Here we enter the period of "causing parental despair," since I was no longer apple-cheeked and innocent, but had entered the stage characterized by acne, rebellion, bad hair, and pretension. This was taken in a motel somewhere in the tri-state area. That's where I spent my high school weekends: in motels.

The Speech and Debate Team toured. A lot. The school budget was generous; we often had a split-level retired Greyhound that took us to the corners of the Dakotas and Minnesota, where we would match wits against the nerds and stumble-tongued talkers of lesser towns. We were FARGO NORTH, and all fell before our relentless intellect.

You see the filing cabinets? We had evidence. We had cross-referenced evidence. You couldn't come up with an objection we hadn't heard a dozen times.

We were good.

By "we" I mean the other people on the team. We had three debate teams, and the other two were logic machines. (They're all lawyers now.) I was reasonably good, as good a First Neg as anyone else in the squad, and if I had to do First Affirmative I could perform it in a fashion that indicated I understood the issues, and hadn't been shuffled into that spot because it was the spot for scriptwriters. My true calling was Extemp and Humorous Interp - but through a quirk of the draw, I ended up on the team that made the Finals of North Dakota's state championship.

And by "made the finals," I mean, we got there, and lost.

Huge trophy, though. Huge.