AGAINST THE ODDS:IT WAS a little past midday and Vinny Fitzpatrick had just mopped up a particularly fine amalgam of runny egg, black pudding and brown sauce with half a slice of buttery toast, when the bombshell was plopped into his fat-pack lap, writes RODDY L'ESTRANGE
She who must be obeyed, also known as Angie, burst into the kitchen with the most distressing news. “That was Debs on the phone. She can’t make Ikea. I know it’s a big day for the Dubs but I’m afraid I need your help love.”
Vinny’s jaw dropped, which was not a pretty sight as he was in mid-chew. He tried to gather his thoughts but his mind was in a whirl.
This was the Bank Holiday Monday and his beloved Dubs were playing Kerry in Croker. He had a Hill 16 ticket in his pocket, and a sweaty blue jersey on his back emblazoned with “Keaveney” and 14.
Not only that, he was meeting Macker, Brennie and Fran in Meagher’s at one o’clock knowing his high-calorie, salt-zone breakfast was the perfect prep for four pre-game swifties. To top it all, he had invested €100 on the Dubs at 10 to 11 to win.
He couldn’t pass up this afternoon of afternoons for a mind-numbing waltz around a furniture store in Ballymun, not for anyone, not even for his missus, could he?
“I’ll show Angie who wears the trousers in this relationship,” he muttered as he brushed flecks of toast from his jersey and got to his feet. “It’s time to point out a few home truths.”
Some 45 minutes later, Vinny sat stone-faced as Angie’s Opel Zafira purred up Collins Avenue. At the Whitehall junction, a flotilla of cars and buses, crammed with supporters in blue, crossed in front of them, heading down towards Drumcondra.
Angie leaned over, and tapped a doleful Vinny on the knee. “I appreciate this sacrifice love and I’ve set the recorder so you can watch it all when we get back.”
Vinny couldn’t find it in him to reply. The Dubs against Kerry meant more than anything else this weekend. There was nothing he could do but be grim and bear it.
Growing up he had been enthralled by the Dubs’ duels with Kerry and he still had programmes from the All-Ireland battles of the 70s and 80s, as well as the famous ’77 semi-final win.
After 32 years of championship hurt, today was the day, he was sure, when all the pain and suffering would end – and where was he going to be? Looking at curtains and cushions out by the M50, that’s where.
Unable to bring himself to ring, he had texted Macker with the news that he was a non-runner. He also decided not to bring his portable radio to Ikea, and was armed instead with two small balls of cotton, for his ears, to ensure he didn’t overhear any scores or, worse, the result.
Ikea was to Angie what Goodison Park, Aintree and Augusta were to Vinny: heaven on earth. She couldn’t wait to send her credit card into meltdown and was giggling with excitement as they found a space in a car park that was jammers.
“Emma’s bedroom needs a complete overhaul, for starters,” said Angie, as they made their way into the hangar-like building. “Your den could do with a few bits and pieces too,” she added.
After climbing for what seemed an age, Vinny and Angie found themselves at the entrance to the “Showroom” on the second floor. About them were smiling Ikea people in orange, high-vis jackets handing out pencils and sheets of paper. “What are these, betting slips?” grunted Vinny.
“They’re so you can make a note of the flat-pack goods you want before you get to the bays where they are all stacked. Don’t you know how Ikea works?” chided Angie.
Vinny shrugged and trundled silently along by Angie’s side as they traipsed through aisles crammed with sofas, stools and swivel chairs.
As Angie scribbled away furiously, Vinny’s mind drifted back to Croke Park. If Kerry had the wind in the first half, I’d settle for being three, even four, points back before we turn to play into the Hill, he thought. I wonder if Whelo is on?
By now, they were in the “Market Room” on the ground floor which, to Vinny, looked like a hell on earth with women running hither and thither, exclaiming with glee at the vast array of knick-knacks and mostly useless gadgets set out before them.
Angie clapped her hands and set off apace, with Vinny chasing behind with the trolley.
Conscious that he was half-hearing things through his cotton buds, he began to whistle the theme to Coronation Streetto blank out all sounds.
He found himself getting some funny looks, but he pressed on, ignoring the pots and pans, towels and table lamps, candles and clocks, before invoking a silent prayer to the great GAA god in the Ballybough skies.
“After the Tyrone debacle last year, please Lord, make them play like men today,” he whispered.
It was well after three when they finally got to the bays where the flat-pack goods were. Vinny loaded everything up as he was bid, before Angie did the credit card business.
Out in the car park, Vinny was sorely tempted to turn on the radio, especially when he heard a roar on the wind from Croker, a couple of miles away. “Hang in there, Vinny,” he mumbled to himself as they filled up the boot.
On the journey home to Clontarf, there were knots of Dublin supporters emerging from pubs and gathering at street corners.
Vinny put his hands on his ears and shielded his eyes, lest he get an idea of the outcome. Worse, he began to whistle the Corrie tune again. “Stop that racket, it’s awful,” said Angie instantly.
By the time, he reached his den just before half-past four, Vinny was in a lather of anticipation.
Armed with a six-pack of stout and a large bag of cheese puffs, an old friend in the nibbles department, he found the remote control and worked his way feverishly to the recordings where he pressed the “play” button.
As Dublin and Kerry lined up for Amhrán na bhFiann, he let out a blast: "We are the D-U, the D-U-B-S."
With that he pulled back a ring on a can, poured and let the glass settle. “C’mon on lads, you can do it,” he said.
Bets of the week
2ptsReading to be promoted from the Championship (5/1, Corals)
5ptsKilkenny (-8 pts) to beat Waterford in SHC (5/6, Boylesports)
Vinny's Bismark
1ptLay Michael Schumacher to win European Grand Prix (8/1, liability 8pts, William Hill)
