Day 1

My plane landed at noon, and when I got to bag claim there was a message from Brad on my phone. Call me right away. I did and he drove over with Casey and got me. He'd been downtown, and in the time it took me to get his message, he'd gone farther away and had to come back. Tough luck. I was still on the plane when he'd called. Anyway, Casey had been first in town, and he'd joined up with Brad in the morning. When they picked me up - getting a bit lost in the process - we went to a place called Cooperstown downtown for lunch.

The legendary Alice Cooper has something to do with the ownership of the place, and the staff have their eyes done up to look like his. Supposedly he shows up there and performs sometimes. When this was pointed out, Casey asked me if I knew who that was. Uh, yeah, sure I do. He said I hadn't known who Steve Irwin was, so maybe by not watching MTV, I hadn't heard of Alice Cooper either. Actually I was an Alice Cooper fan without the enrichment having come from cable tv, since he started cranking music in the '70s.

In any event, we all had a very enjoyable lunch with Brad's wife, who came over on her lunch break from the public defender's office, then we headed back to the port to pick up Taylor, who was arriving at 2:30. Ramey's plane landed shortly thereafter. Finding him took some doing, what with his airline being in another terminal. He'd been used to an airport having one terminal for everything. Ah, life in the big city.

We stuffed him and Taylor and their luggage in Brad's 161,000-mile Chevy Cavalier and headed to the hotel. Brad was a great sport and a trooper, and his efforts were greatly appreciated.

Steve took a dip in the pool while the others went up to their rooms until Ken got there. He, Continelli, Wit and Lacy had all arrived by then, and off we went to Ken's dad's house, picking up some hot dogs along the way.

Ken's dad lives on a gorgeous piece of property with a spacious deck overlooking a golf course. Almost as soon as we got there, Bourque called to say he had landed, and Ken went back out to pick him up. A splendid cookout ensued, with the Pittsburgh-Miami game serving as the entertainment.

After hot dogs and hamburgers all had been digested and Pittsburgh had beaten Miami, we took volunteers for Texas Hold 'Em poker and played for a couple hours, while the PHL members among us bemoaned the performances of their players on the espn highlights. Katz proved equally clueless about Texas Hold 'Em and Steve Irwin, and bowed out with relief when his chips ran out. Ken and Scott split a $140 pot.

Taylor awoke from a deep sleep, Casey pee'd on the curb, and everybody went back to the hotel.

Stay tuned.

Day 2

Ken handed the chore to me again, as he had spent the morning at his dad's house working on the database and didn't know what was happening.

Wit, Steve, Taylor, Bourque and Ramey availed themselves of the hotel's free, continental breakfast, which is actually much more than that. Waffles and omelettes, in addition to muffins, buns and fruits. Then up to Wit's room to start burning some cd's. Wit loved Taylor's Three Dog Night stuff and Katz's Beatle collection and David Bowie's Greatest Hits. It takes a while to burn because you start singing every song you like. Eventually Taylor and Katz pried themselves away to hit the pool.

The pool was sublime. Hot sun, cool water. I'm glad it's still hot somewhere. Wit took a while to emerge, because he and Scott had had enough of the noise above their room from the hotel's ongoing construction, and had asked for a new room. The new one had more space and a wall-mounted 36-inch tv, which quickly became the conversation piece.

Brad showed up at the pool while Taylor and Katz were soaking up the rays, and he drove us all over to the Arizona State campus for lunch. We first got an much-anticipated eyeful of several babelicious ASU undergrads. Brad recommended a place for lunch and asked for an outside table, which turned out not to be in the shade. Despite the misters overhead, a couple of us almost dropped like flies from the searing noontime sun.

Next stop, Brad's house and a welcome dip in his pool. Scott and Wit tried out Brad's guitars, and Brad gave us a short demo on his keyboard. These guys can play. It escaped Scott that Brad even had a pool, but we all went out, took a few toy footballs, and took turns making jumping catches into the water for about an hour. Katz made a quick phone call to some co-workers who were at a birthday party back home that he hadn't been able to attend.

With the game over by mutual consent, we dried off and read a column of Brad's that led the sports section in the East Valley Tribune. We discussed coming back after the Diamondback game that night, but more on that later. Back at the hotel, we got together with the foursome who'd played golf during the morning. We chilled for a while burning more cd's and discussing PHL teams, and eventually dragged ourselves out to leave for the Diamondback-Cardinal game at Chase Field.

Dragging everyone outside lived up to its reputation for being a slow process. Ken's pleas that we had to leave at a certain time were to no avail, and we got to the game in the middle of the first inning. But a good time was had watching the D'backs whup the Cards, 13-1. We lucked out on tickets, getting a block of box seats off somebody outside the park for less than face. The ushers do something I've never seen done at a ballgame. At the top of each aisle, an usher holds up a sign asking that as a courtesy to those in their seats, we stand there waiting to find our seats until a stoppage in play. Good concept, but what is this, the opera?

In any event, with the game over, we straggled out. Any discussion of what to do next was held up while we ogled a couple of bursting cocktail waitresses at the outdoor bar on the stadium plaza. Now, where was I? Oh, whether to go to Brad's as planned earlier in the day, or go play our pool tournament and do Brad's later. Just that decision took some doing, but billiards held sway, and away we went, to a place near Brad's house. This despite his mentioning that he'd bought 3 cases of beer anticipating our visit. We ended up not going to his house at all.

Oh, yeah, the pool tournament? Katz made it out of the play-in game and loser's bracket for the first time since God created pool tables, going all the way to the semis before losing to Bourque. Along the way, he won one round by astonishingly sinking the 8-ball on the opening break. He himself had been the only witness, with his opponent, Casey, away from the table at that moment and oblivious. But Ken, the tourney official, and a couple of other players trusted Steve's account.

Whoops, almost forgot to say who won. Ramey took the honors for the second time in about three years, making him and Lacy the only people who have won this thing.

Saturday, the TFL Classic - which should be a beaute, with so many of these old geezers nursing injuries - followed by the main event, the draft.

If I've left anything out, fill in the blanks.

Day 3

THE TFL CLASSIC

What is wrong with this picture? The morning of the TFL Classic got started with two surprises. Lacy rousted Katz and Bingham with a call at 9:30, a half hour earlier than the announced meeting time. Lacy being up early enough to wake somebody else up at 9:30? He called to say let's get going before it gets hot. Good idea.

The weather fooled us all, as it was cloudy and only around 80 degrees. It then rained for a while during the game, a brief, Phoenix shower, Sain said. But we chose up teams and went at it, on the scorched tundra of the local rec field.

Coach Tuttell let a relatively untested Katz call the signals, and he responded with a 2-touchdown performance, including the winner, with Brogan on the receiving end. Katz's other scoring strike, coming on the game's opening drive, was a long zinger to Lacy, who made a move on Bourque, who left his jock somewhere in Tucson. The play had the crowd buzzing for a while. "I just take them one touchdown pass at a time," Katz said later. Just to prove he was human, the Golden Arm also threw one pick. Tuttell helped the cause with a beauty of a toe-dragging interception in the back of the end zone to set up one scoring drive. Tuttell was showing no ill effects of complicated, off-season groin surgery.

The usual suspects accounted for the most of the scoring on the other side, that being Taylor and Bourque. If Ramey caught any td passes, we missed it among all the ones he dropped. Even Lacy had one of Katz's spirals squirt out of his hands. We suppose he'll try to blame it on the wet ball - it definitely wasn't Bourque's in-your-shirt coverage - as the action went on during the rain.

Lacy had another in his hands, but dropped it when Taylor, who said he'd been slowed by plantar fasciatis but showed no ill effects all day, desperately spun him around as the ball got there. A little P.I., but it was non-reviewable. No, it didn't fall in the last two minutes of the half. The refs just never made it to the game.

So, the team of Katz, Tuttell, Brogan and Lacy beat Taylor, Ramey, Bingham and Bourque, 5-2. If anybody remembers any other details, including ones that really happened, feel free.

Group pictures followed. It cleared up by the end of the game, enough to allow for some pool time before the group had to leave for the draft, an hour away in Chandler. A couple of hours later, the crowd convened and headed North in two cars, stopping at Fuddruckers. Lunch consumed, the trek continued toward the Continelli castle.

THE 2006 TFL DRAFT

Opening the front door and catching first glimpse of what we'd fallen into was like Dorothy seeing Emerald City. Jaws dropped. Better Homes and Gardens, get ready for this high-ceilinged spread. Most people muttered something about being in the wrong business. 62-inch HD TV, two fridges, in-ground, backyard pool. Tuttell suggested that next year we chip in to have Mike and Brenda stay at a hotel and have us use the house. Our sincere appreciation goes out to the Continellis for graciously opening their doors to us. This draft was, as mentioned, numero uno.

Lacy plunked down in Continelli's office and started setting up computer matters, while Ken warded off all who came near, an annual ruse designed to keep people from bugging Lacy as Ken actually tries to do last-minute studying, free of interruption.

Katz and Bourque took a dip out back, and others filtered out as well. The rest spread out on the leather couch for the Ohio State-Texas game. The witching hour approached, and Van popped in to say he was taking Shaun Alexander No. 1 but had to work. Then Taylor took Peyton Manning, Sain got LaDanian Tomlinson, and it was off to the races. About halfway through, Continelli broke out the Mexican feast he'd picked up and brought back beforehand.

The superhuman feat of the night, other than Lacy's technical work, was Dolan's taking a well-planned nap so he could do his draft from 3-7 a.m. in London. He addressed the masses by web phone once or twice. That's dedication. Now, his draft gave new meaning to the song title "A Foggy Day in Londontown," but that's another story.

The entire thing ran about 3 and a half hours, probably a record. There were no computer breakdowns or stoppages anywhere along the way. When it was all over, Continelli offered us the option of actually not watching football, and Tuttell settled on "Crash," no, not the Oscar winner from last year, but a strange, lezbo x-rated flick. You just can't account for some people's movie tastes.

As we cleaned up, one group headed back to Phoenix with Ken, and another stayed a while and came back with Lacy after tearing themselves away from the movie. Back out into the Arizona night we drove. Ramey had a pre-dawn flight out on Monday, so he spent the night at the house and got a ride with the host to the airport. We hope that was uneventful.

Day 4

Where's Continelli?

That was the theme for the final day of the 2006 TFL Convention, because for most of the day, the gracious host of this convention was missing.

After watching pornos until early into Sunday morning, Continelli was left with a mess, turning his gorgeous home into something a little less than gorgeous, with beer bottles, dirty dishes, discarded fantasy rankings and leftover monkey puke (hey, it was delicious whatever it's called).

Paul Ramey spent the night and Mike Continelli graciously drove him to the airport early Sunday morning after only a couple of hours of sleep.

Back at convention center, the AmeriSuites hotel, Sain was up and about trying to get everyone to leave by 9 a.m. so they wouldn't miss the 10 a.m. kickoffs. The most surprising aspect of this convention is how quickly this gang had moved. Instead of it taking the usual hour or so to gather, things were pretty much on schedule. It was shocking.

But not this day. Lacy reverted to his old habits after a late night of pornos and slept in, calling Sain 5 minutes before the scheduled departure time saying he just woke up.

It a comedy of Keystone Kop errors and delays, including what we hear was the most massive dump in human history, it was 9:35 a.m. before Sain gave up in frustration and left with some of the owners, wondering if Lacy would ever show up.

On the way to the sports bar in Glendale, Sain dropped by the airport to drop Michael Bourque off, for he had a noon flight and would not be able to watch the games.

As they were about to pull away, Bourque walking into the airport, he turned to say goodbye and noticed that Charles was following him in.

"What, is he coming with me to Maine," Bourque must have thought.

No, Charles had to use the facilities (the medication he's taking has some nasty side effects). So, if it wasn't for the missing Continelli, the theme would have been all about the bathroom. Maybe it's a good thing Mike went missing.

On to Max's. On the way, Steve Katz called Brad Falduto to let him know where we were going to be watching the games. It is my painful duty at this point to report on the Great Falduto Controversy.

Brad had been very helpful to a number of the owners, including picking them up at the airport on Thursday, taking some of them to lunch on Friday and letting Casey spend the night on Sunday.

But Brad's feelings were hurt by the group. On Friday night after the D'backs game, Brad had hoped the guys would stop by his house. He had bought three cases of beer and rumor has it had quite a spread laid out, waiting on the guys.

However, they had different ideas, mostly focusing on the billiards tournament. There were a couple of phone calls trying to work out the differences between these two agendas. The guys pleading for Brad to come join them at the billiards tournament, and Brad pleading for the guys to come to his house.

In the end, both sides were disappointed.

So back to Sunday, Katz leaves the voice mail telling Brad where we are watching the games and he calls back Mike Taylor, telling him that there's no way he's going all the way to Glendale and it was obvious that his feelings were hurt that once again the guys had decided to go so far from him.

Very sad and I doubt anyone is happy at the way that turned out. This reporter suspects that Brad didn't realize how hard it is to get 10 different people to agree on anything and that everyone must compromise or nothing will happen. Also, since much of this convention was planned at people's homes, including Ken's father's home in East Mesa and Mike Continelli's palace in Cave Creek, that the guys did want to get out and see some of the city.

Sain, Katz and Bingham arrived at Max's, named one of the top 5 sports bars in the country by USA Today. Sain remembered its glory days, 20 years ago, where there were very few sports bars. People lined up outside an hour before game time, waiting to get in. They forced you to buy $7 tickets, which meant you had to spend at least $7 once you got inside. It was packed with fans from different teams crowded together.

Now, with sports bars on every corner and most homes with satellite television it was no where near that Ken's memory. There was plenty of parking even 10 minutes after game time, when they finally arrived. Plenty of seats inside. Kind of sad.

What makes this sports bar different are the helmets and photos. It boasts the largest football helmet collection in the world. There are also numerous photos of sports and other celebrities, many of them taken at Max's in front of the huge Eagle statue just inside the front door. The guys looked them over.

Wit claimed the Florida Gator helmet on display had to be at least 20 years old. Mike Taylor spend so much time looking at the photos he was the last to take a seat in front of the televisions to watch the games. Yes, Scott had finally finished his dump and he, Wit, Taylor and Brogan had arrived at Max's, about 30 minutes after kickoff.

But where was Continelli?

Everyone was asking. Sain placed a call, but there was no answer and no return call.

Six of our remaining seven owners sat together, but Charles said he couldn't handle the smoke in that area, so he sat by himself in the back of the bar. Well, not exactly by himself. Charles, who had spent all weekend talking about three Russian boys (who Ken thought were cute, if a bit young) was sitting in the midst of some rather hunky men, including one guy in a tight blue shirt that had to be the best looking guy in the bar.

"Why is it all the cute guys sit next to Charles and I get Lacy?" Sain said.

Now this simply must be said. The seven owners had the best waitress in restaurant history. She refilled glasses before they asked (including one time when Casey asked, and she had to point to the full glass in front of him) and she changed the many TVs to whatever game the guys wanted.

They tipped her heavily.

The games ended, and it was time for the convention to end. Taylor had a flight to catch. Sain had family obligations. So the guys said their goodbyes.

But still no word from Continelli.

Sain tried to call Mike C again that afternoon, again getting the voice mail. He was growing concerned. A family emergency? An alien abduction? Did those porno-watching freaks from Saturday murder him and bury his body in the desert because they couldn't beat his Lackawanna Lancers?

No clue.

Lacy, Tuttell and Brogan watched the afternoon games at the hotel. But by Sunday night, Brogan had left to mend fences with Brad Falduto. So only Lacy, Tuttell, Katz and Bingham remained to watch the Manning vs. Manning showdown.

Sain had left to give his two Godchildren their graduation presents in person, and also to bore them with life advice (avoiding all the mistakes that he himself had not). Then it was off for one last Mexican food feast with his father, telling Dale Sain that every owner sent along their thanks and appreciation for the opening night barbeque.

The Phoenix convention had come to a close. But where the hell was Continelli?

When the guys went to sleep that night, no one knew the answer to that question.

More Day 4

Finally, Steve forgot to report on the dinner trip Scott, Wit, Steve and I took to a sports bar on Baseline. We got to watch one fight break out that took about a half-dozen guys to eject one of the fighters from the bar, and we also got to see our waitress shut down one obnoxious group after she thought she heard one of the guys call her a "Ho." Her response was quite effective -- she dropped their ticket on the table and told them to get out, and the group calmed down immediately -- so we gave her an extra large tip. It probably helped that her breasts were hanging out of her referee's uniform.
-- Charles

That waitress is my hero. Talk about being fearless. She just walked up to this table of guys (who had the collective build of an NFL offensive line and who'd been yelling like a bunch of drunk Eagles fans in what was a relatively peaceful sports bar), placed the receipt on the table and calmly informed them to "get out." I've never seen such an obnoxious group turn into pussycats so fast.