Bump nears

The trophy guy called me up last week and told me that their acrylic supplier had flown the coop, so they were substituting blue glass for the Bump trophies. Thus are traditions made. I originally moved to acrylic back in the 90s to put my own stamp on things. Now the acrylic supplier has put its stamp on things. Fortunately I trust my trophy guy. Oy.

The tournament remains oversubscribed, but I’ve cleared off every school’s initial entry from the waitlist. I feel good about that, that no one was shut out. We will dwindle down, I know, but since I’m using too many library spaces for comfort, I’m fine with that. All in all, it’s a sellout, and it’s nice to be back after the hurricane.

I’ve decided to go with tabroom.com tabbing in the varsity divisions, seeing that CP will be in the tab room. He’s very sanguine about things, and this will give JV a chance to see it in action. I’ll be using it for PF at Vassar this weekend, just to get a feel for it live, my worst case scenario being a port over to TRPC if disaster strikes. But I’m not worried. Much. Meanwhile, Bump novices will dance to the tune of TRPC. They’ll survive.

I’ve worked out the Sailors’ job assignments. Some of them surprised me as I made them, but they were sensible. Number one priority at any tournament is making the rounds happen, and that was my guiding principle. I’ll announce them at a joint meeting of tutti of my fruttis tomorrow night at the school (today was a day off, of course). I will point out here that the one thing that always surprises me is the popularity of manning the concessions. To me, this sounds like boredom on a stick, because all you do is sit there and people give you a dollar and you give them a bottle of water. There’s no there there. Actually, it’s usually the Speecho-Americans who value the candy tables so much. Maybe it’s genetic. Debato-Americans prefer making the trains run on time, while Speecho-Americans like to walk through the trains selling Hershey bars. An apt metaphor.

The best thing about Bump is that, starting the day after, I don’t have to think about it again until the next summer. That happy Sunday twelve days from now, I assure you, is the high point of my debate season.