AGAINST THE ODDS:Vinny tests his pals' golf trivia knowledge as Foley's crew settle in for the Open finale
AS TOM Watson, all Popeye forearms and gap-toothed smile, addressed his opening tee-shot on the final round at Turnberry, there was standing room only in Foley’s on the Clontarf seafront where pints had been pulled long before young Thomas first saw the light of day in far-off Kansas.
It was customary on the Sunday of the British Open Championship for the pub’s golf society to stage a pitch and putt scramble in nearby St Anne’s Park before everyone high-tailed it back for an afternoon of jar, craic and a few wagers.
Vinny Fitzpatrick, whose suggestion it had been several years ago for some light sport before a few light refreshments, was in buoyant mood as he lowered the drawbridge for his first pint of the day.
Against the odds, his team had won the scramble in a scarcely believable 12 under par, winning six golf balls each and, more importantly, afternoon bragging rights.
As the final day’s action unfolded, Vinny didn’t mind that his hefty punt on Tiger Woods – a nifty-fifty at 5 to 2 – had disappeared into the Firth of Clyde, and he wouldn’t exchange his seat on under the telly for anything.
He loved golf, particularly the majors and had been held spellbound by the British Open since he was a nipper.
When sufficiently lubricated, he could reel off every winner of the Open since the second World War, and, if he concentrated hard, the links courses where they won.
“You know, lads we’ve a lot to thank Julius Caesar for,” said Vinny as Master Thomas headed down the first fairway in search of his sixth British Open just two months shy of his 60th birthday.
“And I’m not confusing him with Julius Borus, who could play a bit, but the great roman emperor himself who, to the best of my knowledge, never swung a club in anger.”
Around him, Macker, Fran, Brennie, Kojak and Shanghai Jimmy looked bemused, eyebrows raised collectively.
“I mean were it not for Caesar’s massive ego, we’d be looking forward to the Open every year in Quintilis.”
There was a silence before Macker spoke.
“Go on, we’re all ears” he said.
Emboldened, Vinny explained how initially there were only 10 months in the Roman calendar; that the first was March and the last December, until two more were added, January and February.
“Then, Julius Caesar decided he’d like a month named after him and Quintilis, originally the fifth month, became July. Augustus Caesar also thought this was a great idea so Sixtilis became August which gives us the 12 months of the calendar we know today.”
There was a silence around the table.
Over the years, the lads had become used to Vinny’s sporadic trivial diatribes, which generally occurred when he was on top of his form – with Angie about to start the back nine of her pregnancy, this was clearly one of those times.
“Right,” said Macker.
“Shall we move swiftly along?”
Vinny shrugged, and smiled, the mild rebuke washing over his sloped shoulders.
After a spell trying to analyse the demise of Pádraig Harrington, whom, they all agreed, was a loveable fellah but as daft as a brush, minds focused on unfolding events on the Ayrshire links where Watson was attempting to roll back the years and defy sporting logic.
As all the lads were closer in age to Watson than most of his rivals, they were unashamedly rooting for the veteran.
“For a euro, anyone know Watson’s middle name?” asked Vinny.
“It begins with the letter ‘S’. I’ll give you all two goes each.”
One by one, the lads tried their luck.
Macker opted for Stephen and Sylvester; Fran went for Silas and Sean; Brennie tried Simon and Seth, while Kojak took a punt on Samuel and Seamus.
Shanghai felt it was a trick question and went for Shanghai.
“Nope,” smiled Vinny triumphantly.
“It’s Sturges.”
With a long session of golf and gargle stretching out in front of them, the lads were always keen on these little distractions, especially when there was money riding on it.
“Try us with another one Vinny and we’ll all put two euro in the pot,” said Fran.
“If there’s no winner, we’ll keep upping the stake and you can continue lobbing out the names. Someone is bound to hit the target, eventually.”
Vinny rubbed his hands in glee. “Right, here goes. To build the pot up, what’s the middle name of ‘Supermex’ himself, Lee Trevino? It begins with the letter B.”
After much scribbling on beer mats, no one came close to guessing Trevino’s middle name was Buck; nor did they get Bobby “Tyre” Jones or Arnold “Daniel” Palmer.
Surprisingly, they missed Gary “John” Player and Nick “Alexander” Faldo but by now there was €50 in the kitty, a pot well worth winning.
“Right, this one is do-able,” said Vinny. “Jack Nicklaus, the greatest golfer of all time, and it begins with a W.”
While there was some muttering about Tiger being superior to “The Golden Bear”, the lads scrunched their brows and got to work.
After a bit, Vinny called time.
“Right, give us your answers. I won’t make any comment until they are all in.”
Macker went first.
“Nicklaus was of Polish extraction so I’m going for something Germanic, Werner and Wolfgang,” he suggested.
Fran was next.
“Wilson and Wayland,” he said. Brennie, his eyes on the coins in the half-pint glass on the middle of the table, gushed: “Walter and Wesley.”
Kojak, whose record in parlour games was appalling, grunted: “From left field, Warren and Warwick.”
That left Shanghai Jimmy, whose shakes eased with the more alcohol he consumed.
“I’ll go for Woods and William,” he said.
His choices brought a contemptuous snort from Macker. “Woods? There’s no such middle name,” he harrumphed.
Then, all eyes turned to Vinny. “Shanghai’s right,” he said before pausing.
“There is a middle name called Woods. Wouldn’t that be something, Jack Woods Nicklaus? Only, that’s not it. It’s William. Just William. Well done Shanghai, the pot’s all yours.”
Bets of the Week
2ptsTom Lehman to win Senior British Open (12/1, Stan James)
2ptsLimerick to beat Dublin in All-Ireland SHC (6/5, Paddy Power)
Vinny’s Bismarck
2pt LayLance Armstrong for podium finish in Tour de France (6/4 general, liability 3pts)
