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. 

In which we're all music, all of the time

Just as I was seriously getting into Neil Sedaka, he up and died. I was saddened by this. His music was just, well, fun, and one imagined that he in person was also just, well, fun. His music speaks for itself, and if you haven’t listened to him lately, go back and revisit him. You’ll enjoy it. (“Breaking Up is Hard to Do” was in my head all this last Lakeland weekend.)

The audit queue: The biggest theme over the last week or so has been takeoffs from 500 Songs talking about the Byrds and The Beach Boys, with a few ringers thrown in for good measure:

• Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers An old Byrd, the one who wouldn’t fly (on an airplane), with a country band is, well, very country, if that’s what you’re looking for.
• The Surfaris They were famous for Wipe Out. Period. The end. 
• Before and After, by Chad and Jeremy Always pleasant British Invasion stuff. Their voices meld nicely and the tunes are sweet. A nice nostalgic listen. 
• Gary Usher, the Astrology Album. Usher collaborated with Brian Wilson on some early tunes and produced a couple of Byrds’ albums, so he hits 500 Songs on both burners. This is a spoken word album, over some harmless music, all about astrology, and roughly five minutes of my life I’ll never get back. 
• Jim Stafford His eponymous album is pretty much all country, but I do like “Spiders and Snakes.”
• The International Submarine Band The thing is, Gram Parsons had to come from somewhere, and this is his first real group, and damn if you can’t hear what’s to come in this very confusing mix of rock and folk and country. The production isn’t there yet, but I found that when I was half-listening to it the next thing I knew I was all-listening to it. Of more than a little historical interest, and at least a decent bit of good music. 
• Amazing Rhythm Aces The name sounded vaguely familiar. They’re a 70s country-rock group and I have to admit I enjoyed this album. I'll definitely listen to more of them.
• Firefall  Their eponymous debut album. This is one of those groups that learned about music at the foot of Buffalo Springfield rather than, say, Leadbelly. Fifth generation rock, I guess—after 1) early influencers of the blues, country, etc.; 2) Elvis/R&B 50s; 3)the Beatles/guitar rock, and Laurel Canyonites; 4)SF California music—but pretty good. I’ll definitely follow them in their next albums.
• Emmylou Harris, Elite Hotel That beautiful voice… She collaborated with Parsons early on, which is how she popped in here. If you have a country playlist, you know her inside and out. 
• Bruce Springsteen Tracks II: The Lost Albums I read about this somewhere and decided to give it a try. I don’t dislike the Boss but I am not his biggest fan, although some of my friends are. This is for them, not for me. I’ll stick to the hits. 
• Mick Ralphs, It’s All Good Ralphs played guitar for Bad Company and Mott the Hoople. This album is all instrumentals. Good, if you like that sort of thing. 
• The Gilded Palace of Sin And here we are. Gram Parsons and Chris Hillman form the Flying Burrito Brothers after recording “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” and leaving the Byrds, and this is their debut album. A GOAT? Not really. But in the last fifty years or so, it has grown on me. By the way, 500’s Andrew Hickey says that Hillman is way underrated for his various contributions, and he is probably right about this. We’ll be following Hillman in more detail as we go forward. 
• The Remains Never heard of them. They opened for the Beatles in ’66 and broke up that same year. They were a Boston group, and a lot of influential people have spoken very highly of them over the years. This one went straight to heavy rotation. There was a lot here to parse. I liked it. 
• Asylum Choir II Leon Russell of the Wrecking Crew makes an early album with guitarist Marc Benno before becoming Leon Russell. Heavily influenced by gospel, and full of Russell’s distinctive piano playing. I never really glommed onto Russell, but he does get a good off once in a while. Best hair and beard in the business. 
• Canned Heat When I first heard their eponymous first album playing in the next room, I thought it was maybe an early 40s blues recording. It turned out to be Canned Heat deliberately trying to sound like an early 40s blues recording. They cover all the licks, but don’t seem to have any of their own. But I’ll keep listening to them. I do like primary lead singer Bob Hite’s little falsetto, and miss it when someone else is handling their vocal duties. And “Going Up the Country” is a bona fide classic: you can’t take that away from them, no matter the rest of their music.

In which we travel to imaginary Lakeland

This last weekend was the Westchester Classic, more familiarly known as the Lakeland tournament, its birthplace. Lakeland is just down the road from my old venue, Hendrick Hudson. When I first got involved in the activity, Greg Varley was the Lakeland coach, as well as one of the directors of the Mid-Hudson League, as well as our NFL District Chair, as well as anything else you can think of. And of course, the Westchester Classic AKA Lakeland tournament director. After he retired, his various roles in the region devolved down to others. Anyone who couldn’t keep their head down, including me, was District Chair for a while. Ditto running the MHL. As for Lakeland, it was run by a series of teachers, starting with Colonel K, with whom I spent some great moments back in the day having our brains numbed at the Cringing Latin School during the Harvard tournament. He moved on and others followed as coach. Today, for all practical purposes, Lakeland no longer exists as a team, but the tournament goes on as a last-chance event with a couple of bids in CX and PF, and additional states-qual opportunities in LD and PF. LD and CX are run by Sheryl and Janet. I assist them in the tab room. The tournament is virtual, but the tab room is in-person, and we convene outside of Hartford, Connecticut, about halfway between our respective homes. Joe V and Catholic Charlie and Rick O’Bono join us to run their District and Regional qualifiers. A swell time is had by all.

Not much happened this weekend outside of the usual stuff that happens. But I did learn that there is at least one state in this great country of ours—which is predicated on free speech and liberty for all—not too long ago banned policy debate in high schools. Essentially, they didn’t like students learning about critical theory or identity politics or anything that wasn’t Mom and Apple Pie. The fact that the world is anything but Mom and Apple Pie didn’t seem to be a factor. I do not know all the details, but eventually the ban was lifted, as long as teams don’t debate on Sunday, which is apparently set aside in that particular polity as Official Mom and Apple Pie day. No doubt the Thought Police were watching us closely, making sure we didn’t cross the line. You could feel their hot breath on the back of your neck…

I wonder if they work on Sundays. 

Anyhow, driving up there I listened to Andrew Hickey talk about The Beach Boys. He often starts his episodes with disclaimers and content warnings, and in this case it seemed like half the episode was nothing but disclaimers and content warnings. The reason, as you probably know, was the connection of Dennis Wilson to Charles Manson. I won’t go into that, but I did note while listening that Hickey praised the BB’s “Friends” album as one of their best, and I decided to give it a whirl over the weekend. And you know something? He’s right. I’ve certainly listened to it countless times before, but I don’t think I ever actually listened to it; it was just there in the background. But if you pay attention to it, you hear some really good Beach Boys music, and one thing I really like is good Beach Boys music. If you’re interested in all the details, listen to 500 songs: Hickey covers a lot of the BBs over the course of the series. If you just want to hear a Beach Boys album that isn’t early AM hits or “Pet Sounds,” try “Friends.” You won’t regret it. 

In which Bartlett's eats its heart out

Back when I was doing 4n6 Funnies, I had a working list of things overheard in the tab room. I have no reason not to present them here before they are lost to history.

"Bring us some waters. A couple of hundred. And some chips."

"You're right. We have no idea how to do prefs. Next time you tab and we'll sit in the judges' lounge all weekend eating jelly donuts."

"Give that sucker an 0-4 to judge." 

"It's only round 3." 

"Improvise."

"I know there's a button for that somewhere. I hope."

"My bus is going to turn into a pumpkin."

“Should we call 911?"

"The first ballot is in before the last one went out."

"Fine and replace. Then fine and fine again."

"You have. Fucked. This. Tournament."

In which we review a couple of shows, and someone else no longer reviews at all

Television: “Seven Dials” is a new three-part miniseries on Netflix, based on a novel by Agatha Christie. The showrunner is Chris Chibnall, known for, among other things, modern Dr. Who. So the pedigree is there, and it’s an okay show, if you like that sort of thing. I wouldn’t drop everything and rush to see it, but if you need a touch of Agatha in the night, it’ll be there for you. 

“Alpha House” was a short-lived series on Amazon Prime about a decade ago starring John Goodman as one of a group of senators sharing a house in D.C. It’s been in my queue for ages, and I finally gave in and watched a couple of episodes. It was okay, but I tossed it fairly quickly. Maybe it’s because “Veep” satisfied my need for comic Washingtonians. Or maybe it’s because Trump has satisfied my need for comic Washingtonians. Whichever, if you’re watching something and not really liking it, and you have a gazillion other shows at your disposal, why bother? IMDB rates it 7.5. I don’t. 

Books: The Washington Post’s Books Section is going the way of, well, just about every other books section (and for that matter, the Washington Post in general). This means that we are even further along in relying on celebrities, and/or algorithms based on what you’ve already read and which assume that that’s all you’ll ever want to read, and/or the aggregate of the teeming masses for information on what books to read. Once upon a time every magazine and newspaper in every middlesex village and town had book reviews. There were more book reviews than books. Now you’re pretty much on your own. The New Yorker is an okay source, but their reviews are usually enough that you don’t have to read it anymore. The NY Times is readable but hit or miss. Jacket blurbs from other writers are, at best, a little incestuous. If you’re lucky, a friend will recommend something (which is how I found the wonderful Kate Atkinson) but as often as not some other friend will recommend something else that makes you question the meaning of friendship. It’s not easy being a reader in the 21st Century.  

In which we get our money's worth from our streaming channels

Movies: “Blue Moon” isn’t really a movie; it’s a two-act play masquerading as a movie. In Act One, Lorenz Hart opines about the world, primarily in monologue. In Act Two, Lorenz Hart tries to regain his impossibly lost life, primarily in monologue. In the play as a whole, Lorenz Hart never stops talking except when his young crush earns her salary with what is primarily her monologue. On the stage, this would probably knock you out. On the screen, it mostly makes you wish it were on the stage. Ethan Hawke and Margaret Qualley are both great, and it’s fun to see a snooty young Stephen Sondheim trailing after a Ben Grimm-like Oscar Hammerstein, and so forth and so on, but none of that redeems its being in the wrong medium. Anyone looking for a DI, however, will have come to the right place. 

“The Materialists” made it into my queue because it had played at our local arthouse, and my assumption is always that if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I found it enjoyable, and a little surprising. Sometimes that’s exactly what one is looking for in an evening’s entertainment. For the record, I watched this during the State of the Union speech, but I do not applaud it because of what I could have been watching otherwise. I mean, “Plan 9 from Outer Space” or “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians” would be better than any of Trump’s bull excrement, and should not be rated solely by that comparison.  

TV: “Bookish,” a series on PBS, is a second-tier British mystery but it’s certainly watchable. At least it’s not the curmudgeonly, whiskey-soaked veteran (and possibly retired) detective versus the young whippersnapper. It’s hard for mysteries to stand out these days, but his one, at least, is a bit different. You’ll recognize the lead actors, but you might have to consult IMDB to find out why. 

“Stranger Things”—I’ve now finished the whole series. I don’t want to say that I never really knew what was going on—let’s call that the plot's’ strategy—but I more than occasionally had no idea why anyone was doing whatever it was they were doing—let’s call that the plot's’ tactics. What’s appealing about the whole enterprise, and why I stuck with it over the years, was the characters. This is, in fact, often the reason one watches a show (or, for that matter, reads a book), because of the people, not because of the plot. It’s the people, and the way they affect us, that matters. Think of all the mysteries—series, TV shows, movies, or books—that you follow because you enjoy the detectives, not because you care whodunnit. Series TV, in general, succeeds when we just want to see those characters again, week after week. And so it was with “Stranger Things.” By the end, one got a little choked up as each character’s fate was resolved and their future set. In other words, the series did its job, despite whatever the hell was going on between Henry and that whatever-it-was, or whatever Sarah Connor was trying to do by capturing Eleven. Let it wash over you, and enjoy it as it comes. 

In which we discuss a nice point

Debate: Let’s say that a debater doesn’t show up for a round. What this usually means is that I’ll trundle down to the room to not see the missing person for myself. Satisfied about their no-show status, I’ll tell the judge and debater who have been sitting in the room for at least the last fifteen minutes that I will declare a forfeit for the no-show and give the yes-show debater a bye, and that we’ll do it on our end in tab and the judge can now go back to the lounge for more donuts. Then I’ll trundle back to the tab room, erase the judge from the round, and mark the bye/forfeit. Then I’ll probably check things out with the no-show’s coach. That is the orthodoxy of the situation. 

But here’s the thing. My original thinking on this was that the judge hadn’t actually heard anything, since no round had happened, so it made sense to remove them from the round so that they’d be clean for the yes-show debater later in the tournament. But after this happened last week at the Bronx, I began to have second thoughts. When I trundled into that room to not see the invisible debater, what I saw instead was two people who had sat together for at least a quarter of an hour and probably more. And in that time, regardless of how you would describe it, anything from icy silence to warm chitchat, these two had built up a relationship. Not much of a relationship I’ll grant you, but a relationship nonetheless. (I would add to this that I happened to know about this particular judge, who was a bit of a pedantic hard ass, although that doesn’t play into my ultimate thinking on the subject.) What I eventually came to decide was that it was better not to strike the judge. Who knows what happened in that one-on-one time? Yes, there may be one-on-one time in a normal round, when one team is way earlier than the other before the start time, but that is time the team that is present is polishing up and getting ready to speak. Once start time rolls around, the polishing is over, the yes-show debater looks up, and we’re into a twilight zone of—Who knows? The important question is, what is the judge thinking? They’re building up an animus against the no-show, sure, but are they also building up a subconscious animus against the yes-show, that lowly worm of a debater who’s making them sit there staring at the phonics lessons posters over teacher’s desk when they could be back eating donuts in the judge lounge? Or is the judge admiring the cut of the yes-show debater’s jib so much as to want to trade in their own kid for this one? As I said, who knows? Better, I think, now that I’ve reflected on it for a while, to eliminate any possible issues. Leave in the judge, eliminating any potential harm. Of course, this may or may not eliminate that judge from seeing that kid again in elims, depending on the tournament set-up, but that’s a different issue altogether. (Do you allow judges from prelims to judge them at all in elims? Do you limit it only to judges who have picked them up? There are options in tabroom. As it happens, there were no elimination rounds at the tournament in question, so that wasn't a point of contention.) 

In the end, leave the judge, take the cannoli. There’s a new orthodoxy. It happens.

Books (Kindle edition): I just finished Stacy Schiff’s biography of Samuel Adams. I’ve read more than my share of American history, but I have to admit that a lot of what I learned here was new to me. Adams did not prepare a written legacy for future generations, so in the normal run of learning about the Revolution, one tends to hear more about those who did. On top of this, as much as not, Adams was sort of a backroom kind of guy. He had his moments in the sun, but they were few and far between. You first think of him as organizing the Tea Party, and then maybe that’s about it. From this book, occasionally one wonders about the means Adams used to attain his ends, and even sometimes what those ends might have been. Biographies are at their most interesting when their subjects are presented in all their human complexity. We contain multitudes. A good biographer lets us know that their subject’s multitude exists, and that those multitudes cannot all be understood by others. Schiff is that sort of good biographer, and the book is highly recommended. 

Oh, and yes, Sam’s dad was a brewer. Sammy Junior did a bit of it himself, but I wouldn't say it was his day job.