TOO MUCH IS TOO MUCH

TOO MUCH IS TOO MUCH

 

   When I was 28 years old, I participated in the All Japan Teachers’ English Speech Contest which was held in November in Tokyo. The allotted time for the speech was seven minutes. I had participated in it twice before because I thought I had to be an example for my students as an English teacher before recommending them to participate in an English speech contest. The first two times I had tried and failed to win the first prize.

   My title for the speech for the third time was “How to Win the Last Prize in a Speech Contest.” (Honestly though, I couldn’t think of a topic that I would appeal to the audience.) I practiced my speech day after day until I memorized all the lines. I practiced it even on the Shinkansen bound for Tokyo standing in the space between the cars looking at the passing scenery out of the door window.

   My speech focused on such points as:

1. Do not look at the audience, but look at the ceiling or the floor while speaking. (I actually looked at the ceiling and the floor while speaking this line.)

2. Mumble or stutter as many times as possible. (I demonstrated mumbling.)

3. Make your speech illogical so that the audience could not comprehend you at all. (My speech was logical, however.)

   My turn came. I walked on the stage and stood at the podium. I began to speak as I had prepared. As I had practiced the speech dozens times, I spoke fluently or, I should say, too fluently. Since my mouth and tongue moved automatically, I did not have to follow the chain of thought.

   When I finished about two thirds of my speech, one of the doors of the hall opened and my acquaintance entered the hall. He was Mr. H, a university professor and the leader of the tour to the United States which I had attended that summer. I thought, “Oh, Mr. H. I haven’t seen him for four or five months. Glad to see him.” Suddenly, I forgot what to say next. I stopped speaking. I sweated. I looked at the audience intently. They looked at me intently. Both of us were being embarrassed. The silence continued for about 10 seconds, which seemed as long as 10 hours. Then, luckily I remembered the next sentence. And thus I managed to finish my long, long speech, literally wining the last prize.

   One of the judges said to me during the review meeting, “I thought you were intentionally demonstrating how to forget a speech line.”

   I did not intend to; I forgot what to say. Practice did not make perfect. Too much practice spoils the broth.