AGAINST THE ODDSTHE SIX men were walking, abreast and silent, down Clonliffe Road toward Ballybough when they heard Ronnie Drew had died.

The news spread like wildfire among the drenched, desolate, Dublin supporters leaving Croke Park. "Janey, that's put the tin hat on a miserable day," said Macker quietly.

The other five nodded but no one said anything and they continued on until, a little later, they arrived at Luke Kelly Bridge.

"Lads, I think we should stop here for a bit and pay our respects to Ronnie," said Macker.

For a few minutes, they stood, clothes sopping, spirits sagging.

They were a motley crew, these six middle-aged men with their middle-aged spreads.

Each, unbeknownst to the others, was seriously flawed - From Fran, who was having an affair with a woman half his age, to Brennie, who to pay his gambling debts was creaming off more than a few bob from the bank where he worked.

Vinny Fitzpatrick, the only bachelor among them, was worried sick his engagement to Angie was on the rocks.

Macker had a drink-driving charge hanging over him that could cost him his taxi licence.

Kojak, the party's Mr Angry, had been told by his doctor his blood pressure was dangerously high. Shanghai Jimmy knew he was an alcoholic in all but name but was scared to admit it.

In their personal lives they all had reason to feel anxious and stressed, but right now none of that mattered.

Dublin losing to Tyrone was bad enough, a right sickener given the nature of the hiding, but losing Ronnie Drew was, in some ways, even worse.

At the Luke Kelly Bridge, many Dublin supporters trundled past. Some stared at the lads as if they were oddballs; others understood the significance and paused before moving on.

After a minute or two, Macker spoke.

"Lads,," he said, "I'm not religious but you all know what I thought of Ronnie Drew. He was a great oul flower, one of the best.

"We got our backsides tanned in Croker today but we'll be back. Ronnie, alas, won't.

"Right," he added, flicking a fag butt into the gurgling Tolka, "it's time for porter, and plenty of it."

He blessed himself and led his little party toward Fairview, where they would catch a number 130 to Foley's on the Clontarf Road.

An hour, and two pints later, the stilted conversation had begun to loosen up under the telly in the lounge. Soon, all six had plenty to say about life, and none of it had to do with the demons dancing around their shoulders.

Now they were ensconced in their favourite bolt hole, cocooned by companionship and Uncle Arthur's finest. Nothing else mattered. Not their morals, debts, health or addictions. Here they were safe, always safe, and no one could hurt them.

Inevitably, there was talk of the dismal Dubs and their 11-point hiding, and how Pillar Caffrey was right to go before he was pushed.

"You can win as many Leinsters as you like," said Fran. "Sure it's like the Triple Crown - it means nothing in the long run.

"He had four shots at the All-Ireland and didn't even make one final. That's his legacy, I'm afraid. He couldn't be trusted to deliver . . ."

He cursed himself silently as he heard the word "trust" come from his lips. "What would I know about trust?" he thought bitterly.

There was reflection too on the opening weekend of the Premier League, Brennie bemoaning Man United's failure to beat Newcastle.

"I had a nibble at 11 to 4 that Arsenal, Liverpool, Chelsea and United would win their opening games, but there you go," he said with a smile on his face and pain in his eyes.

None of the lads knew it but Brennie's nibble was actually a gigantic bite. He'd had a grand riding on the United result, a grand he could not afford to lose.

"Right, my shout. Same again, lads?" he said, raising an empty pint glass in the direction of Dial-a-Smile behind the bar.

As Brennie called the order, Shanghai Jimmy nipped out the back for a fag and a sly sip from the naggin of Powers he had hidden in his anorak. His eyes were shining and his hands shaking as he replaced the top on the bottle.

By the telly, Macker and Vinny were immersed in a conversation neither was quite at ease with.

"Saw Angie the other day, Vinny. She looks a million dollars. Any sign of that ring you're supposed to be getting, eh?" asked Macker, with a glint in his Lee Van Cleef eye.

"I have everything in hand, don't worry," replied Vinny with a forced smile. "You know what they say about treating them mean and keeping them keen. Tell me, Macker, with all this rain around, you must be raking it in."

A grin played on Macker's pencil-thin lips. "Vinny, don't you believe it," he said. "There's so little cash around, people are prepared to stand at bus stops for hours waiting for buses that never come - yourself excluded - rather than pay a tenner to get home.

"You know, I'm so brassed off I think I might give the job up for a bit."

And so it went. Little white lies accompanied by great big black slurps of stout.

Later, much later, so late that The Sunday Game had packed away the sliotars and Foley's was beginning to thin out like Vinny's scalp, Macker called for order.

"Lads, we lost a good one today. I think it's only right we should give him a proper send-off. I want youse all to sing a song in memory of Ronnie. Only one condition - we all have to join in."

Behind the bar, Dial-a-Smile frowned and then, as was his wont, disappeared. Macker duly led off with a stirring rendition of Finnegan's Wake, followed by Ronnie-like Fran and a gravelly version of Whiskey in the Jar.

Kojak then made a hames of The Irish Rover before Shanghai Jimmy started off with Whack Fol Da Diddle but ended up with Weila Weila Waile.

Brennie nearly brought the house down with The Old Triangle before Vinny - fittingly given the quantities of stout consumed - signed off with Black Velvet Band.

It was nearly one o'clock as the six friends tumbled out onto the seafront, where a tottering Macker had the last word.

"Lads, as the bould Ronnie would have put it, it's home, boys, home . . ."

Bets of the Week

2pts Wolves to win promotion (4/1, William Hill)

1pt e.w. Nick Dougherty in KLM Open (28/1, Paddy Power)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pt lay Ireland to beat Norway (2/1 general, liability 4pts)