Blues' day not without blemish

AGAINST THE ODDS: Vinny cringes as the Lord Voldemort of Dollymount makes a right nuisance of himself at Croke Park

STRANGE things were happening to Vinny Fitzpatrick, tell-tale signs he was not in perfect mechanical order. All sorts of indicators were flashing amber on the dashboard of life; his diet, sleeping pattern, energy levels, even his waterworks. They were functioning but not the way he was used to.

He knew the radiotherapy would leave its mark – the lower folds of his stomach glowed rough like the inside of a Turkish Delight bar – but he tried to convince himself that nothing was amiss.

“If I clocked in for an NCT in Ballymun, I’d be written off for scrap,” he thought to himself as he rummaged in a drawer for a Dublin jersey which had seen better days.

It was Sunday morning and Vinny was getting up for the match – the Dubs against Donegal. He hadn’t intended going and would have been happy enough to follow the action on the telly – a clear signal of his disposition – but Brennie had caught him on the hop.

Brennie’s daughter Amy, a stalwart of Dollymount Gaels U12s, had been picked for a schools exhibition game at half-time of the senior match and the invitation came attached with two tickets for the Lower Cusack and a car park pass for Clonliffe College.

“Once we get her settled, we can pop down to Meagher’s for two quick ones and a sambo before the game. Nothing serious, as I’ll be driving. See you at half eleven sharp,” warned Brennie.

By the appointed time, Vinny was sitting in the front room at Mount Prospect Avenue, dressed in match gear of runners, over-sized jeans and a XXL Arnotts top on which three castles stood upright and proud.

“Like sentinels at the gates to all Dublin hearts today,” thought Vinny. He loved the Dublin shirt, loved the way it mirrored a flawless sky. Blue and without blemish.

It was 16 years since the Dubs last won an All-Ireland final, the same year Everton won the FA Cup – what a top and tail summer that was – but Vinny, superstitious to the point of placing his right foot first on the floor every mornin, felt the tea leaves were aligned.

“I was looking for a sign and I’m convinced the key to us winning is Shamrock Rovers,” he said as he, Brennie and Amy headed along the Clontarf Road.

“You see, when Rovers won the League last year it was their 16th title and their first in 16 years.

“The number came up trumps for Rovers and it’s the same number that will deliver for the Dubs. Sweet 16 in front of Hill 16. Magic,” he purred.

Soon, Amy had been dropped off in Clonliffe where she’d posed for photographs with the other Croker contestants.

Amy, a true blueblood, was a mite perturbed at having to play in Donegal’s colours but quick-thinking Brennie had organised a post-game swap with a Donegal woman whose daughter was wearing Dublin blue.

“See you in the Cusack later,” said Brennie as Amy was escorted over to Croker for lunch.

Vinny’s connection with the GAA had been a peripheral one. He’d soldiered in the trenches for Dollymount Gaels briefly as a hurler, but had turned out into his 30s for the footballers when stuck, which was often enough.

When he was involved, the Gaels had been small and imperfectly formed, consisting of two senior teams, one football and one hurling.

But the opening of a new Irish school in Black Banks had led to a trickle of newcomers, mostly youngsters not good enough to play for the local giants, Clontarf or Raheny. Now the Gaels had a juvenile section with four underage teams, one of which had actually won a game.

The Gaels had been allocated four tickets from the county board for Sunday’s game, which was unheard of in Vinny’s time.

“I put our names down for the raffle but we missed out. Your old sidekick, Lugs Brannigan, got one. He should be sitting somewhere near us too,” said Brennie.

Lugs Brannigan was the meanest, ugliest, critter this side of St Anne’s Park. He was the Lord Voldemort of Dollymount, with sticky-out ears, and the last person Vinny wanted to see.

In Meagher’s, Vinny munched on an excellent roast beef roll, complete with horseradish sauce, and enjoyed his brace of pints, cool and creamy. They felt like more – the day was picking up.

Brennie wanted to catch the second half of the minor match as a former Gaels player, Liam Brannigan, or Lugs Óg, was on the Dublin panel having switched to mighty St Vincent’s.

At the corner of the Lower Cusack, back far enough to be under cover, Vinny settled in his seat, glad it was on the aisle so he could spread himself out.

A pretty Donegal fan held aloft a placard which read ‘Déjà vu, déjà vu, Remember, remember ’92’. Seeing it, Vinny winced.

The minor match was a stop-start affair but Dublin got there, without the help of Lugs Óg, who was kept on the bench. That didn’t stop his old man from bellowing out every two minutes in the second half “Bring on Brannigan, bring on Brannigan”.

Lugs was sitting about ten rows back but he might as well have been by Vinny’s ear-hole, such was the deafening racket. Typically, he studiously ignored appeals to stop his roaring.

Moments before the senior match began Vinny clutched the crest of his jersey and lifted it to his rubbery lips. It’s stitching carried a life time of memories of great days and fallen friends.

He’d been at Croker on his late father’s lap in ’58, as a gurgling infant, and every final involving the Dubs since. The thread of the jersey, the blueness of the badge, it was part of him; he was part of it, inextricably bound.

On days like this, God it was good to be alive. “Dub-lin” he yelled at the top of his voice, so loud he knew Lugs would hear.

It was later when Brennie had safely dropped him home and he sat in front of The Sunday Game, allowing himself a couple of cans of stout and, as a treat, a packet of Tayto, that Vinny tried to make sense of it all.

The occasion had been wojous, the result wonderful. Donegal had tried to strangle the life from the Dubs and ended up strangling themselves. But it was the lunacy of Lugs that he recalled most.

The game wasn’t ten minutes old when Lugs began putting the boot into the Donegal tactics. “Puke football,” he barked. “Dark age Donegal” was the next volley. “Jim hasn’t fixed it, he’s broken it,” came next.

Before half-time, stewards reasoned with Lugs to stay quiet but Lugs didn’t do reason. Peering towards the back of section 315, Vinny could sense Lugs’ agitation as he mouthed off.

A lot of families and kids from the schools’ exhibition game were in the section and parents were growing uneasy at the relentless invective. Someone, Vinny knew, would take action into their own hands. It happened just after the restart as a roar reverberated around Croker as the Ulster champions went 0-5 to 0-2 ahead.

Vinny thought he heard “Tír Conaill Abú” before all hell broke loose.

Stewards raced to the scene and events on the pitch were ignored as Lugs flailed about. It took half a dozen stewards and two Gardaí to impose order before a bloodied Brannigan, lip split open, was led away.

As he reached for another can, Vinny reflected on an extraordinary day; one that had been blue, if not without blemish.

Bets of the week

2pts Rep of Ireland to beat Slovakia half-time and full-time (9/4, William Hill)

2pts Pádraig Harrington to be top British and Irish player in Deutsche Bank Championship (7/1, bet365)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pt Lay Kilkenny to beat Tipperary in All-Ireland SHC final (6/4, Paddy Power, liability 3pts)