RODDY L'ESTRANGE/AGAINST THE ODDS:Vinny tried hard to steel his pal for the big poker game - but failed to realise no pot was going to keep Brennie from United's game on telly
AS SOMEONE possessed of a naturally stoic expression, Vinny Fitzpatrick would not have looked out of place on the feature table at the Paddy Power Irish Poker Open in Dublin's Citywest Hotel.
Indeed, the lads in Foley's had often chided him during their card schools that they never knew whether Vinny was sitting on ace-high rubbish or a house, such was his deadpan mien.
Vinny couldn't help the Buster Keaton look he was born with it. He knew it masked his true feelings: the electric surges that coursed through his fingers and toes whenever he gathered up a decent hand.
Just as well, he thought, they didn't have his pulse wired up, because it would be racing non-stop.
No, Vinny was more than pleased to be out of the glare of the spotlight, away from the presence of TV cameras. The poor wretch down in the Texas hold 'em ring amid the sharks was Brennie - and Vinny wouldn't swop places with his old friend for all the chips in Saggart.
Brennie loved cards, and while he was a fair player he was no Cincinnati Kid. Somehow, he'd won his heat in Foley's but when he crashed out in the regional qualifier, that should have been the end of the story.
But then Brennie's name was picked out as a "lucky loser" and he was parachuted in among the big boys, where he found himself on Easter Sunday morning, which hadn't gone down well with the missus and she with the three young sons at home in Raheny.
As he was off on Sunday and had no family commitments, Vinny had volunteered to drive Brennie to the gig and keep him on the straight and narrow before cards. He'd also brought along a pair of wraparound sunglasses to help disguise Brennie's emotions.
After a pot of strong coffee and some buttery toast, Vinny gave Brennie his final riding instructions: "Don't play unless you have to; don't bet stupidly and don't engage in idle banter. Remember, God gave you two ears and one mouth; use them in proportion."
Brennie took his seat at the end of the top table. He shook hands with the player to his right, a Dutchman who nodded curtly and said nothing. "Good," thought Vinny from his pitch in the viewing balcony. "No chit-chat to distract my man."
Brennie was armed with 40,000 in chips, akin to taking on a tank with a pea-shooter as the sharks around him had four and five times that amount and much more experience.
"If he lasts an hour in this company without being eaten, he'll have done well," thought Vinny, who'd just spotted Tony Cascarino, former Ireland soccer star and poker fanatic, in the middle distance.
A bank official in Killester, Brennie was used to wheeling and dealing - not in cash, mind; his bank was one of the few cashless operations in the city.
Pragmatic by nature, Brennie was, in contrast, a reckless card player; it was almost as if poker were a release from the pressures of the day job. He wasn't afraid to go for broke, or try to bluff a hand or two.
That was fine when he was playing with Vinny, Macker and the lads for a friendly score. But at this level, Brennie really needed to apply the brakes to his tempestuous streak.
From Vinny's pitch, he had access to closed-circuit TV, which was relaying the hands. For the first four or five deals, Brennie didn't get a decent card so he opted out.
Then, out of nothing, he was dealt a king and jack. Up in the gods, Vinny sensed the worst.
"He's going to go for it, I just know it."
Sure enough, Brennie coughed and then pushed his entire stack of chips across the green baize. "All in," he said.
Six of the other seven players folded, but one, holding a queen and seven, played.
"Who's he?" whispered Vinny to a fellow kibitzer.
"He's Tony Singh, a pro from Nottingham. He once reached the final of the World Poker Series in Vegas," came the reply.
Vinny knew Brennie was in dire straits. The odds flashed up on the screen; Brennie had a 53 per cent chance of winning, against Singh's 47 per cent.
"Not enough," thought Vinny.
A flop of 10, six and queen put Brennie behind the eight ball.
He still had a shot at a two-ended run and needed ace or nine to survive on the turn and river. He got neither - his day was over before it started. Above, Vinny hung his head in horror.
"Why, Brennie, why?" he asked himself.
The answer was simple enough. A rabid Manchester United fan, Brennie was desperate to get home in time for the Liverpool match. "Look, Vinny, even if I won that hand, I'd have gone for broke on the next. I went up in flames but it was great while it lasted," he said.
"Be realistic. I was out of my depth with these guys and there was no use hanging on for the sake of it. Now, my driver friend, let's get a wriggle on."
As they left the arena, Vinny had a quick squint at one of the monitors. A 120,000 pot was at stake and a fresh-faced lad had gone all in on a pair of eights; trouble was his opponent had a pair of nines. Nothing came up on the flop, turn or river to improve either hand - another dream had been dashed.
Vinny wasn't too downbeat as he headed for the car-park. He felt he'd done okay as "cuts" man in the corner; Brennie had inflicted his own wounds.
On the bright side, he'd be back in Clontarf for the footie and might even drop into Foley's. The golf from Florida would be on one telly; United v Liverpool the other. Not a bad Sunday after all, he thought.
He had his ante-post bet placed on the Irish National - Jim Dreaper's Notre Pere each way at 16 to 1 - and to further improve his mood there was the Boru Betting-sponsored sports quiz to look forward to in Foley's on Friday night - first prize was a VIP day out at Punchestown.
Angie was master - or should that be mistress - of ceremonies, which reminded Vinny that there remained some unfinished business between them.1pt e.w. Steve Stricker in Zurich Classic (16/1, Bet365)
Bets of the Week
2pts Carlisle United to win First Division (5/1, Ladbrokes)
Vinny's Bismarck
2pt Lay Derby to beat Fulham (2/1, Boylesports, Liability 4pts)
