In which we get younger than springtime

Jurgen Habermas died recently. Not exactly a mainstream celebrity, he was definitely a debate celebrity. Once upon a time high schoolers in debate may have learned about the Enlightenment for ethical purposes, with a side order of Empiricism, and that would suffice. Admirably, I would add. But around the turn of the milliennium people who were alive when the horseless carriage was first seen coming down the road started getting into the conversation. I knew a couple of students who liked to go stare at Sandel’s and Rawls’s faculty mailboxes during the Harvard tournament. Once you threw in critical analysis, all bets were off and kids were learning things so “radical” that nowadays the government is trying to cut off their teachers at the knees. 

It is so nice to be a part of that, albeit no longer active at the front lines. If that’s not what it’s all about, then I don’t know what is.

Meanwhile, for reasons of simply wanting to help Catholic Charlie out if possible, I volunteered to work with him at an NCFL middle school tournament. I didn’t even know they had a middle school tournament, and it turns out that this is the introductory event. I like the idea of MS debate because basic education these days doesn’t strike me as going out there and expanding minds. These MS years are serious ones of growth and maturing; giving MSers some interesting ideas to chew on sets them up to learn how to learn, which is what our extracurricular activity is all about (and what the curricular activities should be all about). 

Nevertheless, I do worry about a couple of things. First of all, I don’t like a tournament that mixes HS and MS kids. Being of MS age is hard enough; being of MS age in a cafeteria full of HSers borders on too much. It is one thing to perform maturely in front of a judge in a strictly defined situation, and another thing altogether to be surrounded by HS juniors and seniors in that particular universe of theirs. There’s time enough for that in a couple of years. The other thing I worry about it hyper-competitive parents. Debate is a pathway to great thinking. Competition is a means to that end. When competition becomes the end, things are off. Winning is great, but if you’re only doing this to get into the right program/prep school/college, you’re missing the point. And you probably won’t get into the right program/prep school/college. As I always pointed out to parents who insisted that their kids go to the Harvard tournament, going to the Harvard tournament was in no way, shape, or form connected to going to Harvard. Winning the  Harvard tournament was in no way, shape, or form connected to going to Harvard. What I’m saying is that the introduction of MS kids to good competition must always remember that they are MS students first. They’re like one noodle over the line from just being little kids (and if you actually see them, some of these little folks have yet to even get their noodle). 

I’ll be curious to see how my thoughts play out at the tournament next weekend. 

In which we page through some music, some meatballs, and some TV shows

Music (and/or books): A while ago I read Questlove’s Music is History (well, all right, I listened to him narrate it), and found it fascinating. At the time, I put it into the back of my mind to listen to all that music. This being 2026, Spotify had the playlist just waiting for me, and lately I’ve been listening to it while working in the kitchen. Food prep, one of my favorite activities, always seems to go better with music, and the "Music is History" playlist seems to have been invented to bop along while you chop. Most of the music is not what I normally listen to, so it enriches the kitchen experience in many, many ways. The book, and the playlist, are highly recommended. 

Food: Speaking of which, some very nice meatballs: https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/770849339-spinach-meatballs-with-pasta?smid=share-url I am of the school of spinach-enhancement: much of what I do in the kitchen comes out better if I throw some spinach into it. First of all, you get a nice extra vegetable, but on top of that you get a nice extra flavor. And when you sneak it into a meatball, even your spinach-averse friends (of which I have too many) will gobble it right down. 

Meanwhile, I have found that I have been relying way too much on the Times app, and lately have been going back to all my cookbooks, of which I have a very nice collection. For the record: if the Times covers a recipe you have in a book, e.g., Pierre Franey’s moussaka, use the book. The Times modifies things a lot, and in my experience the original is always better.

Television: Catching up a bit:

• “All Creatures Great and Small” is perfect PBS comfort viewing. And as you want with a farm vet story, plenty of arms up inside large animals. It’s a Masterpiece Theatre presentation, and I can’t imagine anything better fitting into relaxing Sunday night entertainment. 
• There’s a bunch of CNN docuseries on HBO/Max, the latest of which I watched being about the history of Las Vegas. There’s a certain corniness and obviousness to these shows, but they’re interesting enough that one sticks with them. I mean, when was the last time you saw Wayne Newton?
• Justin Willman is a magician with a bunch of shows on Netflix. I’ve watched them all, including the most recent one. I’ve also seen him live at one of our local theaters. He’s as personable as can be, and original. I recommend all of his stuff. 
• “The Punisher” is one of the Netflix series of Marvel stories now airing on Disney+. I think these series get a bad rap. Granted some seasons are better than others, but I’ve found them at worst watchable and at best interesting and unique stuff. Considering that Disney has resurrected Daredevil (a second season starts soon), it’s not bad to go back into the archives. I thought the Punisher first season that I just finished was pretty good. The series in order lists Jessica Jones season 2 next, but I’ve already watched that, so next up will be Luke Cage’s second season. Mike Colter, the Luke Cage actor, has been a favorite of mine since I first met him as an elegant mobster back on “The Good Wife.” I guess what I’m saying is that if you’ve been going by the so-so critical response to these shows and avoiding them, you might want to rethink that.  

In which we don't stay up late

TV: I was planning on staying up late to watch the Oscars, and it was over around 10:30. I wasn’t even yawning yet. Amazing! Of course, it did start at 7:00 EST, and my recollection is that it used to start at 8:00, so that may account for some of it. And they didn’t have full performances of all the nominated songs, a good time-saving choice since as often as not it’s the first time and the last time you’ll ever hear them and it’s too late to vote, even if you wanted to. And I always enjoy Conan, which helped cover up for what seemed an unbroken series of failed bits from the presenters. And I have planned on watching all the nominated movies. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon…

Music (queue division): 

• Neil Sedaka, “The Hungry Years” I was already going through Sedaka’s work before he up and died on me. There’s something inherently chipper in his songs, and his voice, and he really was a pop god before the Beatles came along. All the songs on this album sound like perfect early sixties pop, and there’s only one problem: He recorded it in 1975. As you listen to it you remark to yourself that there is absolutely song-writing craftsmanship going on, but it’s a dated craftsmanship. On the other hand, the album contains the slow version of “Breaking Up is Hard to Do,” one the the greats no matter what the decade. 
• The Turtles’s “Battle of the Bands” is a mediocre album with a couple of gems. It raises the question of FM vs AM, which I’ll get into some other time. 
• Lovin’ Spoonful, “Everything Playing,” has a couple of good songs that were late hits for them, but that’s about it. I probably had this in the queue after Andrew Hickey described how the Turtles wanted to be a good time music band like the Spoonful. Whatever.
• “McCartney III” — I hate to say it, but Sir Paul has lost his voice. Hell, he was born in 1942, so to say that he sings like an old man is to belabor the obvious. The problem is, he writes songs for his young voice. So it goes.
• The Kinks, “Face to Face” is prime stuff from Davies and company. It is educational to compare Davies’s “Dandy” vs Herman’s Hermits’ cover version. It’s a literal cover, exact down to the briefest semiquaver, and it’s cute. The Kinks’s version is not cute. And I admit, I like them both. But if I were heading to a desert album, I think I’d be leaving my extensive Hermits collection back on the mainland. 

In which we cheat at debate, and at Dickens

Debate: I cannot for the life of me understand cheating in debate. We went through a bad spell of it not too long ago, where it seemed as if every tournament had an incident where one team or another was found to be communicating with folks outside of the room, essentially having remote teammates research answers to the opposing case and feeding those answers to the team that was debating. That we haven’t had much of this lately is, I would like to think, because it’s no longer a practice, but I suspect that the cheaters have just gotten better at it. If someone is eager to beat the system they will probably find a way to do it faster than system can detect them. So maybe it’s still going on, not rampant but insistent. Who can tell?

(There are plenty of other ways to cheat, of course. Intimidation seems to be popular with certain schools, and there are multiple ways of doing this. Hell, multiple ways is the name of the game. Unfortunately.)

I can’t imagine why debaters would cheat. If it works it’s not a valid win. There’s no pride in “beating” a tough opponent because you didn’t actually beat them, and you know it. The only pride you can take in it is that you’ve successfully used the cheating tools (whatever they are). An ill-gotten trophy would be a constant reminder of your unworthiness to possess it. Qualifying for another tournament would not be because of a win but because of a scam; when you get to that other tournament, the only way you can succeed is to continue scamming. The scammer’s ego must suffer through all of this. Think of the scene in “Singin’ in the Rain” where they raise the curtain to show Debbie Reynolds voicing the leading lady. If it ain’t you, it ain’t you.

But I think there’s a deeper reason that cheating seems especially wrong in our activity. I mean, what are we debating? One way or another, we’re debating right and wrong, fair and unfair, just and unjust. We’re debating morality and ethics. How does this sit at all comfortably with debating immorally and unethically?

Is a puzzlement, as the King of Siam would put it.

Reading, paper division: When I’m between books I read series mysteries. The most recent was Aaron Elkins’s Curses! This is part of the Gideon Oliver series, and they’re perfectly enjoyable, but they don’t necessarily stick in the brain. Oliver is referred to as the bone detective in the series, which revolves around archaeological digs and the like. If I’m not using Elkins as a palate-cleanser, then it’s probably Ngaio Marsh. After all, you can’t just read Dostoevsky over and over. Or, well, you shouldn’t. Trust me on this. 

Reading, audio/paper division: Bleak House is at the top of my list of favorite Dickens novels. So when Stephen Fry, my favorite audiobook narrator, called Miriam Margolyes’s audiobook of BH one of the best, I had no choice but to acquire it. And I began to listen, and yes, it is one of the best. The down side is that it’s about skatey-eight thousand hours long. After listening for a couple of enjoyable weeks, I switched over to the paperback version that was in my home library so that I could get through it before the Apocalypse. I’ve only done this once before, listening to I, Claudius back when it was Books-on-Tape. It was so good that even though I was enjoying listening, I wanted to devour it at my own speed. There are two volumes, and I’d probably still be listening to it if I hadn’t switched off. Most audiobooks are in the 8-10 hour range, meaning that you can get through them in about two weeks, no problem. Longer than that, it becomes problematic. Consider this a warning if you’re thinking of trying audiobooks anytime soon. 

Reading, audio division: Putting down Dickens, we moved to the next title in the Audible queue. The God Engines is a novella by John Scalzi where the spaceships are powered by, well, gods. For Scalzi fans it can be summed up by simply pointing out that it is not narrated by Wil Wheaton, nor should it be. It reminded me that not all Scalzi books are an absolute hoot, and that he has a serious SF side. My favorite of his to recommend is the Interdependency trilogy, if the person I’m recommending it to seems in it for the long haul. Otherwise, of course, Redshirts. 

In which we spin a few

A couple of thoughts on music. 

Not long ago I had to explain to a younger friend the concept of a Side Two Album. Back in the day when there was vinyl, period, albums had two sides. While 45s also had two sides, these were clearly an A side and a B side, a concept which has slipped into the general language to a small degree. But an album, once we got past the era of an artist’s hit plus filler, was meant to be a whole thing. For example, when the Stones first started recording, they just dumped every song they knew onto tape and a bunch of albums resulted. But by the time they got to, say, “Exile on Main Street,” the songs were cut specifically for that album. That was the way recording changed over time (although it isn’t as though rockers invented the idea: cf. Sinatra’s Capital albums in the 50s). To the point at hand, when you bought a record, you played side one, and then you turned it over and you played side two. As you played a record multiple times, there were some where you pretty much only played one side, or at least heavily tended toward one side. “Abbey Road” is probably the best example of this, a Side Two album if there ever was one. But there were plenty of others. And, of course, this is now meaningless. The digitization of music has all but eliminated the concept of an album, or at least the concept of a concept album. I’m not immune to this: I listen probably half the time to single takes rather than albums (although by the same token, I do listen half the time to albums over single cuts). Life goes on. Before long-playing records, everything was singles. Hell, Beethhoven’s Ninth, recorded, was a bunch of 78 rpm singles. Then again, when Luddy wrote it, it was meant to be heard all at once (although, TBH, in a theoretical set of 4 singles AKA movements). 

There’s no point to my bringing this up other than it’s one of those things I just happened to think of recently. 

My other thought is actually reportage. I have a monthly poker game, and during the game, there is background music. If the background music is random cuts from the past, the game stops with every new cut as people first try to identify it, and then report on what they were doing when they first heard it 60 years ago, and who replaced the second drummer. Five Card Draw becomes Name That Tune. However, when you put on a full album, once people identify it (which is usually pretty easy for my generation when you play something from 60 years ago) then you can get on with dealing the cards and trying to figure out whose bet it is. Come to thing of it, in my geriatric game, figuring out whose bet it is may be our number one business. I have tried to suggest over the years simple improvements to the game like, say, betting in turn, but have been regularly voted down as being too tight-assed. When every hand begins with the phrase “Whose deal is it?” and a game that used to last until about 11:00 now starts breaking up at 7:30 to keep in line with half the players’ bedtimes, you know you’ve ventured into a game of retirees. So, a warning: if you actually want to play poker, steer as far away from my game as humanly possible. 

Music (audit division): An update on what’s been playing in the audit queue in the mornings.

• Larry Williams — Never heard of him, but he wrote (and performed originally) “Slow Down” and “Dizzy Miss Lizzy,” so obviously John Lennon was a fan. “Here’s Larry Williams” is an extremely enjoyable album, containing “Bony Moronie”, which was his big hit that I knew. Thrown immediately back into the rotation: I want to hear this one more than once. 
• Linda Ronstadt, Stone Poneys and Friends, Vol III — (Who knows why that E is in Poneys.) This is apparently their first album; if there’s a I and II I couldn’t find it. It starts out very folky, then you see glimmers of a rocking Ronstadt in some of the later tracks. I was never a big fan of Ronstadt, although I liked some of the hits and she unquestionably has a spectacular voice. The “Trio” album has to be a GOAT for a lot of people. (And while doing the research for this I discovered that there was a Trio II, which went straight into the queue.) Listening to this also moved me to listen to "Pirates of Penzance," but D’Oyly Carte, not Ronstadt’s version. I definitely went through a Savoyard period back in the day, and even saw John Reed do Pinafore on Broadway! (You will either find this devilishly enviable or totally meaningless.) I spent most of the ensuing week muttering under my breath that when a felon’s not engaged in his employment…
• The Hollies, “Write On” — More of the Hollie-ish same. I only listen to their albums to catch one of their occasional enjoyable rockers. Surprisingly enough, the Hollies ranked close to the top of the artists I listened to in my 2025 wrap-up. Go figure. It’s probably based on the fact that I have audited a lot of their work, and they have, themselves, a lot of work. 1962-present, according to Wikipedia. 64 years is way above the average rock band lifespan.
• Warren Zevon, Wanted Dead or Alive — Early Zevon. Not quite there yet, but in hindsight you can see it coming.
• “All Things Must Pass” with all the extras — I mean, who doesn’t like this album? It’s certainly one of my GOATs. But……..did I need 1001 extras? Having just listened to the original album at my most recent poker game (see above) without extras, I wasn’t ready to hear it again a couple of days later with them. Maybe some day, when I’m in the retirement home and if I have a decent set of headphones and I haven’t gone totally deaf…
• “John Wesley Harding” — Nobody knew what to expect when this album came out. How would Dylan reinvent himself, or for that matter, would he reinvent himself? I bought it, played it a few times, went on to other things. In my generation there are Dylanites and non-Dylanites. We latter don’t hate him, we just don’t revere him. It was nice to hear a few of these songs again, though.
• The Bonzo Dog Band — Their name comes up a lot in discussions of 60s music. I was expecting something rock-oriented, but what I got was British Music Hall. I do like their rendition of “Alley Oop” though. 
• Dillard and Clark — A pot pourri of their country music, and another venture into the work of an ex-Byrd. Listenable. 

In which we celebrate NYCFL Grands

 And so we end another season of the NY Catholic Forensic League.

The last tournament is called CFL Grands. On the drive home, Catholic Charlie explained to me that it was not some sort of official designation, but the best name the league could come up with at the time, when the national tournament was called the Grand National Tournament. Today "CFL Grands" makes no sense, except that’s what everybody’s been calling it for the last 30 or 40 years, and it’s probably not going to change any time soon. Who knew?

I have a special fondness for this tournament. In my career, it’s always been held at Stuyvesant High School way downtown in NYC. When I first attended as a judge and coach, Greg Varley and Rose Joyce ran it by hand inside some strange closet, and it took forever to conduct the four rounds to crown our qualifiers. I know why it took so long, because even JV and I do a lot of it by hand in 2026. Tabroom does not like small events, and Grands is seldom numbered more than in the teens. Give tabroom 180 PFers and it will pair them before your finger lifts from the button, complete with judges, rooms, blood types and DNA test results. Give it 16, with 12 of them from 4 schools, and it takes one look and runs out to Starbucks for a flat white. Which is why Joe and I enjoy it so much: it’s not just pressing buttons and perhaps doing some fine tuning. It’s work, with literal cards printed up (which tabroom does do quite admirably, by the way). It can easily take us a half hour to pair the two divisions in 4th round. As a matter of fact, when I got home I adjusted the schedule for next year to account for that better. 

But my fondness for the tournament goes beyond just the joy/b of tabbing. This is a culminating event for the students, in many cases not just for the year but for their entire careers in speech and debate. Sitting there waiting to hand out the trophies, I looked out a a sea of eager faces, everybody cleaned up nicely, everybody getting ready to go on in life having this particular experience of forensics spliced into their genetic makeup. They’re all smart kids, and they have the potential for great lives ahead of them. Again back in the car with Charlie going home, we talked about why we do this in the first place. I obviously have no skin in the game anymore, and there I am, practically week after week. And I’m not the only one. Around here, forensics is primarily a weekend business, and while most teachers rightly claim a weekend break from students (teaching is not easy work), these teachers often are in it for seven-day weeks, and nights, and long bus rides, and God knows what else. And it is, beyond a doubt, all worth it for them. And for their students. Bravo!

I have only two more gigs this year, the NY State Finals in the Bronx and the CFL Finals in DC. As the snow has been melting on the grass around the chez, visions of wedge shots have begun to dance merrily in my head, and we switch from scheduling rounds to scheduling tee times. And life goes on.

By the way, a clipping from this morning’s paper. I do love a good debate movie! A Film That Makes a Strong Argument for the Value of Debate

In which we prep for NYCFL Grands

We are now prepping for the NYCFL Grands tournament, where teams get to qualify for CFL Finals. CatNats, as it is familiarly known, always takes place on Memorial Day weekend. This year it’s in D.C.

For reasons that are hard to explain, I’ve always loved CatNats. When I was coaching it was not easy to qualify because there was so much LD talent in our archdiocese, but I went often enough, starting with my daughter a couple of times. Back then the NY contingent of debaters was pretty close-knit, and certainly hung together at travel tournaments. Judging at Nationals was a bear, since one pretty much had to judge every prelim (and people still do, for that matter). You’d start at the crack of dawn and go through until the crack of an evening vigil mass; it was, after all, the Catholic Forensic League, and one needed to fulfill one’s holy obligation so as to clear the decks for Sunday. Back then it was also pre-tabroom. For that matter, it was relatively free of any tabbing software whatsoever. It was apparently paired using Excel (or Lotus 123?), and someone would adjust the columns by a notch on the presets, so you judged the same schools twice or three time kicking off. Needless to say, the tabbing wasn’t 100% precise, lag-pairing was the name of the game, and since everyone went by codes rather than names, confusion ruled the day. But the thing was, you were hanging with your friends from the region, kids and coaches, playing cards, telling stories, starving to death from lack of food and simultaneously suffering from dehydration from the lack of water, and nary an event ever occurred without a followup of years of horror-story-filled reminiscences. Finding a restaurant in Rochester on a Sunday night, or even a Saturday after 8:00, for instance, was the original Mission Impossible. And don’t get me started on Albany, but then again, Baltimore never closes, so there was some balance over the years. The last two years have been in Chicago, which I really enjoyed (I work the PF tab room). As I said, this year it will be in DC. I’m looking forward to it, again working PF.

Anyhow, the thing about our local Grands, a one-day tournament, is that it requires 2 judges in a round, and we do LD and PF, and the whole thing becomes a real poser when you get to round 4. Who can win? Who can’t win? Can you bye people in or out? How the hell do you find clean judging? It’s me and JV figuring all this out, and it’s one of the most fun events of the season because of how complicated it can get. Starting with round 3 we start printing and tossing cards. Cards, I tell you!!! I love cards. I learned to tab using cards in the days before TRM came down the pike, the first software from Rich Edwards (a saint), Mac-only. I would like to believe that everyone should learn to tab on cards much like learning to drive a manual stick. It actually gives you some idea what you’re doing when you switch over to automatic, or tabroom.com. Palmer, tabroom’s proud papa, likes to think that tabroom does everything for anyone. But there’s no question that on days when the tabbing roads are iced over and the going is perilous, knowing what you’re doing and slipping tabroom into manual drive is pretty useful.

At this point, the Thursday before Grands, we’re mostly getting things cleaned up: corralling the last judges, vetting judge requirements (you have to have at least a little experience, given the stakes at the event), finding space at the high school that is apparently also holding some sort of other big event Saturday. It will all some together, though; it always does. And 6 LDers and 6 teams of PFers will be heading for glory in our nation’s capital, if there’s any glory left after whatever Trump does in the next couple of months.