Holy bananas. I managed to get out of Lakeland alive. It was close, let me tell you.
Kaz and I were running 8 divisions. This was about 9 divisions too many. The good news is that we almost had enough judges. This was one of those events where coaches would come to tab and tell us that they’d never heard of one of the judges they signed up, and the rest were on their way, eventually, if the rumors were true, although none of them were signed up with tabroom accounts for this totally electronic tournament. Or judges would come in wringing their hands complaining that they had judged enough and that their brains were no better than shriveled slices of baloney left out in the desert sun and that they had to go home immediately because, well, they also had tickets for “Hamilton” that night. We would looking at these tattie howkers with the appropriate expressions, while wondering if we could make a killing on Broadway with a new play we’re calling “Burr.” I mean, it worked back in 1804 in Weehawken.
There were hardly any reports of improper behavior aside from the odd bouts of hankus pankus discovered by the custodians, who were immediately sent to confession at the church next door. Teenagers will be teenagers, after all, and who can stand in the way of hormones? Can't get a room at a hotel? Try a classroom. As for the famous hover incident, we refuse to comment.
Not at all curiously, it is always the same people and the same schools that cause disruption. If it were up to me, I’d toss them all off the cliff, but this is not my tournament. No tournament anymore is my tournament. I’m just a tab room hack. Go complain to someone else that your judge didn’t like the idea of having teams read one another’s evidence. Meanwhile debaters were dropping like flies, creating endless maverick teams, but then said flies would resurrect. Whatever.
Oh. There were three rounds last night. We left after round two. Oops.
Teachers’ desks? Onion sauce! We’re Middle Schoolers. We don’t need no stinkin’ teachers’ desks. Would you mind telling your children not to mess up the classrooms? You talkin’ to me? Are YOU talkin’ to ME?
I lost one of my favorite pens. Feh. Some Middle Schooler probably ate it, mistaking it for debate ziti.
There was never a dull moment. People stormed out in a huff. People stormed in in a huff. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME JUDGE!!! But you listed yourself as a judge. ONION SAUCE!!!
Kaz and I did have a nice dinner Friday night. Hemlock, fresh from the garden. We both asked for refills. On Saturday at about four o'clock JV texted that the District tournament was all done. I sent some terrorists down to blow up his apartment.
I apologize for the disjointed nature of this post. As I said, I managed to get out of Lakeland alive. But just barely. Talk about brains turning into dessicated baloney...