Trip report from Marty's perspective:
Thursday afternoon. Arrive at hotel with Tony G. after picking fish up at the Cleveland airport. Assemble the Clarity Plus unit I use to sell/display fish in and realize I'm missing a few plumbing parts that I assumed were in the box of parts. This seems to happen every year. Fortunately, a quick trip to Home Depot and I have the plumbing parts I need. Go back to the hotel and attach the last piece of plumbing to the display and tighten. After starting up the pump, realize that I have a slow drip coming from one of the pipes in the back of the unit. I'm too tired/lazy to screw with this anymore, so the weekend solution is to use towels to absorb the water and replace them about three times a day.
Thursday evening. Eat dinner, consume beer, and hang out with Tony G.
Friday. Consume more beer, and Captain's and Coke, and attend talks, while periodically selling fish and catching up with old friends. At the end of Friday evening, realize that Jeff and Blair have consumed more of our beer than we have. Tony G. curses their names, and starts poking a needle into hastily assembled voodoo dolls that resemble Jeff and Blair.
Saturday. I slow down on beer, and Tony G. manages to keep the pace up. Sometime either late Friday or early Saturday, Tony G. and Blair end up having to go to a bar to get another case of beer (they apparently sell takeout in Ohio). Attend more talks and sell more fish. Jeff and Blair complain of feeling like they were being stabbed overnight, but apparently didn't do any planned spooning because Blair was up pretty late drinking, socializing, and drunk posting to facebook. I go to bed sometime around 2:30am and Tony G. isn't back. I wake up at 4:30am and he's still not back. Sometime before I drift back off to sleep, I wonder to myself if he's gotten himself arrested for public intoxication at the OCA.
Sunday. Wake up around 8am to start packing up. Tony G. is in his bed (thank you God for that, didn't have bailing him out factored into my schedule). Get everything in the truck and hang out at the auction for awhile. Tony G. isn't feeling so hot and lays in bed until it's almost time to check out. He claims a reaction to his Motrin is to blame, but I'm thinking unless there's a beer named Motrin he just might be hung over.