AGAINST THE ODDS: Events at Augusta take a temporary back-seat as drama unfolds closer to home.

THE Masters was in its final throes and a cluster of middle-aged men were gathered around pints and a telly in the lounge of Foley's drinking emporium in Clontarf, spellbound. Four of them were anyway. The fifth, Vinny Fitzpatrick, should have been.

Of his three ante-post bets, one had come up when Ian Poulter had aced the 16th in the first round. Another was looking increasingly likely as Padraig Harrington, in his inimitable plodding way, closed in on the pyrrhic victory of top golfer from these islands.

Yet Vinny wasn't on edge like the others, wasn't hanging on to every booming drive, every missed putt. Instead, he seemed distracted, almost disinterested, as events unfolded amid the azaleas. Even Foley's pint, prized as the finest stout on the northside, wasn't getting the appreciation it deserved.

Amid the whoopin' and hollerin' of the lads, Macker sensed there was something amiss with his old mucker but he couldn't think of anything that could deflect Vinny from the compelling events in Georgia's deep south.

What Macker didn't know was that Vinny, from his customary pitch at a sideways angle to the telly, had a view of the front door of the lounge and that, some time earlier, he'd espied a giggling Angie entering, arms linked with a tall, and, it must be said, handsome stranger.

They'd slipped conspiratorially into one of the snugs close to the entrance and Vinny could just make out Angie's shapely legs from a distance as she crossed and uncrossed them.

Sipping his pint, oblivious to fact that Harrington had just birdied the 15th and was now leading the B & I challenge at Augusta, Vinny strove to make sense of it all.

Since the final fence fall at Cheltenham on the night of the fire alarm, he'd hardly seen Angie. He'd been busy on the buses and she was up to her tonsils in the takeover of Boru Betting.

Had he got the heave-ho? If so, what had he done wrong? Maybe he should have gone around to her gaff in Mount Prospect and put his cards on the table. The thing was, you see, Vinny didn't know how to play the courting game.

It wasn't something he was comfortable with and, rather than seek Macker's advice, he'd allowed things to drift along. "What sort of an eejit am I?" he thought to himself. "I should have been on the ball in all this. Instead, I sat on my fat backside and did nothing."

The thought of losing Angie filled Vinny with immense dread. In the past few months he'd come to realise there was more to life than gargle, grub and gambling; more to Friday nights than being on your own with cheesy Doritos and Film Four.

Angie had dragged Vinny out of the stout-swilling trough of bachelorhood in which he'd been rolling around for the past 20 years. She'd lifted his snout up from the trench and he'd sniffed life, but not as he knew it.

At 50 years of age, Vinny Fitzpatrick had found love. In all its thrilling, teasing, and tantalising forms, he'd found it in the shapely, and beguiling, Angie Mooney, aged 42 (he guessed), separated from "Big Fat" Ron Mooney, and mother of teenage daughter Emma.

There were cheers all around as Harrington used the contours of the 16th green at Augusta to fashion an unlikely par from a bunker but Vinny hadn't heard them. Suddenly, he'd placed the mystery man who was canoodling up to Angie.

It was Charlie Winston, the millionaire bookie from London he'd met at Cheltenham, and whose company Winstons For Winners was in the process of buying out Boru Betting.

"Not content with buying the shop, he wants the furnishings and fittings thrown in too," mumbled Vinny as he felt anger and resentment gurgling up from within. Around him, the lads were urging Harrington on as he studied a birdie putt on the final hole, but Vinny couldn't have cared less if the Dubliner was playing for St Anne's in the Pierce Purcell Shield. By now he was staring intently in the direction of Charlie's cosy cubicle, his veins throbbing, his heart thumping.

Was he going to just stand back, in the safety of the herd, while this smarmy interloper came swanning into his patch and marched off with Angie?

Or was he going to tell him where to go and, in doing so, remind Angie that he, Vinny Fitzpatrick, was no pushover? If Charlie Winston wanted Angie, he was going to have to fight for her.

With that, he knocked back his pint in one professional swallow, licked his lips, clambered off his stool and marched towards the bar counter. As he did so, Trevor Immelman dunked his tee shot into the water on the 16th. "Did you see that? He chunked it," cried Macker.

"I can do that," thought Vinny as he walked purposefully towards the crannies near the door. He could hear Angie titter as he approached - 'she's a lovely titter,' he thought - and suddenly, he was there, in the combat zone with Charlie Winston in his line of fire.

He opened his mouth and took aim. But before he said anything, Angie spoke. "Vinny! Come here and join us. I was keeping my distance because you lads all seemed so caught up in the golf. You remember Charlie, don't you? Sit down, while I get the drinks in."

With that, she was gone, leaving a trail of intoxicating perfume and two bulls, one polished, one less so, in her wake. Vinny eyed Charlie; Charlie eyed Vinny. "Well, me old china, I suppose you should be the first to know," said Charlie with a smile.

Vinny felt an uncontrolled fury course through him like a tsunami. He flexed his meaty fists, made to rise, and pushed the table back to give himself swinging room. With that, Angie reappeared. "Drinks on the way. Are you okay, Vinny? You look stressed."

Vinny plonked himself down. "Touch of cramp. Played Deer Park this morning, bit out of shape, you know."

Charlie hesitated, eyeing Vinny somewhat warily, before continuing. "The reason I'm here is that I've completed the deal to buy Boru Betting. I've gone through the books and can see that it's punters, like yourself Vinny, if I may say so, who keep it in a healthy profit.

"As part of the deal Andy, the boss man, has agreed to move to our head office in London. That left me needing a new manager. I've offered the job to Angie tonight and she has accepted it.

"Now that you know, I trust that, er, cramp of yours has eased somewhat."

Vinny coughed and got to his feet. "Congratulations Ange, that's brilliant news. Look, got to go. The Masters is almost over and I've some bets that need checking up on. Catch you later."

With that, Vinny Fitzpatrick tottered off. His pride, like his love life, was intact, if only just.

2pts - Ronnie O'Sullivan to win World Snooker Championship (7/2, Stan James)

1pt e/w - Patsy Hall in Scottish Grand National (12/1, Boylesports)

2pts Lay Everton to beat Chelsea (5/2, Paddy Power, Liability 4.5pts)