I’m pooped.
The biggest problem with Big Jake is that the school doesn’t dismiss on Friday until around 3:30, unlike most schools that hightail it out of the building at least an hour earlier. This means that, no matter how you slice it, you really don’t have round one up and running till 4:30, which translates as getting home at about 1:00 a.m. Fortunately when I arrived at that wee small hour Pip, who is rather wee small himself, was at the door to carry me upstairs, or vice versa, but we had hardly made a dent in the sheets when we were up Saturday morning pouring Sailors into the car and heading south again. Saturday too was a long day. I finally escaped out the door of Big Jake at around 9:00, when Quarters were in bloom. O’C had wanted the Coin and I in those rounds, but Pip wanted me back home. For that matter, me wanted me back home. Me and Pip, as my more illiterate Tars might say, won the toss. There was a meatloaf sandwich back there with my name on it. And Pip’s name (he loves meatloaf). End of story.
My biggest disappointment of the weekend was not getting the O’C interview. There were just too many things going on, fires to put out and whatnot, and the moment just never arose. I know an eager America awaits this like [some really eager thing] awaits [something really funny, preferably with a caustic twinge], but that’s the way the cookie bounces. We’ll try to make up for it at the Regis CFL. I also didn’t get a chance to talk at any length to Smilin’ J, whom we kept busy in rounds, but before I left we exchanged grumblings about the Legion of Doom, which I’ll discuss soon in further detail.
I think the biggest difficulty of Big Jake, or any tournament, is logistics. One prioritizes getting the rounds up and running as the number one job, which means collecting ballots, distributing ballots, finding judges, ascertaining that rounds are indeed taking place, checking that all ballots are marked correctly—everything that gets ballots out of tab and into tab. This is much harder than you would think. For one thing, there’s a lively percentage of judges who are, shall we say, tardy in getting to their rooms. Usually they’re coaching their teams, a little bit of which goes a long way, and a lot of which holds up the entire tournament. Drop to one knee together, address your Deity of choice for a minute, then push your kid into the room: that will cover most of what might come up, and anything else should have been covered during the week when you were writing blocks. And even the best of judges, who do it every week and can easily comprehend the arithmetic, make mistakes, usually of the mismarked low-point-win variety, and occasionally even of the no-points-at-all variety, so there’s a few ballots that must be sent back to judges who think they can hide under the covers for a while, which is always a headache. (Speaking of which, I do love the LPW with a .5 differential. Come on, people. If you’re going to give a low-point win, give some damned low points! 22-28, for instance: that speaks volumes. 27-26.5, on the other hand, says loud and clear, “Wha?”) To solve the vagrant judge problem, next year we’re giving O’C some contraband nunchucku; just knowing that, at any moment O’C could rage down from the ceiling with a hearty “HAI-OO!” should get those judges moving at a nice, sharp pace.
And there are other, albeit lesser priorities. Food, housing, placating the administration, placating the custodial and security staffs, distributing ballot packets (the sorting of which is the world’s most boring tournament assignment), monitoring the pairings—all manner of things that those who merely attend tournaments really can’t grasp, although most understand that they are running in the background, which is why there are so many kudos on WTF for the event. What pisses me off is now both Monti and Jake can take the rest of the year off, while I’m just starting to turn up the heat. I’d like to take the rest of the year off too, and not have to contend with all the contentiousness of Bump, but when one buys into this business, one buys into it all the way.
Anyhow, Sunday I opened my eyes enough to send out a notice about this upcoming Saturday’s MHL and to read a couple of emails, but mostly I just let things hang. I’ll catch up tonight. Who knows? Maybe I’ll have won 25MM Euros in the Irish sweepstakes, or have an opportunity to do something really nice for a truly religious Nigerian gentleman while profiting handsomely from it myself at the same time. Otherwise I’ll just prepare for the Bump meeting tomorrow night. See what I mean? The heat is being turned up. 4 weekends from now, and then I’ll be taking the rest of the year off too, and the Coin and JV can start banging their heads against the wall. Hoo-ha!
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