomly burst into tears while quoting Steel Magnolias. More likely, DIs will be the ones you meet in the hallways, laughing and being friendly. When you ask them what events they're competing in, you'll expect them to say duo or HI. But no. If you go watch their speech, you will cry. Do not try to stop it. You'll only make it worse.

"Anyway, I have to go make all my judges and audience members weep openly with my heart wrenching speech that will make you question your entire life."

Duo

You watch these competitors to laugh, and sometimes walk out of the room crying. Those who compete in duo will always be found with their partner (unless their partner is in extemp prep, being late for their Duo round). They constantly play off each other's witty statements. They're likely to be TP partners as well. And they're definitely matching down to their socks. If not, you probably won't see them in finals.

"I can't believe you put on the wrong tie! We'll never get that checkmark now!"

OI

OIs are enigmas. You never know what they're going do next. They could make you throw your head back laughing, or make you break down in tears. They are more creative than you, and probably funnier. And they can also make you cry. Being so unpredictable, it is best to stay away from such competitors and watch from a distance until their behavior begins to make sense. If one chooses to risk being around these competitors, even more unpredictable than OOs, one must always be on one's toes. Watch yourself, friends.

"If you watch my speech, you won't have to worry about DIs and HIs because my speech will make you laugh and then crush your soul."

Debate

Parliamentary

Parli debaters are, quite frankly, insane. Rather than turning to rollercoasters or rebellion as means of getting an adrenaline rush, they turn to prepping a full debate round in 15 minutes. Some call them brave, others call them foolish. They're probably brave. They're definitely foolish. They are also extremely impressive, and will make you feel inferiors. And they probably have bruised knuckles because Parli is cool enough to create a new way of signifying agreement.

"Well said! Jolly good! Here here! Or is it 'hear hear?'"

Team Policy

Always digging through a debate box (or two), always researching against that one case, TPers are drowning in paper and sticky notes and extensive knowledge about some obscure topic like trade policies with South Korea. Yet out of that mess, they come up with polished speeches that actually make sense even though you aren't exactly sure what they're talking about. They will pick apart everything you say, word by word, outdated evidence by outdated evidence. Stay out of their way when they're on their way to rounds. If you do not, you will get run over by ten debate boxes and debaters lending 50+ page briefs to other competitors.

"I have three responses to your argument about why we shouldn't have Chick-Fil-A at tournaments, each with two sub-points and an MPX."

Lincoln Douglas

Most frequently found with the LD Secret Society, commenting on deep philosophical issues and the immense length of TP rounds. While they don't have a lot of time, they can still take you down on most issues, while at the same time making you question everything you once believed. Everything they say probably has a deeper meaning than you could possibly comprehend. And unlike TPers, they actually have free time and have far fewer paper cuts.

"As it relates to the value of quality of life, we can clearly see that TP does not uphold the criterion of free time, which indicates that LD is the winner of this debate round."

Competitor Stereotypes 1 : The Fourth Year Confessions

With 12 events plus a wildcard or two, Stoa has a lot of options for all us little teenagers to compete in. From HI to LD to Extemp, there's a wide variety of events. And therefore, there is a wide variety of people who do these events. Here's what we think of them:

Limited Prep

Apologetics

Those who dare put their foot in the door an apologetics round are truly brave. They risk their theology being ripped to shreds because of a 6 minute speech that they may or may not have prepared a card for. They have literal buckets full of Bible verses and C.S. Lewis quotes. Apologetics competitors can frequently be found having theological discussions outside of their competition rooms and probably somewhere reading their Bibles.

"What's your opinion on predestination?"

Extemp

Once the confusion between extemp and expos has been cleared up (this usually takes the entire first year), it is easy to determine who is an extemper. They are usually panicked about making it to their draw time, while also having several other events in the same pattern (dear tournament schedulers, please do not put extemp and duo in the same pattern. This has proved disastrous on many occasions).  DO NOT approach an extemper on his or her way to the prep room or their competition room. Approach them after the round to discuss what topic they pulled and learn how they couldn't find a single article on their topic so they just made everything up.

"Can I go before you? I have to do duo with my partner RIGHT NOW so I can make to my draw on time."

Impromptu

Probably a novice, or an advanced competitor who really wants impromptu to be a NITOC event. You'll see many impromptu-ers pacing outside of his or her competition room, going over examples and points and stories and trying to remember what relevance the sticking out of the thumb has to the structure of a speech. While we all wish impromptu were, yet again, a regular event, the leaders of Stoa have not yet announced any plans on restoring our great event to its former glory.

"What does 'NITOC Break-Out Event' mean anyway?"

Mars Hill

Found reading books, listening to *gasp* secular music, and discussing the latest Hunger Games movie. These students are excellent at "Jesus Juking" conversations, but often choose to refrain from doing so because that's awkward. They carry binders full of song lyrics, movie plots, and book blurbs. If they aren't carrying these binders, they are running around the building looking for these binders so they don't crash and burn in their round because they didn't know the lyrics to "I Can't Get No Satisfaction."

"Katniss offering her life for Prim's is like what Jesus did for us."

Platform

Original Oratory

These competitors are unpredictable. One minute, they'll be deeply emotional and moving, the next they'll be reciting endless facts and statistics, the next they'll be cracking jokes about some obscure topic. They're constantly thinking of new topics, and are prone to Mid-Season Change Syndrome, a condition which causes students to write and rewrite various speeches of different topics, which leads to the student cramming ten minutes of words into their heads on the journey to the tournament.

"I memorized my speech my this morning...I've totally got this.."

Persuasive

If you want to hold firmly to your opinion on a controversial subject, stay away from those who compete in persuasive. They will stop at nothing to sway you to their position. They use emotional stories, shocking statistics, quotes from a multitude of highly accredited persons. Do not argue with these people. You will lose. They know more than you. They are deeply passionate about whatever subject they have chosen. When forced to abandon their speech at the end of NITOC, they are often lost because their passion has been temporarily drained. But once the summer is over, they are back at it, being smarter and more well read than you could hope to be...in that one specific subject.

"I can't believe you didn't finish that water bottle. There are kids in Africa who would give everything the have for one drink of that."

Expository

Expository competitors are most often found with tape and/or glue in hand, desperately trying to repair their boards before the start of the next round. They lurk in the deep reaches of the expository storage room, a place non-expository competitors fear to tread. DO NOT touch the boards. DO NOT touch the props. DO NOT touch the easels. You will NOT survive the encounter.

"Gotta go. My boards are falling apart. Again."


Since my timer is about to go off, you'll have to wait until my partner's next speech to see the rest of the event hasty generalizations. For now, I encourage you to vote affirmative, and stay away from extempers on their way to rounds. It's for your own safety.

Next time on Competitor Stereotypes: Interpers and Debaters

Tournamenting: A How-to - Confessions of a 4th Year

The printer has had its third malfunction this week. Your pens are already running out of ink. You madly edit that OO introduction one more time. Hot glue burns your fingers for the third time as you vainly attempt to keep your expos boards together.

It's the week of the tournament. And not just any tournament, the first tournament. The one you've been denying for weeks. The one you are so unprepared for. The one where you break-in heels and hope you break in outrounds. The one you wish you had another week to prepare for.

But it's coming, and you can't stop it. You can't stop the stress, panic and procrastination. But wait--what's this? You can survive the first tournament of the year? The eighteen hour days? The Rambo/Rambo on neg rounds?  Yes. And here's how.

1. The Panic

Wake up the morning of the tournament fifteen minutes later than you planned. How will you have time to brush your teeth, do your hair, change your clothes, print out all those last minute briefs? You panic, doing everything at twice the speed you normally would, even though it's 6AM and you went to bed at 2AM working on your neg case. You triple check to make sure you have your sticky notes, pens and scripts, knowing you've probably forgotten something anyway (probably bobby pins that your friend needs later in the day).

You end up ready fifteen minutes earlier than you intended to, so you sit around and check Facebook or read blog posts about tournaments. Then, when your mom finally gets ready (after trying on more outfits than you own), you realize you have to get your jacket, debate box, heels, emergency makeup, and timer together in five seconds flat.

2. The Prayer

On the way to the tournament facility, in the dark, at 6:30AM, your mom starts praying while you're in the middle of texting your debate partner about last minute 1AC edits. You close your eyes and pause, remembering the whole reason why you're doing this. Also you need a lot of Jesus help if you're gonna get through this weekend.

3. The Friends

Freak out because you haven't seen a lot of those people since May, or even April and March. And those people are great (they're your friends, after all) and you have a short amount of time before the first round starts, and you still have to find your debate partner and finish talking about your case (because oops, forgot to finish that text).

4. The Postings 

The tab person emerges from the pit the tab room, carrying that set of papers. Your heart drops to your stomach. You have the worst feeling--you're going to hit that team. You know, the win-every-tournament, break-at-NITOC, why-aren't-they-graduated-yet team. You make your way through the crowd of suits and heels and cologne and hormones to the front, where your worst fears are confirmed. Despite how much prep you've put into this, you're not sure you'll make it out of this round with your dignity intact.

5. The First Round

After spending too much time tracking down your partner, and more time spent finding your room, you reach the first competition room. Your opponents (*gulp*) already have their massive binder ("I thought only neg binders were that big!") and nameplates out, totally prepared and put together. You realize you need your hair out of your face, but you left the bobby-pins at home ("I knew I should've quadruple checked that list!") Shaking, your partner pulls out the negative binder, looking pathetic next to other team's stacks of briefs. The judge walks in, completely unreadable. Weren't you supposed to ask them something? Right, right, judging philosophy. Or judging paradigm. Or judging experience. ("Okay, now I'm even more confused.") Before you know it, the first round has started. And before you have a chance to breathe, the first round has ended. ("Wait, I'm still alive?") Yes, you survived. Now you only have another... entire tournament.

6.  The Huddle

Your club mates gather together in the corner (and, if you're from Invictus, block an entire walkway) for the club huddle. Someone gives a short tournament pep/motivational talk, struggling to speak over the rest of the people in the common room. Everyone at least gets the gist of what is said, someone prays, and the short people (me) get squished as everyone moves in for the whole hands in the middle shout thing, and everyone tries to be louder than the other clubs, because obviously that will make us win more.

7. The Panic (pt 2)

In the midst of the huddle, postings for the first speech round went up. You hobble in your heels ("I should've brought slippers!") to through the crowd to find your name first on the list of speakers in your room. But now you don't have time to practice your speech before going in! That ending is still rusty ("I should've practiced more!"), and hold on, which point was which? ("And I still don't have bobby-pins!")

8. The Prayer (pt 2)

Your judges are a few minutes late, so you pace outside your room, madly cramming your speech into your brain. This is the worst possible thing that could've happened, especially after the crazy morning you've had. But, hold on, what's this? An advanced speaker is coming towards your room. Uh oh. Are they in the same room as you? They broke at NITOC last year! Wait, no they're talking to you. They ask how you are, if this is your first tournament. What is this???

Super Advanced: Are ya nervous?

You: YES *cough* I mean, a little bit, sure.

Super Advanced: Do you want me to pray with you before your round?

You: *nods vigorously*

That's not exactly what you were thinking would happen, but you'll take it. The advanced speaker prays with you, and your hands shake a little less, your mind's a little clearer. You finally remember that example you use in your third point. You can do it. You can get through your first speech!

9. The People

After surviving your first two rounds, it's time for lunch ("Who could eat at a time like this??") You head into the crowded room, gaping at the line for Chick-Fil-A. You recognize a few of your friends from club and join them in line. One of the second years tells a story about clapping after the wrong debate speech. A few students from a different club are in line next to you. Another suit-clad kid from your club introduces you to the foreigners, who soon become friends. The line goes by in a flash, and you find yourself sitting with new friends. Your shoulders start loosing their tension. You know another round is coming, but that's okay. If you can get through that first round, you can get through all the rest. And plus you have some new friends to talk about your rounds with.

10. The Rest (no, not sleep)

For the rest of the tournament, you get through your rounds, finally figuring out how this tournament thing works. You wake up the next morning, this time remembering the bobby-pins and comfy shoe, but maybe forgetting your name tag. You hang out with the friends you made, you make more friends. You step out of your comfort zone. You have fun. You learn things you never knew you never knew. Maybe there are some low moments, some bad rounds, some messed up speeches. You may not come out with a trophy in your hand, but you had a good time.

There'll be time later to really get the hang of things. Now is the time to learn, grow, and have fun.

Take a deep breath, say a prayer, and vote affirmative.

Dear Novice - Yes, it's Confusing - Confessions of a 4th Year

Dear Novice,

You're confused, aren't you?

The advanced students talk about ballot parties and crazy judges and talking to walls and breaking (wait, is breaking a good thing, or a bad thing???) and you have no idea what they're talking about. Debating without a brief? You don't even want to think about that. And. hold up, which one is extemp and which one is expos? Because that is still very confusing. And the small matter of how you actually do the whole tournament thing.

It's very confusing.

For many of you, your first tournament is approaching fast and you don't know anything about the bus you're about to get hit by (okay, that analogy is a bit violent but you get the picture, which is the point of analogies). I know the confusion is a bit overwhelming, and you're trying to get a grasp on things, but it's all more slippery than sheet protectors.

The truth is, you can't understand tournaments until you go to one. No matter how many stories you hear, or explanations your mentor gives you, it's just so confusing.

Not much I can do about that. Sorry. But here's the thing.

You're going to find out. You're going to be at that tournament, wearing a suit, giving a speech laced with nerves, wondering how some people could do ten tournaments in a year. Wondering if you'll ever stop tripping over people's debate boxes. Wondering if you'll ever recover from the post tournament exhaustion.

But that's only the beginning. Soon you'll learn what happens at every tournament, what happens at ballot parties, and you'll (probably) realize you love speech and debate. Those other debaters won't seem so intimidating because you've seen them in fluffy slippers. You'll feel the nerves that come along with break announcements (yes, breaking is a good thing), and the satisfaction of making it through your first tournament alive.

Your confusion will fade soon. By next year, it'll be hard to imagine not knowing what tournaments are like. You may even have tournament nightmares. Then you'll watch new novices go to their first tournament and get all nostalgic for your first tournament, even with that crazy debate round and the speech where you forgot your entire second point.

Tournaments are an emotional roller coaster. At times, there's hardly a moment to breathe, much less give a speech, eat lunch, take a group photo, and get to your debate round on time. But the times with your friends, the Chick-Fil-A and suits, the blisters and nerves and forgotten sticky-notes. The only way to get past the confusion is to dive in head first.

Vote affirmative; there's no other way around it.

Have fun!
-A 4th Year Who Loves You

Tournament Denial - Confessions of a 4th Year

When the leaves and temperature start falling, when every other food ends in "pumpkin spice," when your coaches start begging you to finish you platform, you know it's here.

No matter how many times your coach tells you the tournament is only in two months, or six weeks, or three weeks, it doesn't really click. Something has to happen. Some really, super duper significant (okay not that big of a deal, but I didn't want neg running significance on me) even has to happen, that makes you realize it's coming.

Maybe it's the learning that half the novices have written their speeches.

Or remembering the taste of Texas-shaped waffles in hotel lobbies.

Perhaps the realization comes when your alarm goes off at 5:30AM and you feel like you should be putting on a suit that morning.

Or when you think about the awards ceremony and your amazing friends who win things.

Or when you put on heels (or not, if you're a guy. Do not wear heels if you are a guy please) and practice your platform in front of the mirror for the first time since May.

Tournament season.

For the most dedicated debaters, tournament season can be more exciting than Christmas season. They're not that different, after all. You see your family at Christmas, you see your friends who feel like family at tournaments. You get presents at Christmas, you (possibly) get awards at tournaments. The main difference is that you can't stay in your pajamas all day at tournaments.

Three weeks out from the tournament, you realize you don't know what the heck you're doing for your neg LD case, you haven't even timed your motivational, and you should probably send your suit jackets to the cleaners. (And if you're me, you realize you should probably write a blog post before your best friend goes crazy waiting.)

It's crunch time (and not the delicious candy, sorry). Deadlines and script submission and blocking interps and trying not to slap your debate partner for not formatting any of the evidence for the 2AC. Also the small matter of having a value for your value case.

And maybe there are new events you've never done, or events you haven't done in ages, and there's also school, and Ultimate Frisbee, and hyperventilating. Or maybe you have absolutely no idea what a tournament is like because this is your first year in speech and debate and when you hear the word "tournament" you think Hunger Games style arenas and life or death battles.

But it's coming. The early mornings. The cold food. The suit-clad teenagers. The nerves. The talking to walls.

The tournament.

Don't deny it; an affirmative ballot is warranted.

Looking Forward

I have two more years of speech and debate.

I sit at my laptop in the kitchen, the rest of the household either out or sleeping. My cat has prevented me from enjoying the wonders of sleeping in. (Really, Lucie? You wake up at 8:00, play for an hour, and then sleep all day. WHY?) I don't have an Instagram, because I don't have a smartphone or any other Instagram supporting device, but I do have the ability to look at people's public accounts, and I do so with Katie Gregoire (ugh I love her). Anyway, she posted a video of her at her last Bible quizzing tournament (I don't know a lot about quizzing, but as far as I can tell it's pretty similar to the speech and debate community.)

I've had this blog for more than two years now. In some ways, those two years have gone by so fast. In other ways, it feels like it's taken me forever to get to this point. Everything is so different from how I expected it to be.

This is my first post in two months, and that's because forensics have been far from my mind. I haven't been researching the new TP rez. I haven't decided exactly which speeches I'm going to do. I don't know who I'm going to partner with in any event. I don't know what TP case I'm going to run. And thinking about all this is stressing me out.

The first club meeting of the year is in a little over a month. I feel like a lot about the club is changing, but I know one thing: they're going to ask us to write down goals. I don't have those planned out either. I guess at this point they're looking like, "find a partner," and "figure out what speeches I want to do," and "don't freak out."

Maybe doing eleven tournaments burned me out, because thinking about the coming year exhausts me. Honestly, thinking that I have two more years is overwhelming. Maybe it'll be fine once club starts. Maybe this is just tournament withdraw. Maybe I'm just really tired today because I've had a long week. And month. But this month also feels really short. UGH I'm so tired and my brain isn't functioning right. This is what happens when you go two months without writing about speech and debate.

Vote affirmative. I'm too tired to think of a creative reason why, and maybe you relate to 4th Year Exhaustion Syndrome.

NITOC - The Third Year Chronicles #27

I stand in the entry to the amphitheater and gaze around the massive space. To many, it would be a bizarre sight. Hundreds of teenagers in suits. carrying trophies and uncomfortable looking shoes. To me, though, the view is nothing unusual. Not unusual, but the epitome of bittersweet.

I spent the week with the people in this room. I don't know most of them. Some I met this week. Some I met years ago. Many had walked across the huge stage the front of the room. Many had sat in their seats and cheered for their friends. Medals drape from necks. Ballots are clutched in arms holding drawstring backpacks and snacks bought at the last minute.

My brown high-heel shoes hang from my fingertips. I'm not looking for one specific person. I'm looking at everyone, trying to be with all of them at once. The hours I'd sat through the awards ceremony, the days I spent walking around BJU's campus, and the week I spent with these people is taking its toll. The energy I had throughout the day and week is failing.

Here it is. Here we are. The end.

The end of the awards ceremony. The end of the day. The end of NITOC. The end of the 2014-2015 speech and debate year. No more electronic surveillance law or federal jurisprudence or communities' moral standards in TP and LD rounds. Broadcasting has been rotated out and replaced with monologue. Trade policies with Asian countries, liberal arts, developing countries, OI's continuance. Another year coming.

It all makes me want to cry. A long week has gone by too fast. There are so many people here I won't see for sixth months or more. Some I won't see ever again. Some have impacted me in ways not even I can see. I can only hope that I've impacted them in some way. There are so many people I need to say goodbye to, but no matter how much time I spend in this room, I cannot say enough goodbyes, enough "I love you"s, enough "thank you"s.

I didn't break in my original speech, but I did break in impromptu (to the great excitement of my club). I didn't win any events. I didn't get last place in any events. There's no trophy for me to lug back to my car. That's okay.

I watch friends and strangers mill around the room, saying their own goodbyes and congratulations. I've said a few already myself. I can almost taste the bittersweetness in the air.

"I'll see you next year!"

"I cannot believe the president skipped my name."

"Any ideas for next year?"

"I'm moving in ten days."

"I'm so proud of you!"

"...College in California."

"I love you."

Not much time passes as I stand in the back of the room. I'm so unprepared to say goodbye to my friends, so I'll be cliche and say 'see you later.' An open statement. 'Later' could mean at the ballot party, 'later' could mean next week, 'later' could mean next year. An open promise, though. Even I don't see some of these people ever again, I won't forget this week, or this year of speech and debate.

I leave my spot in the doorway. I make my way through the crowds and have to hug most of my friends at least three times before I'm somewhat satisfied with the beginning of our separation.

NITOC is over. There were a lot of hard spots. Thursday night breaks. Occasionally confusing behavior from my friends. Short nights. Long walks. Heavy boxes. Small hotel room. Three flights of stairs. Leaving my meal tickets at the hotel. Leaving my goldfish at the hotel. Feeling like passing out. Folding two hundred t-shirts. Friends breaking, friends not breaking.

Yes, there were hard spots. But the good spots, the perfect moments, the rejoicing, the small conversations, the frisbee games, the outrounds, the cute suits and kind hearts, getting lost with friends, seeing chipmunks, cheering for my friends and club mates, the sunglasses, the first round, the last round. Every real smile. Every kind word. These things overshadow the rough patches.

When I finally get in the car to go back to the hotel for the ballot party, my mind rolls over the past nine days. The lessons I've learned or relearned. Moments I'll hold onto for years.

I take a deep breath and stare out the window. I won't likely drive down this road again, so I watch the trees blur by in the darkness. I memorize the way the moon looks in South Carolina. I don't cry, but I could. Not necessarily from sadness, or happiness either. But from both.

I thank God for my friends and my family, because without them I wouldn't be anything like the person I am, and I kind of like who I am. I like where I am, right now. This tournament was long and hard and wonderful. Maybe not the best tournament ever, but it's been pretty fantastic. Even if I won't remember every detail, I'll remember what's important. I'll remember the love and pride I feel for my friends, however well they did in competition this year. I'll remember the relationships. I'll remember the people.

Vote affirmative. I'll see you next year.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #26)

Five Stages of Resolutional Acceptance - The Third Year Chronicles #26

Three resolutions go in. One resolution is complained about for a month then gradually accepted into our lives as debaters. Every year, it's the same story.

1. Denial

 2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

BONUS: Exhaustion

Vote affirmative. You'll come to accept it.


(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #25)

The Last Tournament of the Year - The Third Year Chronicles #25

I've been to 10 tournaments this year. Now, I know you're probably thinking, 'dang, Hadley, that's massive amount of tournaments.' And you're right. Ten tournaments is a lot. There's probably some math I could do to see how many hours I spent at tournaments this year, but I really don't want to. Sorry.

Last weekend, I went to my last tournament of the year. (Minus NITOC, which I am going to.) The last tournament of the year is the one where you realize a few things, such as, but not limited to, the following:

• This could be the last round in which you deliver the speech you've been working on all year.
• You won't be able to hang out with your senior friends at tournaments anymore (unless they're awesome and come back to judge.)
• You'll never deliver that debate case again.
• Speech and debate camp is too far away.
• You aren't going to a tournament for at least six months.
• If you're a senior, you aren't going to compete at a tournament again. (Now that's just depressing.)
• This is your last chance for a green check mark.
• Waiting is hard.

Well, now I'm depressed.

Tournaments are exhausting. Especially when you go to ten in six months. But they're also the greatest. I won't go too far into why, because I've written a lot about this subject.

The last tournament of the year is also a reminder. It reminded me why I'm doing this to begin with: because I love people. It's easy to forget this when you're in the middle of a heated debate round, or when every ballot reads fifth and below, or when you lose around because the other team was more charming. But if we continue to go back to why we love speech and debate, these things fade away. I promise.

Vote affirmative. And try not to freak out because NITOC is in 40 days.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #24)

Tournament Nightmares - The Third Year Chronicles #24

I went two minutes overtime in Motivational. I left my heels in the student area. My throat was stuffy after having too much pizza and milk for lunch. I was 25minutes late to extemp prep. When I drew, I found questions on topics I knew nothing about: the newest pigeon-messenger technology, the stability of Tajikistan's economy, the leader of Australia's "Animal Justice" political party. I couldn't find anything on any of these topics, and by the time I deciphered what they might actually mean, my prep time expired. When I checked postings outside my room, I found that the top extempers in the nation were in the same room as me. And, oh, the president of Stoa was judging my speech.

As you may have guessed, this was a dream, or rather, a nightmare. The kind that you wake up from in a cold sweat, breathing like you've just run a marathon, and check the date and time to make sure what just happened didn't actually happen. The kind that makes you have to remind yourself that the tournament is still a week away.

When I was a child, I dreamed about things like my dogs getting into car accidents while driving my grandmother's car (what the heck, small child me?). Those dreams, clearly, were frightening. But something about leaving my suits at home, wearing two different shoes into a debate round, and showing up ten minutes late to parli prep just terrifies me. Maybe because that is not totally impossible, unlike my dogs hijacking my grandmother's car.

In a weird, round-a-bout, annoying way, tournament nightmares remind me to show up to extemp on time and to actually charge my laptop before going into extemp. Thanks, tournament nightmares, for doing something useful. I guess.

Vote affirmative, or have nightmares about forgetting to.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #23)

People Who Win - The Third Year Chronicles #23

Every tournament, someone walks away with a first place trophy.

Usually around eighteen someones, actually. Some of these people win all the time. They have to clear space on their bookshelf or wherever they put their trophies every time they come home from tournaments. Medals dangle from their first place trophies and tiny judge-hammers (some call them gavels) lean against their books.

In my 2.5 years of speech and debate (and the five years before that), I've noticed that there are two types of winners.

These are the people who are used to winning (not just people I tease about being used to winning). They expect it. They gain popularity because people want to be seen around the people who win. Then they mistake popularity for friendship. They think that, no matter how they act, as long as the keep winning (which, of course, the will) they'll gain friends. This is where they go wrong the most. These 'friendships' are shallow and fade away once dust settles on those trophies. Winning gets you recognition. Winning pulls you up Speechranks. Winning does not win you friends.

But there's another kind of winner.

I can think of a few of my friends who win. Their names are fairly well known. People come up to them and ask them about the tournament they won. They're recognized at out of state tournaments. People come up to them and ask to touch their hair. But, regardless of all this, these friends of mine are extremely humble (don't let it go to your heads).

My close friends who have placed high or won tournaments haven't changed because of it. They don't act any differently than before. They don't treat the people who don't win any differently. They have a lot of friends, yes, but not because they win. They have friends because they are friends. They treat people with kindness and humility and love, regardless of the amount of green check marks or medals others have.

They have friends, not just popularity. They have meaningful conversations, not just trophies.

Over the last two weeks of tournamenting, I've learned that while winning is fun, it doesn't last. Friendships do.

Vote affirmative, and be the second type of winner.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #22)

No Regrets - The Third Year Chronicles #22

I had barely unpacked my suitcase before having to pack my suitcase.

Before now, I've never had two consecutive tournaments. Last week, I was in Missouri for (duh) a tournament. This one was pretty different from other tournaments I've been to. I had never been to a tournament in MO before. There was a lot of snow and ice (snow would've been great, if I hadn't been wearing pencil skirts and heels). Parli and extemp, two of the three events I did, were both on Wednesday, so I only had motivational the rest of the time. Plus, a lot of my friends weren't there.

At the tournament this weekend (GLYW), most of my friends will be there, I have something both speech patterns as well as parli. It'll be the fourth time I've been to this tournament, and it's always been one of my favorites.

But the craziest part about this whole thing is that these tournaments are only a few days apart from each other. I almost didn't go to GLYW this year because of a conflict with another event this weekend. I'm really looking forward to it. Also, I'm nervous because I need another check in parli and in motivational plus I'm doing a speech I literally memorized today.

But I'm not regretting the decision to do both tournaments. I had a blast in Missouri. I'll probably have a blast in Tyler. They're different, yes. But that's not bad. Maybe I'll do a tournament recap. It's been a while since I've done that.

Vote affirmative. I have to go pack. Again.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #21)

The Side Affects of Tournamenting - The Third Year Chronicles #21

We're halfway through February, and I've already been to five tournaments. At this time my first year, I had been to two tournaments. In these weeks since the last tournament, I've noticed that these days are different from days in the summer, or during Christmas break, or in the month preceding NITOC. Going to tournaments has its own risks and side affects.*

The first and most apparent of these is the general lethargy (tiredness). There's research to do and speeches to write and speeches to memorize and other things to procrastinate. The exhaustion comes primarily from the emotional output that occurs during tournaments. Basically, there's a lot of nerves and excitement and sometimes disappointment, and so many emotions ranging from all of these to even more and it's honestly draining sometimes.

Another side affect is the increase in inside jokes. Say, for instance, 'you're my favorite,'  or, 'the fact stands.' And of course there are the stories to tell about tournaments. like going to 'California' or not being able to breathe during my extemp speech and still getting ranked 2nd in the room.

There's also the new set of tournament results to stalk on Speechranks, And the blog inspiration that may or may not come (not really coming this month), but that may just be me and my other blogging friends.

There's also the friendships built and strengthened, the experience gained, and all the beautiful, shiny trophies the knowledge acquired. But mostly friends.

Vote affirmative, because you know it's worth the risk.

*Side affects mentioned in this post have not been scientifically proven or tested, nor do they have anything to do with science at all.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #20)

Tournament Hangover - The Third Year Chronicles #20

A lot of things happen at tournaments. There's rounds, of course. but aside from those. Conversations and running to rooms and giving speeches and prepping resolutions and being nervous before breaks and waking up early and going to bed late and--I could go on, but I'm writing the tournament re-cap later, and you probably already know all that besides.

So you get home from tournaments and you don't want to do anything. You don't want to think about filing extemp articles or writing your speech. I always feel like I should write a blog post, but I'm too exhausted to do much of anything. And there's unpacking and laundry and school and no wonder debaters almost always do school through the summer.

And then a few days later, we're back in the swing of things. Filing and formatting and mathing and writing. And then a couple of weeks later you freak out because oh my gosh there's a tournament this weekend and I still have laundry to do. And you know what happens next.

Vote affirmative. I'm too tired to figure out why you should. You're smart. Just read the flow. If your handwriting is legible...

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #19)

The Crazy Stuff - The Third Year Chronicles #19

I can't believe my eyes.

I've heard of this happening to others, but the stories of past years and months and tournaments seemed distant, totally apart from my own life. Sure, some weird things had happened to me. We've all gotten the blank 5th and below ballots, or the comments about our hair our clothes. But this? This was ridiculous.

I must have said something out loud, probably 'no' or, more likely, 'NO!!', because the table has turned its full attention to me, something that rarely happens. I read a few comments off the ballot to explain my outrage. My best friend takes the ballot from me, possibly in disbelief to make sure the ballot really said that. Her wide eyes fly over the sloppy but legible handwriting on the ballot. Then, without a moment's hesitation, she rips the paper in two. My jaw drops. I think I should be upset with her, but instead I just wish I had done it myself.

That ballot lost me a check mark. I questioned for days how on earth this could have happened. It was frustrating and infuriating. I had to remind myself not to be mad at the team that got that ballot since it was not their fault.

Over the last couple of years, a lot of weird, bizarre, crazy things have happened to me and my friends. Wacky arguments, new in the two, rounds won on speaks, rounds lost on socks. It would be easy to spend out time complaining about these things. They do make for pretty good stories. But these things aren't what matter.

We shouldn't focus on the crazy stuff that drive us to a point of temporary insanity. There's a reason we hardly spend any time talking about ballots at the 'ballot' party. Sure, these things are fun to talk about. I'm not telling you to stop telling stories about the wonky things that happen in rounds or the ridiculous comments on ballots. That's fine. That's good. But don't focus on those things.

Laugh at inside jokes and your own awkwardness and your friends' stories. Don't let the crazy stuff that happens take away the amazingness of tournaments and speech and debate in general. That's not what it all comes down to.

Vote affirmative, even if that ballot was crazy.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #18)

CHSADK Memes - The Third Year Chronicles #18

I have 277 pins on my CHSADK Pinterest board. That's more than my clothing and wedding dress boards combined. Here are some of my favorite debate-related memes (courtesy of Pinterest and NCFCA Memes).

This one is great because it is both a debate joke and an Incredibles reference

Or hanging around trying to get your mom's attention so you can put your box in the car.

Every time...

What's the difference?

...yeah, my life is just debate.

Do I see another Taylor Swift parody??

The forensic clap should be adopted in all areas of life.

Mom signed me up...

Every time I see a "your argument is invalid" meme, this is what I think...

Unfortunate, but true.

Vote affirmative, because debate memes are hilarious.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #17)