AGAINST THE ODDS:FOR A Saturday afternoon, Boru Betting was quiet, strangely so thought Vinny Fitzpatrick as he scribbled out a quick Yankee for the British racing.
Vinny only had time for a quick perusal of the
Racing Post
before heading back to the garage where he was due for a stint on the 104
His working hours had been pared back due to his illness but on days where he felt good, and this was one of them, he was on call to provide cover behind the wheel.
As he glanced around the shop he knew so well, a few of the regulars were present, including The Reverend, his old punting pal, dressed like a dandy as always, his mahogany-handled cane by his side.
But not much else was happening. A couple of codgers from Foley’s were availing of the complimentary tea and biscuits and had placed their backsides in the plush cinema-like seats as the runners were loaded into the stalls for the 2pm at Haydock.
Saturday was the busiest day of the week, the day when the tills clicked away merrily when Angie, the office manager, employed temporary staff to help out.
But on this day, the temps, two Leaving Cert teenagers with far too much make-up on, were blithely chatting about the goings-on at the Electric Picnic music festival.
“It’s so quiet in here, you could have your own picnic,” thought Vinny as he glumly watched King Torus win the opener at Haydock at 3 to 1 – he was on Dark Promise, which was third.
Tapping his fleshy nose with a red pencil stencilled with the words Boru Betting, Vinny considered the tranquillity.
It didn’t help there was no Premier League or Championship football, or that the GAA season was down to Sundays only – the Saturday back-door games had drawn a fair old crowd.
Perhaps punters were feeling the effects of last night’s drab draw involving the Republic of Ireland, or a general malaise involving our rugby players, tennis players and athletes.
But, even so, there was lower league football from England, Scotland were playing at Hampden, there were seven race meetings, including Leopardstown, golf in Europe and the States, the world athletics, the Premiership in rugby and US Open tennis.
Okay, it wasn’t a magnetic sporting card but there were plenty of opportunities to have a punt, which was what Boru Betting was all about. Yet, all was still in this corner of Dublin 3. Like a lot of betting businesses, Boru Betting began as a pokey corner shop, handily-placed beside a pub.
It had been a family operation for years before being bought up by Winstons, the giant British firm, a couple of years back.
Winstons wanted to muscle into the territory of Paddy Power and Boylesports and had hoovered up dozens of small family-run shops with a view to getting an Irish foothold.
They had given Boru Betting a massive make-over and the premises had been extended three-fold after Winstons took a lease on the old bank building next door.
Vinny’s dashing wife Angie, who’d worked for Boru Betting for 20 years, had been a popular appointment as office manager and the champagne relaunch featured a cheesy Sky Sports presenter, whose name escaped Vinny. Since then Angie had been whisked over to Cheltenham, Aintree and Royal Ascot to hobnob with the Winstons hierarchy.
More than once, she’d been offered a lucrative job at head office in London, which she’d turned down to stay closer to the place of work she loved, to her family, to her Vinny.
As he made for the door, Vinny looked over towards his wife. Her dark hair was bowed as she worked on something below the counter.
She was always busy, thought Vinny, always cooking up promotions to entice punters inside. “See you around seven, love,” he called out cheerily. “I’ll pop into the Capri for the supper on the way back.”
As he emerged on Vernon Avenue, Vinny noticed two men in snappy suits brush past him into Boru Betting. “Not your usual clientele,” he thought to himself as he waddled off towards the garage.
The next four hours passed contentedly for Vinny. He didn’t drive as much as he used too, simply because the radiotherapy left him tired on weekdays
But Saturdays and Sundays were different; he had 48 hours of relative energy, time he devoted to his family and to helping out as a relief driver. Being back on the forecourt also gave him a chance to catch up on the garage gossip, of which there was plenty, usually involving marital issues.
Today Vinny was driving the 104. It used to trundle from Clontarf Road train station to Cappagh Hospital via Beaumont Hospital, which earned it the nickname “the ambulance”. Vinny felt it provided a key service but the powers that be in Dublin Bus didn’t agree and on this day the 104 was assigned to a new route, from the Ardlea Road to Clontarf Road via three shopping centres, Northside, Clare Hall and Donaghmede.
Viny suspected it might be soon re-named the “trolley” bus.
Vinny enjoyed his banter with the shoppers and stopped more than once between stops to ensure those laden down with bags, weren’t stranded. He knew it was in breach of Dublin Bus rules but he didn’t care.
After nosing the bus back into its slot in the garage, taking care to leave it squarely between the lines, Vinny found himself whistling Spailpín Fánach on his way to the chipper.
It was the best he had felt in weeks. He knew he had a job on his hands to fight the Kerry dancer – he reckoned the odds were 4 to 6 in his favour – but it was a fight he was determined to win. He counted himself lucky that he had so much to live for. He had a loving, and lovely, wife; two kids he adored and a step-daughter who no longer regarded him with suspicion.
As he turned into Mount Prospect Avenue, the warmth of the fish and chips almost stinging his oxter, he was looking forward hugely to his dinner. Because of his treatment he’d cut back on his calorie intake, but occasionally treats were allowed and few tasted better than battered haddock, vinegary chips and mushy peas.
As he turned the key in the door, he heard the twins, Oisín and Aoife, running to the door. “Daddy, Daddy,” they cried. He placed the supper on the hall table and wrapped his children, now almost two, in big bear hugs. “You’re the best kids in the world, you know that?” he said.
He was still whistling as he plated up the supper in the kitchen and didn’t hear Angie come in. “Jaypurs, love, you almost put my heart sideways,” he said with a start. Only Angie didn’t reply. Instead, she sat down in silence. Vinny could see she’d been crying. “Is everything okay, love?” he asked tenderly
Slowly, Angie lifted her tear-stained face. She looked her 44 years. “No,” she sniffed. “Winstons are closing down Boru Betting by the end of the month.”
The plate Vinny was holding fell from his putty hands, scattering fish, chips and peas in all over the floor.
Bets of the week
1pteach-way Anders Hansen KLM Open (29/1 Unibet)
2ptsSwansea to beat Arsenal in Premier League (9/1, general)
Vinny’s Bismarck
3ptsLay Ireland to be top Six Nations side in Rugby World Cup (10/3, Paddy Power, liability 10 pts)
