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)