Day 1

The 2008 TFL Convention in Hartford started a day early, in Maine. Denver Plyes owner Mike Taylor flew up to Maine to meet Penobscot owner Mike Woelflein and the two of them spent an enjoyable night on Limerick owner Michael Bourque's new boat.

Something is clearly different at this year's convention. The plan for the week is lacking in details and the owners seem eager to spend time with one another, maybe realizing how precious a thing that is.

Chris Reidy's death in March drove the owners to Hartford. The only definite plans on the schedule, outside of the draft itself, are to spend time with Chris' wife, Mary, and daughter, Carolyn.

So this convention has a very different feel, and it might just be an improvement over the usual bombast and rivalries.

Bagdad owner Scott Lacy, Hogtown owner Paul Ramey and the Portland, Me., caravan of Taylor and Woelflein all arrived about mid-afternoon and checked into the hotel. By 6 p.m., Narcoossee owner Wit Tuttell, Lackawanna owner Mike Continelli, Baltimore owner Steve Katz and Dugway owner Ken Sain had joined them.

There was no wait to check in. In fact, this hotel staff seems willing to bend over backward to give the TFLers whatever they want. We might even go so far as to say that the TFL has taken over the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Hartford, and it wouldn't be too much of a stretch.

The halls are empty. When Scott Lacy checked in, one of the first to do so, they reached for his reservation. There were only five reservations left for the day. And the TFL had four of them.

There was a brief sighting of an airline crew checking in. But other than that it looks like the owners could run naked through the halls and no one would see them.

While waiting on the late-arriving owners, Ramey and Taylor conducted their fantasy football acumen seminar. This is usually done before the other owners arrive because it gives Ramey and Taylor a reason to explain why no one ever shows up.

But the crack staff of TFL Today has tracked down the two whinos who were bribed into attending this year's event. One of them was even conscious and can remember a little of what they said.

Ramey, who hasn't won the title since 1991, the only year the Greatest Fantasy Football Mind in the Galaxy did not play in the TFL, talked about the need to take a kicker in the first round and a defense in the second this year because no one understands the new rules.

Taylor, who could only win the title when he neglected his team and left it in the hands of others while he vacationed in Central America, said that the new rules would indeed provide a challenge this year. He strongly suggested taking big, plodding, power running backs and white receivers.

The whino who told us this figured it was all the Mad Dog 50/50 talking and this couldn't be real, because no sane person would want white receivers. So he took another sip of his liquor and then passed out, hoping the nightmare would end.

When Sain arrived at the Lacy-Tuttell suite, which is always the convention hub, he was immediately told that there would be only one political discussion at this year's convention and it had already taken place. There was a vote, it was final. Continelli was adamant!

So Sain started talking about something much more important, the Great Fudds Competition between him and Lacy. Sain and Katz stopped off at another new Fudds on the way up, this one in Parsnippity, N.J. Sain now leads Lacy by some ridiculous total of 900 to 1 or something, so using competition in the title seems silly.

That's when Continelli interrupted to talk about -- what else -- politics. And it would remain a theme for the night. The TFL's token Republican -- every group must have one to show its diversity -- felt he had to stand up for his party during the convention. And he kept trying to, but much like his party he was great on the attacks but lacking on the details.

With John McCain's acceptance speech coming later, the NFL moved up its Thursday night game time so the owners had to leave early for dinner and the game. By early we mean 5 minutes after kickoff. Sain and Lacy had a dueling GPS competition and tried to find a decent sports bar in Hartford.

You would think that would have been easy. Mark Twain, who lived around here for much of his later life, has a famous quote that has been adopted by many towns. Sain first heard it in Cincinnati and it goes something like this: "When the end of the world comes, I want to be in Cincinnati, because everything comes to that town 10 years late."

Since then many cities have adopted that statement for their own. Who knows, maybe Twain said it about whatever town he was in on his speaking tours in the days before there was mass media. But having walked the streets of Hartford looking for a sports bar, one has to wonder if Twain wasn't talking about this town.

First up was Woody's, a Dolphins bar that excited Tuttell, but had Continelli shouting "no way in hell!" The owner/chef/waitress/bus person/bartender/janitorial staff pretty much dragged the owners into her establishment as they were looking for a place to eat and watch the game.

One look at the place and the owners made a run for it, whille the one-person staff fired up the grill. It was emptier than the hotel they're staying at. The TVs were small, the place was small.

Back to the GPS and some more roaming around. As they walked past the Civic Center, Scott Lacy stopped to pay homage to the once home of the Whalers.

"This is where Gordie Howe played his final season!" said Lacy, as excited as any boy attending their first professional game. While they lingered, the search went on.

Finally, it appeared they found a place near the train depot, Black Bear Saloon. But there was one problem, instead of the sound of the game, they were treated to the sound of disco music. When they asked for a spot where they could actually hear the game, the hostess shrugged her shoulders and looked like we were asking a question she had never heard before.

So, disco be damned, the owners set off for another bar. Finally the arrived at Black-Eyed Sally's and Pig Eye Pub. Black-Eyed Sally's looked promising for food. Pig Eye Pub above it looked promising for watching the game, except for Prince screaming over the loudspeakers.

Continelli, in his Republican getting things done mode, talked the manager of this mostly dead bar into shutting Prince the hell up and putting on the game, but only until 9 p.m. Then he secured menus to Black-Eyed Sally's downstairs and even played the role of waiter, taking everyone's order. Pulled pork sandwiches were the big hit, which earned a thumbs up by Scott Lacy. He's no Mark Dolan, but he knows Mark Dolan.

Ramey and Sain, feeling like an adventure, tried something new: Pulled pork quesadillas. The meals were tasty and filling and the game was boring, but satisfying. The $1 Coor Light drafts kept the boys happy, until 9 p.m., when as promised, the bar starting filling up and the game sound came off and Prince was once again railing about his Red Corvette.

It didn't take long before the group decided to go someplace else. They all wanted to hear McCain's acceptance speech and knew this bar was not the place to see it. They headed back to the hotel and -- surprise, surprise -- the hotel bar was pretty much empty.

The staff was happy to put the acceptance speech on and turn up the volume.

There was one disturbing conversation, as the TFL owners tried to decide if they would rather sleep with Cindy McCain or Sarah Palin. And it was a toss up for the single owners. All the married men said they couldn't even comprehend the question, because the only person they wanted to sleep with was the lovely and gorgeous wife.

The TFLers, even the token Republican, found the speech as exciting as the delegates at the convention. Only they didn't try to pretend they were excited.

In fact, it was Continelli who said he had heard enough and wanted to leave about five minutes from the end, which proved to be the best part of McCain's speech.

Just then Casey Brogan, his wife Kirsten and new daughter, Trixie arrived. Trixie looked excited and happy, which is amazing after 15 hours of travel.

After moments of catching up and meeting Trixie, the gang decided to start the poker game. Two-time champ (well, Lacy was co-champ in 2006) Scott Lacy was pissed that the buy in was only $10.

"We might as well play for peanuts. I mean seriously, I'll go buy some fucking peanuts and we can play for that."

Seven owners started, but it was Mike Woelflein who stole the show. He was drunk, on Jim Beam, and complaining the whole time about the fact none of the other guys played his favorite game, Cribbage.

The other owners informed Mr. Woelflein that we are not over 70 and not a single one of us has purple hair. Still, he found it bizarre that we did not play Cribbage.

From this point forward, Mike Woelflein will forever be known as Cribbage.

Lacy wasn't getting the cards and Continelli was calling his bluffs, so he was losing quickly. Continelli was the first to go all in, and the first to go out. He was soon followed by Steve Katz, who moments after being told that the best way to bluff someone is to go all in, decided to go all in without looking at a single card. Sain called his obvious bluff and Katz was gone.

Brogan and Lacy soon followed and the star of the night was likely to be either Cribbage, who with his drunken bluffs had everyone fooled, or Wit Tuttell, who was too busy typing a news release about the hurricane about to hit the state he does PR for to pay the game much mind, thereby nursing his early lead.

Sain got sick of seeing Cribbage win pot after pot with ridiculous and obvious bluffs, so he started calling them while Tuttell typed his release. The first time, Sain won big and got back into the game.

But the second time Sain went all in, Cribbage wasn't bluffing and Sain was out.

Tuttell's computer went dead, so the hurricane will just have to wait. Now he focused all his attention on Cribbage, who was still bluffing nearly every hand. Tuttell waited until he had a decent hand, then called the bluff.

Cribbage never had a chance.

So it was Wit Tuttell who ended Lacy's two year streak of winning at least a share of the poker championship and with it, $70.

"Thank God we only had a $10 buy in," Lacy said.

It was 3 a.m., the players had been very loud, and there was not a single complaint. But of course, no one but the TFL owners seem to be on the 16th floor of this hotel, so who was there to complain?

The day came to an end and the plans for Friday are very loose. In fact, no one knows what they will do.

Day 2

Let's face it, when actor Fred Thompson, playing an admiral in the film "Red October," said "Russians don't take a dump in the morning without a plan," he could have been talking about the TFL Commissioner, Ken Sain.

Sain is an anal-retentive piece of work. He usually draws up a detailed schedule for each convention, which the other owners usually ignore.

But this year there was no schedule for Friday. There was no plan.

On Thursday someone had the brilliant idea of going to Springfield, Mass. to check out the Basketball Hall of Fame. And the idea was popular and many were interested. One problem, Friday was induction day and the Hall was closed. Scratch that.

So the Friday of this convention would be something new for the owners. There was no plan or schedule. Just think of the trouble they could get into.

First, they learned early that Friday was Chris Reidy's birthday. He would have been 44. It was a tangible reminder of why they were all in Hartford.

As the owners awoke Friday they did what they usually do first thing, check the TFL Web site for the latest posts and then begin the search for food.

We've been hacked! The Web site was down because some hacker attacked the site and corrupted 40 tables of code.

But Scott Lacy, the only man who could fix it, had been up until 4 a.m. and he wasn't going to be getting out of bed any time soon. So the site would have to stay down.

The hunt for food began. Mike Taylor and the newly-minted Cribbage (there is a movement afoot to change the Cribbage nickname to Bingo -- we don't get it either) found a deli on Main Street that has "the biggest roast beef sandwich I've ever seen," Taylor said.

Tuttell, Katz and Sain went looking for a family-owned diner for their brunch, but all they could find was the usual chain restaurants and settled on Dunkin Donuts.

Tuttell stopped by a CVS and saw a plastic ball on sale for 19 cents, 90 percent off. He figured the guys could throw it around in the pool.

"I'll buy anything that is 90 percent off."

Back at the hotel Sain and Tuttell were able to wake Lacy and let him know about the Web site and how it was likely to ruin his Friday. And it did.

Other owners took advantage of the near-empty hotel's swimming pool and work out room. In fact, the swimming pool would be the scene of a repeat performance from the Buffalo convention.

Cribbage, still known as Mike Woelflein to some, went down to the pool to relax in the shade. But one of the tables with an umbrella sticking in it had been blown over by the wind. He walked over, grabbed it by the umbrella, and set it upright.

For a moment, everything was just fine. He was about to put his laptop on the plexiglass tabletop when it shattered into thousands of pieces, some finding their way into his thongs and digging into his feet.

Immediately, everyone thought of the Buffalo convention and the mysterious mirror shattering incident in the Ramey-Taylor hotel room. Ramey still "claims" he was asleep. Taylor said something about the statute of limitations having passed and move on to other subjects.

Cribbage informed the staff of the mishap and they bought his story. But for about the 20th time today, they warned Cribbage of the impending weather. They were draining the pool and preparing for lots of rain, as Hurricane Hanna works her way up the coast.

Nearly everyone was worried about what it would mean for Saturday's planned BBQ/cookout and touch football classic at Chris Reidy's home in Hebron.

There was more searching for food. Sain, Katz and Continelli found a terrific hot dog place not far from the hotel, but unfortunately they close at 3 so others were denied.

Lacy finally took a break from trying to fix the hackers misdeeds and headed back to Black-Eyed Sally's with Tuttell. They had spoken with Mary, Chris's wife, and learned that the restaurant they had finally settled on Thursday night for dinner was actually one of Chris's favorite places to eat in Hartford. So a return visit -- especially with their love of pulled pork sandwiches -- seemed appropriate.

Continelli heard about a great pizza place near Union Station and decided to pick one up for his brother, Bobby, who was due in any minute.

By the time people got back to the hotel Bobby Continelli was arriving. Sain also got a call from Michael Bourque and informed everyone that the Limerick owner and his family had arrived, albeit at a different hotel.

At this point something must be said about this hotel's revolving door. It is an adventure and one that has perplexed many owners. It moves on its own when it senses someone approaching, and that's fine. But when you're inside the blasted thing, you can't stand too close to the glass door in front of you or behind you, because the door will stop moving and you'll be stuck.

And, if you get stuck too long, a female voice with an attitude blares out for you to get moving and quit holding up the door. But finally the TFL owners figured out the trick of working the craziest revolving door in the universe. Stand in the middle of the two glass doors, on the outside. Seems to work 90 percent of the time.

But it was a slow, lazy day. Lots of hanging out by the pool, working out, telling tons of lies about their plans for the TFL draft (it's gotten chin-deep with the BS we're hearing this week. The CIA could pick up a few pointers in disinformation from these guys).

Except for Lacy, who was stuck in the hotel room for most of the day, trying to fix the hacker's work and then finding a way to make sure it doesn't happen again.

Finally, a plan was made. Two other Chris Reidy favorites in Hartford were Costa del Sol and City Steam Cafe. Mexican food sounds good, so they decided on the first.

But first, there just had to be a game of pod ball in the pool. Mike Taylor was very upset with Tuttell's 19 cent ball. It was very light and wouldn't sting a baby. He demanded a regulation pod-style nerf ball, which would soak up the water and really hurt someone when it makes contact.

Lacy took a break from coding hell and proved that even a 19 cent, light plastic ball can sting when it is thrown by a powerful 6-foot-8 man.

When Bourque heard of the plans for dinner he actually went to the Costa del Sol Web site. "Um, Ken, did you know you're Mexican restaurant isn't Mexican at all? It's Spanish. Lots of Mediterranean-style seafood, etc. And it's a bit pricey for our crowd."

When word spread that it would be tacos and burritos, but tapas and paellas, the owners changed their mind. City Steam Cafe it would have to be.

By this point, with Bobby and potentially the Bourques stopping by, the TFL crowd had grown quite a bit. They walked into the City Steam 11 strong, plus Trixie clinging tightly to her mother.

Something must be said about Trixie. First, Scott Lacy made her cry. But then looking at Lacy makes most people cry. But Trixie seems to bond quickly with men who have either shaved heads, or have lost most of their hair.

Probably has something to do with Trixie's father and his clean-shaven head. But she is slow to warm up to the guys who are lucky enough to still have some hair. And Lacy, who hasn't had a haircut in months or shaved in weeks, is way too hairy right now for a baby who prefers her men clean shaven.

The restaurant is a brewery, and the owners tried some, including the Naughty Nurse, which seemed to be popular. Michael Continelli left to return to the hotel, saying that the chili from the hot dog place didn't seem to be agreeing with him.

Later Bobby Continelli and Sain returned as well, where they did a mini-strategy session on Saturday's draft. Yes, more lies were told. It's amazing to watch grown men lying their ass off and both sides know the other is lying, but they are somehow able to keep a straight face.

The other owners after a delicious dinner (Chris is 2 for 2 on his recommendations) headed over to Vaughn's Public House, a great Irish pub not too far away. They got to watch Seattle pitcher Brandon Morrow take a no-hitter against the Yankees into the 8th inning before it was broken up.

Sain eventually rejoined them when he and the Continellis could think of no more lies to tell each other. Then he and Bourque started lying their ass off to each other. Lacy noticed Sain is losing his voice.

The fantasy gods are smiling on the TFL!

All who went gave the Irish pub thumbs up. But eventually they wanted to close and kicked the TFLers out.

The slow, lazy Friday at the convention came to an end with owners worried about the weather and its impact on the day they had been looking forward to the most, the cookout in Hebron and the draft.

Day 3

Compared to Friday, Saturday was going to be a polar opposite day. Instead of laying around all day by the pool with no set schedule or any plans, the third day of this Hartford convention was planned down to the minute.

And with this group of children, that's not a good thing.

Some of the owners had closed down Vaughns, that great Irish pub. So, they were sleeping in. But slowly others woke and began the search for food. The plan was for the owners to meet in the lobby by 10:30 a.m. to make the trek to the Reidy-Wilson home for the touch classic and a cookout.

10:30 came and went. Some owners left to get food at 11. Other owners said screw it, and took off without waiting. Eventually, most of the owners would leave, but not until we thinned our numbers a bit.

Kirsten and the lovely Trixie, who stole our hearts, boarded a train for New York to spend time with family.

The Bourque children, Will and Kate, took advantage of the swimming pool while the owners staggered in.

But it was still a very large, and hungry, contingent that showed up at Mary and Carolyn's home in Hebron. After some catching up and waiting on the late arrivals, the fun began.

The Touch Classic got underway around 1, only two hours behind schedule. In a sign that we are getting old, a number of owners took themselves out.

Mike Continelli, MVP of the 2003 convention, DNP.
Ken Sain, MVP in his own mind, DNP.
Bobby Continelli, the man who shocked all by playing in 2003 against doctor's -- and wife's -- orders, DNP.
Paul Ramey, near MVP last year as a last second replacement for Scott Lacy, who had a strained toe nail or something, DNP.

"Maybe we should just give it up and switch to a TFL Golf Classic," Wit Tuttell said.

"Never!," said Mike Taylor. "When I can't play in the Touch Classic you might as well put me in a pine box."

So the game went on with some new blood. Will and Kate Bourque joined the Touch Classic for the first time. Then, a 20-year-old neighbor who is a cadet at a military school also played.

The sight of these aging men trying to keep up with 7 year olds and a 20 year old should prove amusing. But you know, the old men didn't do so bad. They may not have the spring in the legs they once did, but they used their years, decades, of experience to full advantage, confusing the youngins with head fakes and misdirection.

It could have been ugly, with Taylor, Tuttell and the 20-year-old, Owen, on the same team. But the game was competitive, even though they all agreed to make it for fun and not count the score.

The rain from Hurrican Hanna began to pour toward the end of the game and the cookout became a cook-in. Mary made burgers and hot dogs, but was worried she may have made too much.

"Mary, you have a large number of large men, trust me, you can't make too much."

There was a slight fire in the kitchen, as the grease ignited below the grill. It was never out of control and no one came close to getting excited. But Mary would make a post in the Dumpster later in the day that would worry others.

After the football game in what has to be the muggiest conditions ever for a Touch Classic, the players all hopped into the pool to begin a new game of Pod Ball. Everyone was having a good time until about 2:30 when that bastard who likes to keep things on schedule, Ken Sain, appeared to tell Lacy it was time to go.

While the others were chomping down on the burgers and franks and corn on the cob and pasta salad and regular salad and chips and salsa ... Sain and Lacy left to get the draft hotel set up and the site ready.

"You know, this is the first time I've ever been sad to leave to get ready for the draft," Lacy said. "Normally, I can't wait to set everything up and get ready, I'm so excited. But I really wanted to stay."

While Sain and Lacy headed over the draft hotel to get things prepared, the rest of the guys and gals ate their meals and enjoyed spending time with Carolyn, Mary and their neighbors.

At the draft hotel Sain made some joke to the clerk at the registration table about how wild and crazy they might get, since that hotel was also empty. Immediately the clerk reached for two forms on their "no party" policy and forced both Sain and Lacy to sign it.

Basically, any excessive noise you get one warning, then thrown out on your ass. You lose both your overnight rate, plus a $250 security deposit. Wow, it was the first time either Sain or Lacy had signed one of these.

And with a group of men coming over who were going to drink, be loud and obnoxious, it worried them.

Finally all the owners arrived, not too early to disturb Lacy while he was fixing code, but definitely not too late. It may be the first time all the owners arrived before the actual start time.

The draft got started 15 minutes late, because of some late code problems. Also, the guys in Hartford began the draft with a toast to Chris Reidy. His snorts and nearly everything else about him, will be missed. A photo of him, taken at the Toronto convention, was framed and put on the kitchen counter. Wit wanted to make sure he could see the Florida-Miami college football game.

The draft underway and promised to be a very interesting experience, since the rule changes were likely to change everything.

There was also the mystery of how the new team, Doug Kaufman's Cary Big Sticks, would do. And how about Steve "Chili Con" Carney filling in for Reidy.

Well, the new/caretaker owners didn't embarrass themselves. In fact, Chili got some kudos for taking a few Reidy legacy picks.

Tuttell and Brogan continued their tradition of taking shots of tequila (this year very bad tequila) and head butting each other. They would pay a price for that.

There was one moment that scared all. We all wondered what would happen if Hurricane Hanna knocked out the power during the draft? We nearly found out. There was a brief power surge that cut the power out for a second and forced everyone to reconnect to WiFi after a couple of minutes. But trying to do the draft by phone in the dark without access to who was already taken or even whose turn it was would have been all kinds of fun.

Maybe next year.

Owners ordered pizza, ate, drank and watched the game. Toward the end, the extra rounds were beginning to take their toll on Tuttell and Brogan. They could usually do their tequila-head butt routine for 12 rounds, but two extra rounds proved too much.

In the last round Brogan begged that he not be forced to make his last pick. He said he would make it in the morning. He was too drunk to pick someone. The other owners said HELL NO, pointing out that making a pick without the pressure of a 90 second clock and when you can study for it for as long as you need, not to mention be aware of any late-breaking news, would be an unfair advantage.

He hemmed and he hawed and it took him 9 minutes and 20 seconds to finally make his last pick.

Once the draft ended, Tuttell and Brogan began trying to head butt everyone else in the room. The other owners began to worry they may have taken too many shots and too many blows to the head.

At one point Brogan slammed his hand into Steve Katz's chest, knocking the air from him. Steve responded with a love tap to Casey's chest. Then he hit Casey again. And again. By this point others were mentally trying to tell Katz, let sleeping dawgs lie, but he kept hitting Casey until the inevitable happened, Casey had had enough and put Katz into a head lock.

Next year, no booze!

That tense moment was diffused. But the booze and the head butts had come up to Tuttell and the crash was moments away. And he crashed hard.

The Continellis said their goodbyes (they are going to Buffalo to watch the Bills and Seahawks open the season). Paul Ramey, usually quick to bed, was losing patience with his co-passengers who were lingering. They soon left, with Taylor and Woelflein saying their goodbyes.

After some cleaning up, Katz and Sain left, both worried about Tuttell.

Still, the third day of the convention came to an end. We'll see if Tuttell and Brogan survived the experience.

Day 4

One attendee of the draft went pretty much unnoticed on Saturday night was the T. Rex.

The 2006 champions, Mike and Bobby Continelli, brought the T. Rex to draft night, but it never came out of its protective box. To keep it safe from the drunken antics of some of the owners, they hid it in a closet at the Residence Inn.

And that's almost where it stayed on draft night/morning. Since 2007 champion Nate Sagan is unable to leave his job and come get the trophy, it must remain with a caretaker for this next year.

The end of the draft came with Wit Tuttell's crash. And we mean crash. Many of us have not seen Tuttell this drunk since the night Lacy left Anchorage and many of these same owners woke up on their bathroom floors after all those Duck Farts at F Street Station.

Lacy decided that trying to move Tuttell would be a bad idea, so they crashed at the draft hotel instead of the Crowne Royal, even though they didn't bring a change of clothes or toiletries.

In the morning they packed up and got ready to leave, but Tuttell had enough energy to make one more run to the bathroom. And that's when Lacy noticed the T. Rex, hiding in the closet.

The owners woke up early to get to Manchester, Conn. in time to see Carolyn, excuse me! Carol Reidy's soccer game.

The Bourques, always reliable, were first to arrive. Then Sain, Brogan and Katz, followed soon by Ramey. Lacy, playing the role of two young boys carting around a lump of body in Weekend at Bernie's, was last to arrive.

Wit Tuttell, still trying to recover from his binge drinking, never made it out of the car. He curled up in a fetal position and pleaded with the gods for the car to quit spinning.

The soccer game didn't go well for the Hebron Hurricanes. It appeared they were playing the Chinese "women's" gymnastics team of this soccer league. Nearly every girl in blue had 3-to-5 inches on the girls in red (Carol's team) in the 12-13 league.

Carol had a few plays on the ball and showed some of the aggressiveness she's known for. But unfortunately wasn't able to score.

She had pleaded with some of the owners for us not to embarrass her. How little she knows us! There was an elaborate plan for us to wear some white T-shirts with a giant letter painted on, spelling out "C-A-R-O-L-Y-N," but it was Wit's idea and it died inside of a tequila bottle.

Carol was very relieved to hear that.

We met some friends of Mary. The gentleman first met Chris in the second grade and they were lifelong friends. They come to every game of Carol's that they can.

When the game ended, the Bourques said their goodbyes, including stopping by to check on Wit Tuttell's pulse (he was still alive and feeling much better). And then the Bourques left to return to Maine.

The others decided to head over to the All-Star Sports Bar & Grill in Manchester to watch the NFL games. The sports bar was more what the owners had in mind on Thursday night. Plenty of TVs, plenty of greasy food, plenty of beer (not for Wit).

Scott presented to Mary and Carol a framed photo of Chris that was taken at the Toronto convention and had been signed by many of the TFL owners after Saturday's draft. Mary then expressed a desire to see the T. Rex, which she hated and wished she could hide the year Chris displayed it in her house after he won the Sweeney Bowl in 1998.

So Sain went out and unpacked it from its careful, protective shell, and brought it into the sports bar. After the games, the owners posed with Mary and Carol and the T. Rex.

The first round of games had ended and it was time to head back to the hotel. The owners said their goodbyes to Mary and Carol, with promises to get together again.

Then it was back to the hotel for a quiet afternoon of watching games and panicking over the injury to Tom Brady (we had to talk Steve Katz off the ledge of the 16th floor).

For dinner the remaining owners had little choice, as downtown Hartford is closed on Sundays. They ordered room service (the burgers are great) or Chinese and watched the last game.

Scott Lacy conducted some audio interviews with the owners remaining, reflecting on their memories of Chris Reidy. He's going to compile a CD and send it to Mary and Carol.

But that was it. The 2008 TFL Convention in Hartford had come to an end.