It's All About the Benjamins

Jump to Comments Yeah, so, the Harding Academic Team got back early today from Tulsa, OK, after participating in the NAQT regional tournament. My team (the Division II A Team, there reason why I’m not on the division I team is a stupid story that I’m not going to tell right now) finished in fourth place with a record of 9-3. We may receive a wildcard bid to play at nationals in Minnesota but won’t know for a couple weeks; I don’t really remember or care how our Div I team ended up, because, as we all know, I’m a selfish little brat! But whatever. Oh man, but did I ever have a good time. The rental car agency was totally late in securing a van for us: originally promised by three they still didn’t have it at four thirty, so all us quiz-bowl-types decided that we should stop hanging out in the Gayness Ganus Building lobby and hit up the Stupid Center for some foodstuffs. Yeah, anyhow, sitting around a table in the stupid were me, Chris Tiberius Kirk, Jordan Nes★ter (aka Nes-STAR), me, Lucas Snodgrass, Grant White, Caleb McNiece, maybe Allen Mauldin, Karie Cross, and Jenna Delano Roosevelt. Additionally, William Curtis Sullivan was there — he’s not on the academic team or anything; he’s just one of those guys, you know. Name dropping like this makes me wish I could crosslink to facebook. Back to the story: so roughly half of the people sitting around this table have been to Florence, Italy, for a semester, and most of the rest have at least been to Europe; we start talking about how awesome European train travel is, natch. In a situation such as that, with people such as that, it was only a matter of time before a drawn-out version of the train ride story to end all train ride stories was told. The fact that Curt and I were riding in first class sleepers (instead of say, trying to sleep in a chair) was addressed; I pronounced that when one travels with Ben Lamb, one travels in the fashion of a Baller, for, you see, I have what were determined to be “privs.” Little did I know how true this half-serious self-aggrandizing frivolity would play out during the weekend. Hmm, so after a while we returned to the Ganus, where waiting with something other than a van was The Rod. Turned out to be a new-body-style, top-trim-package (wood grain, alloy, V8) Dodge Durango. I believe it was Caleb who confirmed that fact that this was proof of the aforementioned “privs.” Since the Durango could only seat 7, me, Nester, Caleb, and the girls went in the Durango with the good Doctor; Chris Kirk convoyed his mid-90s Taurus, taking along his roommates; Andrew “Sarge” Ferren took up the rear guard with the rest of the Div I A Team in the passenger seats. The fact that Sarge was driving would turn into some humor (and anger) at a future point, but I don’t think this was realized at the time. We stopped for dinner in Conway for dinner. One of those awful pizza buffet restaurants, but at least we were back on the road quickly. I think at this point we all realized that Ferren is one of those weird people who refuse to drive even at the speed limit. While he went on ahead, Cars Ramrod Elrod and Kirk gassed up at a Shell station, where we took bets as to how long it would be before we overtook Sarge on the way to Tulsa. I bet 27 minutes, because, you know. I think Nester won with a bet of 47, as we were playing Price is Right rules (closest bet without going over): it took an hour and twenty-four minutes to catch him and his little Japanese junkbox going 68 in a 70. Chris Tiberius Kirk, not having the rest of the Enterprise bridge crew with him, got lost on his way into Tulsa; with Ferren being a slowpoke this meant that I ended up with all the room keys as well as me the rest of the quizbowl vanguard having run of the hotel. After assessing the situation, I put the girls in a room with a king bed, the 7 guys who hadn’t yet arrived in two rooms on the fourth floor with two doubles a piece; Caleb, Nester and I got a suite (described to the other group on their arrival as “a room on the second floor with two double beds,” which was technically true). As the couch folded out, this meant that we all had a double bed to ourselves: a very important consideration for people who are over six feet tall, since the very name “double bed” is a bad joke on people who aren’t extremely short. Us three and the girls spent the remainder of the evening watching funny Nester videos from the Internet on the TV via a laptop s-video cable, before retiring to bed. Thus ended Friday. Stay tuned for more quixotic quizotic nonsense.