AGAINST THE ODDS:On Shrove Tuesday on a thin stretch of grass separating Clontarf Road from the sea, Vinny and Foley's regulars were getting ready for action, writes RODDY L'ESTRANGE
HAVING WALKED the track at lunch-time, Vinny Fitzpatrick felt the ground nearer the seafront was less spongy under-foot and, therefore, more likely to take his considerable bulk.
With professional pride at stake, not to mention prizes, he was glad to have done his homework ahead of the ‘Fat Tuesday Tossers’ Trophy’. As the runners circled the green sward across the road from Foley’s, Vinny tried to be as unobtrusive as possible which wasn’t easy for a 16-stone Mr Blobby, almost as wide as he was tall.
Vinny knew where he wanted to be when Dial-A-Smile called them under starter’s orders but was reluctant to show his hand lest he be rumbled.
He compared himself to the top jocks like Ruby, AP McCoy or Barry Geraghty milling around at Aintree before the Grand National. There was no point in getting to the tape too early; better to come in at a trot and steal a march on your rivals.
This year, there were 16 declared runners in Foley’s charity pancake race, which took place every Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday, on the thin stretch of grass separating the Clontarf Road from the sea. It involved running 110 yards away from Foley’s and back again – exactly a furlong’s distance – carrying a frying pan and tossing a pancake in the air six times.
To ensure fairness, experienced spotters were posted along the route which led to ructions one year when Shanghai Jimmy ruled that Spider O’Toole, a former jockey who backed himself to win, had only flipped his pancake five times. Like many traditions, it began with a drinking spree back in the early 1980s when a gang of lads, including Vinny had raced into Bunn’s Bakers on Vernon Avenue, grabbed a handful of pancakes, put them on their heads, and hared off down the seafront. These days, it was more civilised. Bunn’s were the official sponsors who served up delicious fluffy pancakes in Foley’s, après-race, complete with sugar, lemon juice and the most heavenly maple syrup. To qualify for unlimited complimentary pancakes – Vinny’s 14-cake record had stood for a decade – the runners had to raise €100 for charity.
This year, the cause was a deserving one. Ambrose, an ancient barfly with 50 years’ service to Foley’s, had been struck down with multiple sclerosis and needed the dough to help with his treatment. As Vinny flexed his wrist and tried a couple of practice flips, he felt good about himself for the first time in ages. The dip into the pool of politics had been exhilarating but he knew, deep down, it wasn’t his gig.
As things panned out, his election would have been comparable to Ireland’s cricketers beating England – a sporting long-shot, which he cashed in on, having backed Johnston, Mooney and O’Brien to make him some bread at 25 to 1. Pulling out of the campaign at the 11th hour had hurt but he had been left with no choice after the Spud Murphy scandal which almost saw him collared unfairly for involvement in a prostitution racket.
For several nights he had tried to blank out the salacious goings-on within the walls of his old family home where Godliness had long been a close second to cleanliness.
He knew his mother, Bridie, would be spinning in her grave over the shame attached to the old family home on Causeway Avenue even if Vinny’s only ‘crime’ had been gullibility. But now, on this windswept ‘Fat Tuesday’ afternoon, he felt invigorated again. Everton were in the top half of the Premier League table, Bohs were alive and kicking, and the Dubs, footballers and hurlers, were flying in the league.
Towering above all that was the glorious spectacle of the Cheltenham Festival. It was only days away, Ruby was back in the saddle and Vinny had a clutch of bets in place.
He had put €50 with Boru Betting on a 23 to 1 Ruby treble involving Quevaga (10 to 11), Kauto Star (6 to 1) and Big Buck’s (4 to 5), and a tenner each-way on Sprinter Sacre (9 to 1) in the Supreme Novices, Golden Silver (12 to 1) in the Champion Chase and Unaccompanied (7 to 1) in the Triumph Hurdle. More bets, he knew, would follow.
But right now, what mattered most was victory in the ‘Fat Tuesday Tossers’, the Clontarf celebration of Shrove Tuesday where rich foods were traditionally consumed before the Lenten abstinence.
Like the golf society, the runners were divided up into classes, based on age and athleticism. Vinny, twice a winner in the 1990s, was in class four for the over-50s and had three rivals to beat; The Reverend, Fran and Macker.
Of those, Macker was odds-on to win. He weighed in a reedy 11st and despite being a smoker, had always been quick off the mark. He had a chance at overall victory too and Vinny had a fiver on him at 8 to 1 – it would cover the cost of his pints.
Dial-A-Smile called the field to attention with his customary refrain “time gentlemen, please”. Vinny dropped back from the pack and nudged away from the road, towards the sea, where there was less traffic.
He now had a clear run downhill to the wall of the car park opposite the bus garage which marked the turning point.
As usual, he told himself to pace himself, that it was a marathon not a sprint. As usual, he ignored his advice. When Dial-A-Smile dropped the white flag, Vinny took off like a scalded cat; albeit a large tabby. He was aware of some kerfuffle to his left and heard roars of protestation. He was immune to them, concentrating instead on getting three tosses in before the turn.
Years of experience ensured the pancake flipped up and back neatly and as he reached the car park wall, which Brennie made sure everyone touched before turning back, Vinny, against the odds, was in front.
“Go on Vinny, my son” roared Brennie, who was several years younger than his great friend. Faced with another 110 yards, all uphill, a stiffening breeze and the challenge of three more tosses was asking a lot of a corpulent 53-year-old. Like Crisp on the Grand National run-in all those years ago, Vinny began to weave off-course. His heart was bursting, his lungs burning and his stride, never long, shortened alarmingly. He was aware of Shanghai Jimmy urging him on from the flank; aware of a flurry of frying pans and pancakes on his right, of bodies jostling for position.
He slowed briefly for his last toss and then made a final heave for the line.
The verdict, when it was announced in Foley’s two hours later, came as no surprise. Vinny Fitzpatrick had proved himself the champion chomper of Clontarf, polishing off a dozen of Bunn’s best pancakes.
Victory in the eating stakes compensated for his near miss in the ‘Fat Tuesday Tossers’ where, in a blanket finish, he’d come third behind Macker and Charlie St John Vernon.
As Macker scooped the overall prize, Vinny was more than chuffed about collecting his wager, and pocketing the €50 betting voucher for Boru Betting for winning class four. With Cheltenham around the corner, it wouldn’t go to waste. Lent was about to tee off but Vinny was in no-mood for self-restraint. After his recent setbacks, who could deny him a little indulgence?
Bets of the Week
1pt each-way Dunguib in Champion Hurdle (14 to 1, William Hill)
1pt each-way YE Yang in WGC-Cadillac Championship (50 to 1, general)
Vinny's Bismarck
1pt Lay Ireland to beat West Indies in World Cup (7 to 2, Boylesports, liability 3.5 pts)
