Go. Oh, crap. What the hell am I supposed to do? Umm read. I’ll read my files. Read this, and this. What does this mean? I don’t know, I’ll read it anyway … three minutes remaining … oh-ok. So, in conclusion: I’ll read this file, and this card and th-and time’s up.
And so went my first policy debate. The only comparison I can offer for it is a fountain. A fountain of words, arguments really, “cards” as they call them in the biz, and so this fountain just spews from the debater’s mouth like spoiled milk. Of course, ask someone like me to give it a try and the words are more pushed out, fighting all the way, ornery, like when the fro-yo gets caught in the machine. They tell me it’s because it’s my first year, but we’ll see about that.
Obviously, there is more to policy debate than talking at super-human speeds, although for a novice, this phenomenon is difficult to get past. Two weekends ago I attended Georgetown’s first tournament of the year and witnessed firsthand some of the things that really make this sport (yes, sport) unique.
What you notice first are the tubs-tubs on the desks, tubs on the chairs, tubs of all colors, some lovingly adorned with bumper stickers, some cracked or melted at the corners. All of them are big and plastic and overflowing with precious evidence: scholarly documents, articles, government publications and records. The tubs go with the teams to every debate and will stay with them-growing steadily-throughout the year because in policy debate what you can’t prove doesn’t mean squat.
Basically, the idea is to put out as many good arguments in as little time as you possibly can. Slowly whittle down the competition as the tournament progresses from preliminary rounds, to semi-finals, to finals. The catch is that no one knows exactly what he or she will be arguing-or arguing against-until just before each round begins.
The judges decide at the tourney which teams will be affirmative and which negative. The plan becomes: collect as much evidence about every possible argument around the topic as you can; learn how to use your evidence-your “cards”-to build every argument up and learn how to use the same cards to tear them all down; do it all at break-neck speed.
And so they live, policy debaters, easy to spot: constantly acquiring information enough to prove, well, everything. They carry egg-timers, they speak quickly and they sometimes even sound slightly chipmunk-esque. They might keep time by twitching or gently swaying to and fro
These quirks, though, only sharpen debaters’ unique talents. And someday I hope to know every argument, positive and negative, for all things in existence. Like them, I hope to spew words like sour milk.
