There is something about running a little tournament with
about 250 teams, all in one day, where everyone is captive because the weather
is dreadful. Things just work. You post a round, people pick up their ballots
(although you usually have to chase down one or two judges who don’t have phone
numbers in tabroom) and students show up and there you are. That, in the
proverbial nutshell, was this year’s “Kristmas Klassik at Regis Really at
Stuyvesant, AKA the Christmas Classich.”
We did get nervous the middle of the week when we saw the
weather prediction. It was pretty set: snow overnight on Friday. Most of the
tournament attendees were city folk, so we agreed that there was no reason to
think about cancelling. Catholic Charlie brought the medals over to my house. He had been heading up to Natick but, alas, they did cancel, so suddenly he was able to join us at his normal venue. We agreed that if it were horrible, I’d take the train with the hardware, and if the roads were okay, I’d pick him up and we’d drive down together.
And snow it did, and I opted for the train. I slowly
proceeded from home to depot way before the crack of dawn in serious snow but
with the road to myself, managed to lug the eight thousand pounds of medals
onto the train, checked to see who had cancelled (most of the suburbs) and then
proceeded to fall asleep, waking up as we pulled into Harlem—the perfect train
ride. From GCT it was an easy subway trek to Chambers Street and Stuyvesant,
pleasantly marked by the presence of a quartet of obvious debaters from a
school I will not mention who didn’t seem to understand the idea that the woman
with the baby in the perambulator ought to get onto the subway car first, but,
well, teens will be teens and this is the Age of Idiocy, after all. (I assume
you follow my twitter account, which is where I spew most of my anti-Trumpie
venom. Why should you have to suffer that jackass in a debate blog?)
Despite the storm, we got started almost on time, and things
ran swell from there. Andrew G and his team headed up the policy side, and I
did PF and LD with my own little team. There were a couple of judges who didn’t
quite get the idea that they were there to do a job, and that whining about it
to everyone from the principal down to the ordure removers wasn’t going to get
him out of it. If I heard one more time from this one goober that he was filling in for his wife
(the poor woman) I was going to throw him out the window. I always wonder why
people insist on having sex sixteen years ago when the inevitable result will
be having to take some responsibility for their children today. It goes with the territory,
people. It's the price you have to pay when you fornicate. Jeesh.
We did the opening assembly in the theatre (yes, apparently
with an r-e, as compared to an auditorium, which is so plebian and
non-Stuyvesantian), but we did awards in the cafeteria. Frank R, who was
helping me in tab, handed out the medals and trophies while I read the names.
He was attacked like a wounded gnu laid on by lions and vultures, until there
was nothing left of him but a ribcage and a few strips of flesh waving in the
wind. I did manage to get away with my life, but only barely. Next time I’m
going to bring a shark cage, the kind they put swimmers in, and toss the medals
out like chum to the swirling predators. It will be safer all around.
Meanwhile we kept seeing bulletins from Blake complaining
that it was cold in Minnesota in the winter. You’d think Facebook would have a
button built in for that one. Just click on the frostbitten nose icon or
something. Facebook should also have a standard button for people whose planes
are delayed for umpty-ump hours on their way to tournaments. We all know it’s
going to happen. Why is anyone surprised? If God had wanted humans to fly, He
wouldn’t have created United Airlines.
And so the season goes into hibernation for a little while.
But I still have some business to attend to, and attend to it I will. That’s
just the kind of guy I am.
///
No comments:
Post a Comment