Winning State (part 1)

At the top of the stairs in the Collin College building where I teach, there are side by side water bottle filling devices, the one on the right slightly taller than the one on the left (for shorter people?). Each has digital displays, I presume to indicate when to change filters. Since last year, I’ve noticed the numbers were close, with the taller maybe slightly ahead in total refills. I’ve made it my personal mission to take water only from the dispenser on the left, the shorter one, the losing one.

I have rules. All the water I dispense, I have to drink. No fair faking it, like Jim Carrey as an actor or a flopping soccer player. Since I’m there for 3+ hours, I usually consume four or five bottles, which adds about eight to the refill counter, my aqua buddy. And no fair switching sides. Win, lose, or draw, we do this together. One more principle: I can’t counsel students which machine to use. This is my private war. Over the semester, Lefty and I have rebounded from a small deficit to take a five refill lead. We’re on Christmas break now, but I shall return to continue the contest in January.

All this to say, I’m competitive. I’ve been that way my whole life, just something God built into me, I suppose. When I started at Wheeling High School in 1985, the principal asked me to create a Congressional Debate Team, one that would win enough to earn good PR for the school. I had never seen a round of competitive Debate, never debated in high school, and, in fact, didn’t even know what Congressional Debate was. “Absolutely, I can do that,” I replied with both arrogance and ignorance.

Starting a team was much, much rougher than I imagined, like 36-grit sandpaper rough. There was already a successful Policy Debate program run by a beloved coach (and two assistants). There was also a solid Speech Team (with two coaches). Both teams drained the pool of likely students I was seeking. Plus, I was the only Congressional Debate coach and wasn’t even sure I knew what I was recruiting to. “Hey, smart freshman guy, want to come join a team I’m just starting to do an event I’m not sure of, where we’re unlikely to win anything at all?” I was selling ice cubes to Eskimos.

In a few years, I learned the event, but success was elusive, to say the least. Bowed, but not broken, I kept on. I believed I could, in time, replicate and exceed what Prospect HS and Rolling Meadows HS and Deerfield HS were achieving (there’s that arrogance again).

Then came the turning point. In 1989, I was granted an assistant coach, Jack Stanislaw. I had enthusiasm. Slaw had vast Debate experience, a track-record of winning, knowledge far, far beyond mine. He insisted I stay as Head Coach, I suspect, so he could just coach students. I was left to fill out van requests, register for tournaments, and deal with the other head coaches. And I watched. And learned. To be clear–Slaw and I were not equals. I was the Boy Wonder to his Batman, Simba to his Mufasa. I was beginning to recruit quality students. Slaw molded the clay.

The big kahuna of Congressional Debate was (and still is) the State Championship. For years, the tournament was held at the State Capitol Complex in Springfield, an impressive four-story marble behemoth with winding staircases and ornate fixtures. Even the bathrooms were impressive. Varsity students competed for two days in the actual House and Senate chambers, working from the same oversized blue or red chairs where the legislators sat while in session. It was an awesome spectacle, a tournament experience no student would ever forget. You know what would make it even better? Debating there AND winning.

Wheeling began to be competitive (due mostly to Slaw), during the regular season and also for the big prize at the year’s end. Six times we finished either second or third but never first. We just couldn’t get over the top. In ’91 we finished second. In ’94 we finished second, and two years later, with the best team in Illinois (in my completely unbiased opinion), we finished second again. In 1997, I was convinced we were destined for greatness. We were loaded with seniors, and we swept every monthly tournament during the regular season.

Second or third in State is really, really good. It means you walk away with a great trophy and students have ribbons around their necks during the ride home. You get to go back to school and brag to the principal and other admins. Parents are even more impressed, first that I could put up with their kid for three days on the road, but second, that we came home with hardware. Gratifying. Exciting. Memorable. All these words describe the years of placing in the top three.

At the end of the trip, the vans emptied out (and the odors began to dissipate), and all the debaters hugged and left with their parents. Slaw and I stood, chatted, said our goodbyes. “Michael,” Slaw would begin in his inimitable voice, “that was a good weekend. We were very close.” Hands on hips, he concluded, “Well, we just have to work harder.”

Our coaching duties were complete for the year. My head full of images and body coursing with adrenaline, I drove home trying to figure out what it would take for us to get over hump. No surprise, I wasn’t content just being competitive.