Emma sticks it to Lugs as Santa Vinny legs it

AGAINST THE ODDS:Little helper saves the day as the meanest critter in Dollymount comes to Santa's grotto with a bit more than Christmas cheer in mind, writes RODDY L'ESTRANGE

SANTA’S BEARD was tugged at by one inquisitive visitor; his stomach prodded by another, while his glasses mysteriously disappeared off his nose at some point in the afternoon. Being Father Christmas was no bundle of laughs as Vinny Fitzpatrick, sweating hard in his baggy red suit in the local Parish Hall, which had the heaters on full blast, was finding out.

It didn’t help his street cred that he was almost completely out of step with the hot toys’ list. There were names being flung at him that he had never heard of like Squinkies, Zoobles and Sing-A-Ma-Jigs.

Whatever happened to Meccano, Monopoly or even a new pair of football boots, he wondered? There was cheek too, with the boys the worst offenders. One urchin, a son of Lugs O’Leary, reckoned Vinny, such were the size of his jug ears, ripped into Vinny for not knowing that Kinect was the latest accessory for Xbox 360.

“Are you for real?” he said before grabbing a present and storming out. “This better not be another bleedin’ selection box.”

Vinny shrugged and muttered to himself, a mite loudly, “You wanted a box; you got a box,” which prompted the O’Leary lad, who was about eight, to glance back with a malevolent look that reminded Vinny of Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies.

It was proving to be a tough gig, not one Vinny had been prepared for but when the call had come that Sunday morning, he felt it impossible to refuse.

Tony “Shorty” Long, the long-serving, and long-suffering, secretary of the small and imperfectly formed Dollymount Gaels club, was apologetic over the phone.

The regular Santa stand-in had a dose of piles and was in no position to sit on a bone-hard seat for two hours. “We need someone who could do a job and I thought of you Vinny,” explained Shorty.

Shorty had spun Vinny a yarn about him having a way with kids, kindly leaving out the fact it was his bulk, age and ruddy expression which made him an ideal replacement. The real Santa was, of course, unavoidably detained at the North Pole ahead of Christmas.

The Gaels were Vinny’s club, had been since his late father, Finbarr, was a rallying point of the team through the 50s, and into the early 60s, before his knees packed up.

It was more than 35 years since Vinny’s fledgling career ended when he shipped a hurl painfully in his privates in furthest Fingal but his interest had been revived by Emma, Angie’s 18-year-old daughter, the star midfielder on the Gaels’ camogie team.

To help with his Santa duties, Emma was on hand as the smiling elf who chaperoned the kids, especially the anxious ones, into a grotto set up on the stage.

After the unnerving experience with the mischievous son of Lugs, Emma had taken Santa Vinny to task.

“Let the older kids do the talking; don’t engage in much conversation as they’ll chew you up. Play it cool. Remember, each child has to be handled differently,” she said.

Vinny nodded, for that’s what good Santas did. And for the most part, he fiddled by.

Nearing the end of his stint, he received two familiar visitors, his son and daughter. While Aoife happily sat on Santa Vinny’s lap and tweaked his nose, Oisín bawled his eyes out and clung to Angie like a barnacle.

Vinny felt a welling of tears himself as one part of him wanted to rip off his beard, throw back his cloak and give his one-year-old son a Daddy bear hug but that, he knew, would have to wait. Time was almost up when the curtain was pulled back to reveal a giant shape Vinny instantly recognised: Lugs O’Leary, a much-feared and disliked Gaels veteran.

“Well, well what we have here? If it isn’t ol’ Santa himself?” he barked.

Emerging from under Lugs’ oxter was a scowling Lugs beag. “You know little Liam, don’t you Santa? You met earlier and had words, I gather.” Looking at the broken nose, floppy Dumbo ears and toothless grin of the giant in front of him, Vinny gulped. Lugs was the meanest critter in Dollymount, the sort who hit first and didn’t ask questions later.

Lugs bent down towards Santa Vinny, who could smell his beery breath – no doubt after a few lunch-time scoops in the Dollymount Inn.

“Now, Santa, it’s like this. My son didn’t care for your attitude when he was in here earlier, having paid good money for the privilege. He says you made a smart remark as he was leaving which upset him.

“I’d like you to repeat what you said in front of me, just so there is no misunderstanding. Do I make myself clear, Santa Fitzpatrick?”

Vinny’s throat was as dry as sandpaper, his armpits as moist as a runny nose. He felt himself cowering in his armchair. It was time to flight or flee. “Like father, like son, Lugs, that’s all I’ll say,” he said in a shaking voice.

Lugs stood upright, cracked the knuckles in his right hand and drew back a ham-sized fist. “It’s time to send you on your way to the North Pole, Santa,” he roared.

Vinny closed his eyes and braced himself for the hit. In doing so, he missed the flail of the hurl which caught Lugs firmly in the ribs and sent him sprawling.

The swing was sweet, the timing of the hit was perfect but then Emma was a chick who flicked a mean stick.

As Lugs crashed through the grotto wall, sending wooden slats and red cloth flying, Emma grabbed Vinny’s arm. “C’mon. Vinny. Run.” Santa and the Elf scurried out of the Parish Hall and down Dollymount Avenue towards the seafront where they turned right on the Clontarf Road.

Unlike Lot’s wife, they didn’t look back, not until they arrived at the front door of Foley’s public house. There, Santa Fitzpatrick doubled over, grinning and gasping for breath.

“Well, me aul flower, Emma, that was great craic. Methinks one good turn deserves another. What say Santa buys his number one elf a Christmas drink?” Emma smiled and linked arms with her stepfather for the first time. Several hours later, they were linking arms again as they leaned into one another for support while wall-banging their way home.

Bets of the week

2pts Manchester United and Sunderland to draw in Premier League (9/2, Paddy Power)

1pt each way Glenquest in Paddy Power Chase (14/1, William Hill)

Vinny’s Bismarck

1pt Lay New England Patriots to win Super Bowl (2/1, general, liability 2pts)