The 2020-2021 University of Nebraska-Lincoln Mock Trial Team has been selected. If you would like to learn more about Mock Trial and/or participate in team events, please contact for more information.

If you want to join Mock Trial at the University of Nebraska - Lincoln, you have to audition. The auditions only last fifteen minutes, all you need to do is memorize a monologue and come prepared to think on your feet. Please select and memorize one of the monologues listed below. You can sign up for your audition slot at an informational meeting or at the link below. If a slot that you need becomes full or you have a conflict with the remaining slots, please contact to schedule an audition!

Auditions for the 2020 team will be held virtually on:

Tuesday, September 1, 2020: 7-9 PM
Thursday, September 3, 2020: 7-9 PM
Sunday, September 6, 2020: 7-9 PM

Please reserve your Audition Spot here!

If you have any questions about the audition process, email the Recruitment Chair, Emmi, at !

The 2020 Auditions Monologues

The Notebook - Noah Monologue

Am I okay? Seven years ago you walked out of my life without so much as a goodbye, and I never heard from you again. You want to know how I’m doing? I fought in the war. Fin’s dead. That’s how I’m doing. My dad sold his house and we sunk every penny both of us ever had into buying this place and fixing it up, and we did. We built this place with our bare hands. Me, hoping in some crazy way that it would bring you back, but it didn’t. And, now Dad’s dead, too. That’s how I’m doing. And still, even now, after all this time, when I hear a car pull up the driveway, or somebody says my name, or a letter comes, or the phone rings, I get excited, because I think maybe, just maybe, it might be you. But it never is. And now here you are. This ghost, standing in front of me, asking me if I’m okay. Yeah, Allie. I’m just fine. Thanks for stopping by.

The Notebook - Allie Monologue

Do you remember sneaking over here the first time you told me about this place? I got home late that evening, and my parents were furious when I finally came in. I can still picture my daddy standing in the living room, my mother on the sofa, staring straight ahead. I swear, they looked as if a family member had died. That was the first time my parents knew I was serious about you, and my mother had a long talk with me later that night. She said to me, "Sometimes, our future is dictated by who we are, not what we want." And I know it was wrong of her to keep your letters from me, but just try to understand. Once we left, she probably thought it would be easier for me to just let go. In her mind, she was trying to protect my feelings, and she probably thought the best way to do that was to hide the letters you sent. Not that any of it matters, now that I have Lon. He's handsome, charming, successful. He's kind to me, he makes me laugh, and I know he loves me in his own special way...but there's always going to be something missing in our relationship -- the kind of love we had that summer.

Bridesmaids Monologue

I think you’re ready to hear a little story about a girl named Megan who didn’t have a very good time in high school. I’m referring to myself when I say Megan, it’s me Megan. I know you look at me now and think, boy she must have breezed through high school. Not the case Annie. This was not easy going up and down the halls with. They used to try to blow me up. People used to throw firecrackers on my head in high school. Firecrackers, literally, not figuratively. They called me a freak. Do you think I let that stop me? Do you think I went home crying to my mommy, "Oh, I don't have any friends." I did not. You know what I did? I pulled myself up, I studied hard, I read every book in the library and now I work for the government and have the highest possible security clearance. Don’t repeat that. I cannot protect you. I know where all the nukes are and I know the codes. You would be amazed, a lot of shopping malls. Don’t repeat that. I have six houses. I bought an eighteen wheeler just cause I could. You lost Lillian. You got another best friend sitting right in front of you if you’d notice. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. I do not associate with people that blame the world for their problems cause you’re your problem Annie, and you’re also your solution. You get that? Megan exhales, winded.

A Civil Action Monologue

It's like this. A dead plaintiff is rarely worth as much as a living, severely maimed plaintiff. However, if it's a long agonizing death as opposed to a quick drowning or car wreck, the value can rise considerably. A dead adult in his 20's is generally worth less than one who is middle-aged, a dead woman less than a dead man, a single adult less than one who is married, black less than white, poor less than rich. The perfect victim is a while male professional, 40 years old, at the height of his earning power, struck down in his prime. And the most imperfect? Well, in the calculus of personal injury law, a dead child is worth the least of all... The odds of a plaintiff's lawyer winning in civil court are two to one against. Think about that for a second. Your odds of surviving a game of Russian roulette are better than winning a case at trial. Twelve times better. So why does anyone do it? They don't. They settle. Out of the 780,000 cases filed each year, only 12,000, or one and a half percent, ever reach a verdict. The whole idea of lawsuits is to settle, to compel the other side to settle. And you do that by spending more money than you should, which forces them to spend more money than they should, and whoever comes to their senses first, loses. Trials are a corruption of the entire process, and only fools with something to prove, end up ensnared in them. And when I say prove, I don't mean about the case. I mean about themselves...

50 First Dates Monologue

My grandparents. He was a political prisoner in Argentina. She was a human rights observer sent to interview him. When it was time for her to leave, he asked if he could look at her face for a while so that he would have something beautiful to remember in the long months ahead. He stared at her for a whole hour. One year later, she went back for a second interview. He reached under his bunk and he showed her a little chip of wood. On this chip he had laboriously painted my grandmother’s face, using ashes mixed with water for ink, and his own hair as a paintbrush. He did it from memory, but it was a perfect likeness of her. She looked at it, and then she looked at him. The moment their eyes met, they fell in love. For the next three years, they were allowed to see each other only once a year for two hours. But they wrote the most incredible, passionate letters every day, and they really made those two hours count. Thanks to her efforts, my grandfather was finally released, and they moved to the U.S. But every year, to this day, they spend a couple of weeks apart and then when they miss each other so much they can’t stand it, they meet in a tiny hotel room for exactly two hours and re-live the passion of their youth. I embellished a little. They met in a donut shop.