Banana Cup presents a slippery proposition

Bets of the Week: ARMED WITH pencil and scorecard, Vinny Fitzpatrick assessed the line of his opening putt. It was eight paces he reckoned, uphill and a fraction off the left.

After ensuring the number 1 on his Top Flite XL was pointing at the hole, Vinny took aim with his trusty Fred Smyth-forged blade putter and watched approvingly as the ball held the line perfectly before toppling into the cup.

"Don't tell me ye meant that," said his playing partner gruffly.

Vinny stepped back, with a playful smile. "That'll show them I mean business," he thought.

The occasion was the annual Dublin Bus Sporting Challenge for the "Banana Cup", competed for by the garages of Clontarf, Harristown, Phibsborough, Summerhill, Donnybrook, Conyngham Road and Ringsend.

It consisted of light-hearted sporting jousts - a putting competition, rings, pool and darts - for the coveted Banana Cup, named in honour of those routes where buses came in bunches: the 16 and 16A, 10 and 46A were outstanding in this regard.

Clontarf's Banana Cup record was wretched. Vinny reckoned they'd won it outright once, and that was after objecting to the behaviour of an inebriated driver from Ringsend who'd smacked his putter across the shins of a Tarf driver in a fit of pique.

"This year, we'll win on merit," thought Vinny, as he eyed up his putt on the second, a 45-footer slightly downhill with a double break. "Could do with Franz Klammer here," he thought as he caressed the putt gently down the slope. The ball came to rest a foot from the hole for a tap-in two.

On the bus up from Clontarf to the cricket ground near Balbriggan - chosen because the outfield could be cordoned off as a putting green - Vinny had given the team talk, part of his new-found confidence, he mused.

After all, he was now "stepping out" with Angie, the dashing manageress of Boru Betting - or at least he would do shortly when he got around to ringing her.

"Today is about focus, fair play and fun," he told the troops. "Keep the heads and play to the end. Every putt, point and pot could be vital."

The games began on the putting green with nine holes of strokes, where all four scores counted. There was a break for refreshments, then things moved indoors for the rings, pool and darts.

Points were awarded, from seven to one, to the winning garage down to the last, and everyone had to play in at least two disciplines.

As the reigning Golfer of the Year in Foley's, Vinny led off in the putting and he was kept back for the darts, where his steady hand and cold eye were legendary - he'd once managed a 140 check-out, albeit half-sloshed, one night in Foley's.

The putting went well for Vinny, and even better for the team. Vinny returned a one-under gross 17, while his Clontarf colleagues bunched up, which was appropriate given what they were playing for. The total of 76 was enough for a two-shot aggregate win over hot-shots Donnybrook.

Ringsend were last with a no-return, as the "head-thrower" of previous years lost it again, knocking his ball into a field after missing a tiddler and being further enraged when told his score counted and he'd have to find the ball.

"That's seven points on the board, lads," said Vinny as his team broke for chilled pint bottles of cider and a big tray of cocktail sausages, chicken wings and spicy wedges. "We're up and running."

Soon, Clontarf's early optimism had evaporated. The rings had been a disaster as Jimmy, an old Baldoyle salt, got the jigs with his throwing arm, switched to his left and missed the board altogether. "Sorry, lads, I let ye down badly there," he said disconsolately.

The pool section, comprising six round-robin singles, was not much better. Tarf were trailing 3-2 in legs when Jimmy played the final frame against a Phibsborough shark.

Fortified by a couple of large "jemmies", Jimmy kept the shakes at bay and seemed certain to win after potting a tricky black. Alas, the white trickled into the centre pocket, much to Jimmy's despair.

Ahead of the darts, Vinny did his sums. Clontarf were on 12 points, three behind Donnybrook.

"We have to win five of our six singles, and trust Donnybrook slip up," reckoned Vinny.

Against expectations, the Tarf no-hopers found the range with their arrows in Shanghai, where a player had to get around the board from one to 20, hitting the right bed in turn.

But you could also win if you managed to land a single, double and treble in the same bed - a Shanghai - no matter what number you were on.

The first Tarf thrower, Tony from Harmonstown, rattled around the board in no time. Then Jimmy made up for his earlier misfortune with the first Shanghai of the evening, a single, double and treble seven.

When two of the next three Tarf arrowsmiths won, Vinny studied the overall table. Donnybrook were faltering. "Jeepers, this could come down to me," he said to himself.

It did. The final leg of the night saw a by now glowing Vinny up against a lefty from Donnybrook, known as Geronimo as he never missed with an arrow.

Incredibly, a Vinny win would put Tarf at 5-1, enough for seven points and overall victory in the Banana Cup. If Geronimo took Vinny's scalp, Donnybrook would edge out Harristown for the busmen's bragging rights.

The roof of the homely clubhouse in north Fingal almost lifted as Vinny and Geronimo took to the oche. Usually steady, Vinny twitched his opening arrows, but Geronimo instantly hit the number one bed, then the number two, with his first three darts.

Soon, Vinny's position seemed hopeless. Geronimo had narrowly missed a Shanghai by a wire-width and was at the 14 bed already, while Vinny was stuck on four. When Geronimo got to 19, Vinny was on seven - he had three arrows to save his team.

Breathing deeply, he assessed his position. It wasn't impossible. The eight bed was the one most familiar to dart players for a double finish. "C'mon, give it a rattle," he said to himself.

The first arrow clipped the wire as it nestled just inside the single bed. It gave Vinny a perfect line for his second throw, the arrow skimming down the side of the first as it thudded into the double bed.

Vinny stepped back, wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his throwing hand and took a breath. There were raucous cheers as he approached the oche, but Vinny didn't hear them.

He held the dart lightly between forefinger and thumb. His focus was on the tiny wire bordering the treble eight. He imagined the shot in his mind, cocked his wrist and let go. A split-second later the arrow burrowed into its intended target. A treble eight for Shanghai!

Vinny went berserk. "Are you listening Crafty Cockney? Old Stoneface? Bobby Dazzler? The Power Taylor? Cos your boys took one hell of a beating tonight," he shouted, punching the air with rare emotion.

Improbably, the Banana Cup was on its way back to Clontarf.

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