The Correspondent’s Notebook II

It’s a whole new ballgame. As the final rounds of the Philippine Intercollegiate Debate Championships begin this morning, your correspondent will come back (with feigned reluctance of course) to help figure out which one of these sixteen will move to the grand final. The adjudication core made a good call, I think, which was that precisely because the pool of adjudicators and the pool of finalist teams (known in debate argot as “breaking” teams) had similar compositions, the rules of inhibition would not apply. Precisely because the judges managed to be generally fair during the rounds (I hope I was right) would we be able to do these rounds fairly.

More updates to follow as usual.


Two years ago, I wrote that the UP Debate Society, in general, was characterized by an enthusiasm for break night dancing. Last night, it was in very clear evidence. In a restaurant well known for being, um, utterly expensive (and its Eastwood branch less so), people had some food and a lot of drink, and the band, which did almost every reggae hit including the Police song which gave me my epigraph to my Heights write-up a long time ago.

Here is the epigraph by the way, and the line following:
“Seems I’m not alone in being alone,
 A hundred billion castaways looking for a home.”
                                   – “Message in a Bottle,” G.M Sumner

Incidentally, an acquaintance commented about someone we knew, saying that his impression of this person as an intellectual had changed into a six-year old with the cooties. This someone said that these lines from another Police song, “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” applied to him:

“Have I tried before to tell her of the feelings I have for her in my heart?
 Every time that I come near her I just lose my nerve as I’ve done from the start!”
                                  – “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic,” ibid.

I had to remind him that Sting was of course an English teacher.


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