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)

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)

Halfway - The Third Year Chronicles #17

I have been doing speech and debate for two and a half years.

In two and a half years I will graduate.

That makes this the halfway point

I suppose I should look back at everything I've learned after all this time, but I don't have to. I've learned it, haven't I? Otherwise there's no point in looking at what I've learned because then I haven't learned anything. So rather than look back at what I've learned and rehash those points, I think it's better to take these things and teach you. Maybe this counts as looking back at what I've learned, but I hope that even more, you learn from my experiences.

I learned to love speech and debate. Of my now eighty blog posts, 57 of those are speech and debate related. I named this blog after a speech event (and also a delicious candy).  My friends get on to me about how much I love forensics. I'm not saying you should love speech and debate. I admit it's not for everyone. But there's something out there that you'll be great at, something you'll love. Maybe it's forensics, maybe it's sports. Maybe it's writing or teaching. I don't know. But God made you with a passion for something. Something you'll love like I love speech and debate.

I learned to make friends. I learned to step out and start conversations. I learned how to encourage other CHSADKs and other people in general. I learned what makes a friend a friend and hopefully how to be that. Losing a friendship taught me a lot about the subject. I learned that some friendships fade and some last. I learned that you often have to fight. I learned that friendship isn't about feelings--it, just like love, is a choice. We have to choose to put the effort into other people to be their friend.

I learned what is important. Really: it's not about the trophies. We hear this so much as debaters. And even though I was on the gov side of a resolution that implied debate was about winning, that's not why we really compete in forensics. It's about learning and growing, and it's about the relationships. As one of my friends once said, "people don't join debate for the competition. They do it for the community, friendships, and future marriages."

I learned that people are my favorite. Even though it's still sometimes hard for me to make friends, I love people. All people. I do need to be alone sometimes and take a break from people, but I don't like being alone all of the time. I love making people smile and laugh and I love getting to help people, in whatever way that may be.

There's more than that, but those are a few general things. I could write a whole blog post about each of those things, and maybe I will (and I have). I don't know what the next 2 1/2 years will hold, and I don't have to. I won't try and guess or predict how well I'll do or how far I'll go. That's not for me to know right now. I suppose that's another thing I learned: not to try and figure out what happens next.

Vote affirmative, or just learn how.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #16)