So, another Big Bronx is in the can. As I write this, however, it is still going on. The tournament itself is over, that is, but in its Night of the Living Dead incarnation, it is now into the extra innings of its round robin. O’C told me that tonight they’re all going to eat at Planet Hollywood. I shuddered and turned away.
If you’re unaware of it, Big Jake is the country’s worst semis bid. The field that breaks into what the tournament lovingly refers to as Soddiesexidecimals could easily be the breaking field from Emory or Glenbrooks, with absolutely no ringers thrown in for effect. This is a tribute to O’C’s ability to threaten high school students around the country, telling them that they’ll never get picked up in this town again if they don’t make an appearance. The judge pool is commensurate with the debating pool, and even JWP shows up to survey the situation. I’m sure I’ve told the long soap opera story of the Bronx in this column at some point or other in the past; grab me next time you see me and point me toward Jerome Avenue and I’ll be happy to do it again in person. In the meanwhile, it’s probably never going to get any better than this. And something tells me it’s also never going to get any worse. That makes it a pretty jake event.
Tabbing was like sleepwalking, except for the volume (about 150 or so). Press a button, put A judges in the bubble brackets, photocopy and stand back. The only real issue (aside from the English-as-a-non-language ringer or two) was the striking of judges, which turned out to be less of an issue than I would have thought. Most of the strikes took, but a couple went south in the most amazing way. Students, coaches, archbishops and bouncers would stand behind me as I (re)entered them, certifying them each in their own way, and then a minute later they’d be gone again. Ugh. I guess I was more surprised by the ones that took than the ones that didn’t, given that the tookers really did get took to the tune of about 99%. There were just a couple of students who were apparently on the wrong side of E-TRPC, and were going to suffer through Adjudication Stinkerinos no matter what. I blame those students entirely.
There were few if any incidents worth reporting. Ryan H thinks I chuckle to myself when I write, many of us saw a September Morn vision of flesh we will never be able to banish from our minds, I met one or two extremely serious people of unclear affiliation who scared me more than a little which is why I ran home early, I got to schmooze a tad with a few of the old timers like Jude 99 (O’C insists that his alums come with their vintage labels clearly attached), I had an excellent tab slave who will be my guy till he graduates or O’C can get some other fool to run his LD tab, the Foods of the World Unite spread was actually pretty good, especially after my tab slave was pointed toward the microwave, the Saturday puzzle was easier than the Friday puzzle which had forced me to rely on help from Joe V (an admission that I am loath to make but honesty is the coachean policy, even when I have to lie to achieve it), and who can forget O'C's entrance stage left for the Award Marathon? Heeeeerrrrree'sss Cruzy! The best thing about Cruz's Awards is that it makes everyone else's awards look like the Reader's Digest version, and let me tell you, I make that statement with unusual authority!
Anyhow, best quote of the weekend, overheard in the hallways: “So-and-so is running against having a standard for judging the debate because that limits what the debate is about.” Oooooo-kay. And O’C wonders why I prefer the tab room...
No comments:
Post a Comment