I was at the National Debate Tournament at 2 am. Here's what you missed.

Gatorade in a martini glass?

I'm pretty sure that's what it is, anyway. Two fat olives on a silver skewer lounging in the dregs of some electrolyte blue liquid. Next to other sports drinks and Goldfish and Cheez-its and Ruffles Greek-style Ranch chips.

It's not like I'm going to taste it to find out. But it kinda makes sense, in the way that things make sense when it's 1 am and you're a college student and you've been stuck in this hotel competing almost nonstop for the past 96 hours.

I had no idea what to expect when I came to the National Debate Tournament. I think I imagined people in suits. But when I stopped by a preliminary round on Friday, the first day of the tournament, only a few people were even wearing button downs — and most of those were hipster Hawaiian shirts.

Now, it's the early hours of Tuesday morning. I and two hundred college students are waiting outside Ballroom A of the Centennial Hotel in slides and hoodies. We just watched the final debate between Kansas University and Binghamton University, which started at 10:35 pm Monday night and featured both metaphysical cross examination and jazz flute. The judges are required to declare a winner by 2 am.

As the snacks dwindle, my caffeine crash starts hitting and the growing chatter makes the walls feel like they're closing in, I can't help but ask myself: What in the world are we doing here?

DAY 1

Let's rewind back to Friday.

Gonzaga University is hosting the National Debate Tournament from April 4-7. It's the university's third time hosting. Three times is the most that any college has hosted the tournament beside West Point, which organized the first NDT in 1947. Gonzaga attended that tournament and was represented by future Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, Tom Foley.

There's just one debate topic for an entire season of debate, which starts at the beginning of the academic school year and ends at the NDT. This year's topic is energy policy — specifically, if the government should use market-rate instruments to fight climate change.

This might sound like debating whether or not to create a carbon tax. And that's sometimes where it starts. But as teams cross examine each other, the debate can move anywhere — if an organized state is a good thing, if racism is inherent in current climate conversations, or whether violence is ever necessary for enacting change.

All of these arguments are built on the fly, and they all have to be supported by academic literature. One coach told me that students in debate spend as much time researching their topic as master's students spend on a thesis. Debaters need plenty of information at their fingertips, because for each round of every tournament, teams don't know if they'll be arguing for or against the general premise.

There are 78 teams here competing in preliminary rounds. But I'm just here to see the Zags. I scan a tiny spreadsheet that lists competitors and room numbers across from each other.

Gonzaga University versus Fullerton College, Room 150. Got it.

On the ground floor, four tables are crammed into a tiny room that I have a hard time imagining can even fit a queen bed. But it does have a view of the outdoor pool, which is just steps away.

It just so happens that the Technology Student Association is hosting a cardboard boat tournament today, too. So for most of the ensuing debate, I'm seeing middle schoolers recklessly paddle their soggy cardboard across the pool in my peripheral vision.

My spot near the window is at the end of one of the tables, which turns out to be a judge's table— I realize this when two guys presumably in their late 20s or early 30s walk in. One of them looks at me in what I mistake as annoyance, but is actually just bewilderment.

"Sorry, I'm just a reporter," I say. 

Then I add, perhaps in a moment of honesty gone too far, "I have no idea what's going on."

His bewilderment continues. "Did anyone tell you they talk really fast?"

Now, the press release I got from Gonzaga hinted at this — it said that most normal people would have a hard time keeping up. I guess I could've looked up a debate or two on YouTube to prep myself. But what can I say? I love a good surprise.

And boy, did I get one.

As soon as the timer starts for the first speech, Gonzaga's opponent launches into a rapid fire onslaught of information. He speaks like an auctioneer, but instead of repeating nonsense syllables, he's summarizing high-level scholarship. (Full disclosure: it sounds a little bit the same to me.)

Gonzaga responds with their opening speech. By the time the competitors move into the second and third rounds responding to each other, I can tell that the debate has evolved into an argument about the benefits of capitalism versus anarchy.

I test myself to see what words I can pick out: "settler colonial violence," "harnessed towards violent ends," "failing to properly consider," "ethical or meaningful," "educational models for engagement," "psychological violence," and "debate is necessary for critical thinking."

The debaters meticulously pick apart each other's flow and evidence, but there's an absolute lack of malice.

Part of it might be that this is an incredibly technical competition focused on accurately and agilely articulating ideas. There's not necessarily emotional attachment to anything they're saying, and everyone seems to understand that attacking someone's ideas isn't personal.

Part of it, too, might be that most everyone here knows each other, or at least knows of each other, because they've probably been debating each other since high school. Debate is a small, weird, wonderful world full of weekends away in hotels like this one, and you can't help but see familiar faces.

After three-and-a-half hours of debate, the Zags win the round. This is their second debate of the day, and they've got one more tonight. Every team debates for eight rounds before the top 32 make it onto the March Madness-style bracket and into the elimination rounds. This is a new kind of marathon to me.

Which brings us back to the Gatorade martini.

DAY 4

Most of the students outside the ballroom are relaxed now, because of the 156 students here to compete, only four are still debating.

One pair of finalists is from Kansas University. Graham Revare and John Marshall are two of the best debaters KU has ever produced, and that's saying something for the legendary KU debate program.

The other pair of finalists is from Binghamton University in upstate New York — Eli Louis and Jeremiah Cohn, who came in to the tournament ranked the fifth-best pair in the country.

At 10:37 pm, Revare looks at his opponents and the judges.

"Is anyone not ready?" he asks.

No one moves, so Revare launches into a perfectly smooth delivery of rapid policy facts. Most people watching are either taking notes on laptops or tracking the flow of the argument on long sheets of A2 paper. Revare's seamless delivery is accompanied by a soft torrent of keyboard clicks. He finishes precisely at the nine minute mark.

It's Louis' turn. She takes a microphone and sets it close to a Bluetooth speaker. When her time starts, she performs something like a spoken word, perfectly timed to jazz flute, slow snare and low bass.

There are two ways to approach debate. One focuses on policy literature, the other on critical literature. Kansas is well known for locking in airtight policy arguments. Binghamton is famous for leaning into debates around higher-level systemic issues, like how racism, sexism, spirituality or personal experience are lost in policy-making decisions.

Kansas and Binghamton end up asking each other questions like, "What is myth making?" "What is luxury?" "What is legacy?"

At one point, Louis looks at the Kansas table and asks, "What is the point of what we're doing?"

There's plenty of debate within the debate community about how transferrable these skills are. Sure, some people here want to become lawyers, but not everyone is practicing to become a politician. Heck, politics don't even reward this type of actual policy analysis and soul searching. These questions don't make it to prime-time television spots. They're asked in the middle of the night by precocious college students.

The overarching debate here is about debate. Is it actually a microcosm of the real world? Do decisions here have anything to do with creating policy, saving lives, or improving the world?

No one questions what we're doing here more than the people who are doing it. As someone prone to existential crisis, I suddenly feel comforted that I'm surrounded by young people who lean into many of the same broad questions I still ask every day.

At 1:44 am on Tuesday morning, Gordon Stables, NDT director, finally comes out near the snack table in the hallway.

"Hey, we've got a decision," he says.

The buzz suddenly stops and students file into the ballroom. There's very little ado, maybe because everyone is so exhausted.

More than 20 people, mostly in Kansas sweatshirts or basketball jerseys, gather behind Revare and Marshall at the front of the ballroom. I don't know where Louis and Cohn are, until they emerge from the back of the room and make their way to the front at 1:52 am.

At 1:53 am, Stables steps up to the podium. "The winner of the 79th National Debate tournament, in a 3-2 decision," he says, "is Binghamton."

Cohn hangs his head in disbelief, or relief, or exhaustion. Louis tears up. Everyone stands for a round of applause that lasts a full minute.

Trophies are handed off, and judges give a few quick notes of encouragement and admiration. After one more brief round of applause, everyone is grabbing laptop chargers and water bottles and going to sleep.

Because nothing good, not even mind bending debates that could solve all the world's problems, happens after 2 am.