Debate It Off

(To the tune of Taylor Swift's Shake It Off)

I stay up too late
Working on so many briefs
That's what coaches say (mmm mmm)
That's what coaches say (mmm mmm)
I'm doing too much speech
But I can't make 'em break
At least, that's what coaches say (mmm mmm)
That's what coaches say (mmm mmm)

But I keep speaking
Can't stop, won't stop, tweaking
It's like I got great case in my mind
Saying neg will never win

Because advanceds are gonna break break break break break
And the judges will be late late late late late
Baby, I'm just gonna de-bay-ay-ay-ate
Debate it all, debate it

when the judge votes on that argument you
made up in the middle of your speech

I may never break break break break break
But I will never hate hate hate hate hate
Baby, I'm just gonna de-bay-ay-ay-ate
Debate it all, debate it

I never miss a line
I'm lightning in my speech
And that's what they don't see (mmm mmm)
That's what they don't see (mmm mmm)
I'm speaking in OO
Make a judge cry as I go
That's what they don't know (mmm mmm)
That's what they don't know (mmm mmm)

But  I keep flowing
Can't stop, won't stop tagging
It's like I got this great speech in my mind
Sayin' "I'm gonna be just fine"

Because advanceds are gonna break break break break break
And the judges will be late late late late late
I may never break break break break break
But I will never hate hate hate hate hate
Baby, I'm just gonna de-bay-ay-ay-ate
Debate it all, debate it all

I, I debate it all (xLike 12)

Hey hey hey
Just think while you've been getting down and out about the judges and the dirty, dirty negs in your round, you coulda been getting down to this parody

My partner dropped an argument
I'm like oh my gosh
But I'mma just debate
And to the novice over there
Who's stressin' over breaks
Come on over, newbie
Just debate-ay-ate

Cuz advanceds are gonna break break break break break
And the judges will be late late late late late
I may never break break break break break
But I will never hate hate hate hate hate
Baby, I'm just gonna de-bay-ay-ay-ate
Debate it all, debate it all

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)