Post by larien on Oct 2, 2005 15:14:05 GMT -5
Summary -- I wrote this as an English paper a while ago. It was supposed to be describing a ceremony, but somehow I got a vignette about life as a debater. Names have been changed. Ask me if there's something you don't undersand -- I think there might have been debate lingo slipped in.
Rated K.
Coming in from the football field feels good, the transition from the heat and sun into the cool, dark hole that we call D2. Sara is sitting on a desk, complaining that she is thirsty. Debaters trickle in, lugging tubs and expandos. JL bursts through the door singing, “Whooo let the dooooogs ouuut?!”
We laugh, glad to be returning to the room that will become our second home. Looking around, one can see how much the team has changed. The second years alone make up almost half of the varsity. With twenty-three debaters, we’re easily the largest team in the state.
JL and Josh are determined to win states this year, declaring that Groves must dominate the instate tournaments, and strike fear into the hearts of all other schools. They say we didn’t try hard enough last year, second place isn’t where we should have ended. JL reminds us that we can joke about other teams, but that we must take them seriously when we hit them in tournaments. “Don’t count Okemos out,” becomes our new slogan.
As the school year begins we meet every evening, and D2 reacquires its familiar smell of paper and tape. There is always a constant murmur in the room; often from Mandi standing in the corner, her face turning red with effort as she does speed drills. The tapping of keys at the computer is constant and the paper shooting from the printer must have cost the world a small forest. Music plays frequently, sometimes blaring loudly. When Sara complains that it’s too sappy, Jon laughs. “Sappy? You want sappy? Here’s sappy.” ‘A Whole New World’ from Disney’s Aladdin comes pouring out of his speakers.
Life becomes a series of small crises: the computers freeze, the printer breaks, the code for the copier doesn’t work. Scott assigns us files to write, and we have a moment of panic; as second years, we’ve never actually had to make a complete file.
JL and Scott sketch out how to finish our assignments, then turn us loose. Desperate, we come back, asking how to make frontlines and extensions. Are we supposed to do research and cut more cards? Do we need to write analytical arguments? JL shakes his head and rearranges our pages, saying that the best evidence should be at the front, not the back. Slowly, stacks of paper are turned in. Scott compliments some, and harangues others. But eventually, they are all turned in and copied. Without even a day of rest, a second wave of assignments is sent out, and the rush for help starts all over again.
Suddenly, the first tournament is only two days away. On top of our most recent assignments, Mandi asks us to cut updates. The night before they’re due, I find myself up late, trying to find anything that says we’re going to win the war on terror. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise that there’s nothing available. Finally, I give up and go to bed. It isn’t until five minutes before they are due that I print out my papers. Running up to Mandi, I apologize for not finding enough evidence. She tells me not to worry, as soon as they can, she and Jane will teach all of the second years to cut updates efficiently.
As DCD looms closer, we struggle to finish our copying assignments and tubs. Tension fills D2 as too many copies are made of one file, and not enough of another. Becca and Liz and I panic during lunch, certain that we’ll be made fools of by every team we hit.
We leave after school that day. Tension fills the air, so thick we almost choke. Michael and Jacob are searching the room, looking for a lost tub. They aren’t sure what color it is, or what it looks like, but they are sure it’s missing. Becca and Sara have just realized that they never copied any of our generic files, and are tearing around trying to see if anyone has spare copies. Some of the carts have flat tires, but there is no pump and no time to fix the problem.
Slowly, tubs are loaded into the cars, and we try to find rides. Scott and JL offer to drive some of us, and others drive with students. Sara gets out of Michael’s car in the parking lot at DCD, and vows that she will never drive with him again. All of the work we put into carefully loading the tubs is undone in moments, and the carts begin creaking their way towards the school.
The tournament begins, a careful dance of teams and debaters. It is old, a dance that hasn’t changed since JL and Scott began debating. The traditions are the same: you don’t cheat, you don’t debate your own team, and you take every opportunity to learn as much as you can about both sides. And, of course, you win.
Schematics come out, and there is a sudden rush as hundreds of debaters pick up carts and tubs and run to separate parts of the building. It is now that everything JL tried to instill into us as novices becomes crucial. All of the desirable traits in a debater: speed, clarity, acuity; these are suddenly vital. These are what we hold dearest; these and a desire to make the world a better place. To convince the judge that our way is the right way. Would that we were novices once more, so that all were simple.
The round begins with a rush of adrenaline which pounds through my heart and clamors in my head. There is nothing more important in that moment than proving to the judge that the opposition is incorrect. No matter what they say, they can only bring more destruction to a world that is crumbling around our knees. Why can’t they see that we are on the brink of nuclear war in the Middle East? They will cause the annihilation of all mankind! Voting for them signs away our lives! We must stop this – this is the song that plays in every debater’s head. We must save the world. Only we can solve the problems of the world: the destruction in Louisiana, the AIDS in Africa, the terrorism in the Middle East; we, the debaters of Groves High School have the solution. This is a song that plays in every debater’s veins, kept in time by the beating of hearts. We can save them. Why is it that no one else hears?
The round ends and we see our plans for what they truly are – ideas without meaning, drab and grey, full of holes. We realize that we are still only human. It is crushing, until we look over at the other team, and see the same realization on their faces. We are not alone.
The dance goes on until late that night, a whirlwind of speeches and thoughts. Each round is alive, each a possible future. The song goes on long after we have gone home, playing in our heads as we lay in beds, plotting the next day’s rounds.
We rise early the next morning, and the song plays louder and the dance is faster. Caught in a storm of flying paper and pens, the tournaments ends suddenly. Silence reigns, as even the song ends. There are no more debates, no more futures left, they have been exhausted for the week. It is time to go home.
The carts creak out of the building, and we drive away in our cars. Tomorrow is Sunday. On Monday, we will come to practice, and write files, and cut cards. The third- and fourth-years will teach the second-years to make blocks and cut updates. Next weekend there will be another tournament, and the song and the dance will begin all over again. But for now, I can catch up on my sleep.
Rated K.
-----
Coming in from the football field feels good, the transition from the heat and sun into the cool, dark hole that we call D2. Sara is sitting on a desk, complaining that she is thirsty. Debaters trickle in, lugging tubs and expandos. JL bursts through the door singing, “Whooo let the dooooogs ouuut?!”
We laugh, glad to be returning to the room that will become our second home. Looking around, one can see how much the team has changed. The second years alone make up almost half of the varsity. With twenty-three debaters, we’re easily the largest team in the state.
JL and Josh are determined to win states this year, declaring that Groves must dominate the instate tournaments, and strike fear into the hearts of all other schools. They say we didn’t try hard enough last year, second place isn’t where we should have ended. JL reminds us that we can joke about other teams, but that we must take them seriously when we hit them in tournaments. “Don’t count Okemos out,” becomes our new slogan.
As the school year begins we meet every evening, and D2 reacquires its familiar smell of paper and tape. There is always a constant murmur in the room; often from Mandi standing in the corner, her face turning red with effort as she does speed drills. The tapping of keys at the computer is constant and the paper shooting from the printer must have cost the world a small forest. Music plays frequently, sometimes blaring loudly. When Sara complains that it’s too sappy, Jon laughs. “Sappy? You want sappy? Here’s sappy.” ‘A Whole New World’ from Disney’s Aladdin comes pouring out of his speakers.
Life becomes a series of small crises: the computers freeze, the printer breaks, the code for the copier doesn’t work. Scott assigns us files to write, and we have a moment of panic; as second years, we’ve never actually had to make a complete file.
JL and Scott sketch out how to finish our assignments, then turn us loose. Desperate, we come back, asking how to make frontlines and extensions. Are we supposed to do research and cut more cards? Do we need to write analytical arguments? JL shakes his head and rearranges our pages, saying that the best evidence should be at the front, not the back. Slowly, stacks of paper are turned in. Scott compliments some, and harangues others. But eventually, they are all turned in and copied. Without even a day of rest, a second wave of assignments is sent out, and the rush for help starts all over again.
Suddenly, the first tournament is only two days away. On top of our most recent assignments, Mandi asks us to cut updates. The night before they’re due, I find myself up late, trying to find anything that says we’re going to win the war on terror. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise that there’s nothing available. Finally, I give up and go to bed. It isn’t until five minutes before they are due that I print out my papers. Running up to Mandi, I apologize for not finding enough evidence. She tells me not to worry, as soon as they can, she and Jane will teach all of the second years to cut updates efficiently.
As DCD looms closer, we struggle to finish our copying assignments and tubs. Tension fills D2 as too many copies are made of one file, and not enough of another. Becca and Liz and I panic during lunch, certain that we’ll be made fools of by every team we hit.
We leave after school that day. Tension fills the air, so thick we almost choke. Michael and Jacob are searching the room, looking for a lost tub. They aren’t sure what color it is, or what it looks like, but they are sure it’s missing. Becca and Sara have just realized that they never copied any of our generic files, and are tearing around trying to see if anyone has spare copies. Some of the carts have flat tires, but there is no pump and no time to fix the problem.
Slowly, tubs are loaded into the cars, and we try to find rides. Scott and JL offer to drive some of us, and others drive with students. Sara gets out of Michael’s car in the parking lot at DCD, and vows that she will never drive with him again. All of the work we put into carefully loading the tubs is undone in moments, and the carts begin creaking their way towards the school.
The tournament begins, a careful dance of teams and debaters. It is old, a dance that hasn’t changed since JL and Scott began debating. The traditions are the same: you don’t cheat, you don’t debate your own team, and you take every opportunity to learn as much as you can about both sides. And, of course, you win.
Schematics come out, and there is a sudden rush as hundreds of debaters pick up carts and tubs and run to separate parts of the building. It is now that everything JL tried to instill into us as novices becomes crucial. All of the desirable traits in a debater: speed, clarity, acuity; these are suddenly vital. These are what we hold dearest; these and a desire to make the world a better place. To convince the judge that our way is the right way. Would that we were novices once more, so that all were simple.
The round begins with a rush of adrenaline which pounds through my heart and clamors in my head. There is nothing more important in that moment than proving to the judge that the opposition is incorrect. No matter what they say, they can only bring more destruction to a world that is crumbling around our knees. Why can’t they see that we are on the brink of nuclear war in the Middle East? They will cause the annihilation of all mankind! Voting for them signs away our lives! We must stop this – this is the song that plays in every debater’s head. We must save the world. Only we can solve the problems of the world: the destruction in Louisiana, the AIDS in Africa, the terrorism in the Middle East; we, the debaters of Groves High School have the solution. This is a song that plays in every debater’s veins, kept in time by the beating of hearts. We can save them. Why is it that no one else hears?
The round ends and we see our plans for what they truly are – ideas without meaning, drab and grey, full of holes. We realize that we are still only human. It is crushing, until we look over at the other team, and see the same realization on their faces. We are not alone.
The dance goes on until late that night, a whirlwind of speeches and thoughts. Each round is alive, each a possible future. The song goes on long after we have gone home, playing in our heads as we lay in beds, plotting the next day’s rounds.
We rise early the next morning, and the song plays louder and the dance is faster. Caught in a storm of flying paper and pens, the tournaments ends suddenly. Silence reigns, as even the song ends. There are no more debates, no more futures left, they have been exhausted for the week. It is time to go home.
The carts creak out of the building, and we drive away in our cars. Tomorrow is Sunday. On Monday, we will come to practice, and write files, and cut cards. The third- and fourth-years will teach the second-years to make blocks and cut updates. Next weekend there will be another tournament, and the song and the dance will begin all over again. But for now, I can catch up on my sleep.
