AGAINST THE ODDS: Vinny spends his stag day playing golf and watching his beloved Everton

FOR HIS stag, second time around, on Sunday last Vinny Fitzpatrick was adamant things would be kept deliberately low key. He had warned the lads there would be no late-night shenanigans in Temple Bar, no taking the mickey with any strip-o-gram nonsense.

Instead, he had lined up a morning fourball at Portmarnock Links with Macker, Brennie and Fran, to be followed by a few leisurely jars in Foley’s to watch Everton play Manchester United in the FA Cup semi-final.

After that it was straight home to Angie’s at a decent hour – he had promised his better half he would be back in time for Fair City. “It’s early to bed all week for me. I want to feel rested for Friday,” he told Macker, mindful of his dramatic collapse on his previous visit to the registry office before Christmas.

Four months on, in the countdown to his wedding, it was safe to say that Vinny hadn’t fallen off the fitness wagon as much as plunged head-first into a vat of excess. He hadn’t lost an ounce of flab and his dietary habits remained top heavy with salt, sugar and fat, while his alcohol intake had, if anything, increased.

For the final five days of bachelorhood, however, Vinny vowed to make one last effort to apply the brakes to the coronary which, he suspected, was careering headlong through his ever hardening arteries.

He would briskly walk to and from the bus depot and would try to finish one of Angie’s healthy packed lunches instead of shoving it into a bin and loading up on sausage rolls and chips from the canteen.

As he happily waggled his five wood on the first tee on Sunday morning, he contemplated a week of moderation, rather than excess. It was time to detoxify his body of the poisons and give his liver a few easy days – with that, he snapped his drive into the gorse on the left.

Under blue skies, the round of golf had been most enjoyable, helped by the good company, good craic and reasonably good play, certainly by the standards of Foley’s wrecking crew, of whom PG Wodehouse would be proud.

Four down after four holes, Vinny and Macker fashioned an improbable comeback, ignited by Vinny’s chip in for a bogey at the fifth where he had two stokes.

Macker then did his bit before Vinny slotted a six-footer at the treacherous closing hole for a winning five to halve the match.

After a quick wash, the lads high-tailed it back to Foley’s in the nick of time for the match. Apart from a financial interest – €50 quid at 9/2 on Everton to win outright – Vinny had deep emotive ties resting on the outcome.

Everton were, after all, his team, and had been even before they won the FA Cup in 1966.

It was his ol’ man, Finbarr, who instilled Vinny’s love for Everton, pointing out how they were always the most “Irish” of all English clubs, far more so than Liverpool.

At one stage in the 1950s, Everton had five Irish internationals in their ranks so blue – Peter Farrell, Tommy Eglinton, Jimmy O’Neill, Tommy Clinton and Don Donovan.

It was Eglinton who was his Da’s hero, to such an extent that a succession of mongrels who were housed in Causeway Avenue over the years were called “Eggo” after the diminutive winger with the silky skills.

One of Vinny’s earliest memories was going to see Eglinton, then a veteran, play in the 1963 FAI Cup final for Cork Hibernians. His Dad had been beside himself with excitement.

When “Eggo” opened a butcher in nearby Dollymount, his Dad would regularly walk the canine “Eggo” of the day up to the shop and back. He never went inside, but would return with a glow of satisfaction to report he had seen the great man and that the sausages hanging on hooks in the window looked exceptional.

Everton was, and always would be, Vinny’s team and, as he took his customary pew in under the telly in the lounge, he whistled as the United line-up appeared on the screen. No Rooney, Ronaldo, Giggs, Carrick, van Der Sar – not even on the bench.

There were groans of dismay from the ranks of the United faithful in Foley’s, mutterings of Fergie having “lost the plot” and showing “disrespect to the competition”.

As Vinny cleared his throat for one of Foley’s finest, he felt a stab of apprehension in his soul. “If we don’t beat this lot, I’ll be slaughtered,” he thought.

The match was largely uneventful, but when United had a penalty claim turned down, Vinny raised a glass to David Moyes who had suggested in the build-up that referee Mike Riley might be a United fan as he gave them so many penalties.

“That’s the sort of psychology Fergie would have been proud of,” he said to himself.

From that moment, Vinny was certain that Everton were destined to win, which they did in a nervy shoot-out, 4-2, which left United fan Brennie bemoaning the absence of their star men.

“Ah, get over it Brennie,” said Vinny. “Didn’t ye win the Champions League final on penos last year?”

In retaliation, Brennie goaded Vinny about how United qualified for the Champions League every year unlike Everton who were a top-six club, but that was it.

“At least, we didn’t sell our soul to the prawn sandwich brigade,” replied Vinny. “We will always be ‘The People’s Club’. And I’d take that any day over the bloated commercial leviathan that you support,” continued Vinny evenly.

Brennie bleated on about the number of titles United had won under Fergie and how they were the world’s number one team, but Vinny had the bit between his teeth.

“Look Brennie, we beat you today, just like we beat you in the 1995 final. Can you not take defeat like a man and stop moaning?”

As passions threatened to inflame, Macker intervened. “Cool it lads. Brennie, can’t you see Vinny’s winding you up? Take a timeout, okay?”

There was a stony silence, broken after a bit by Fran. “Right, let’s have a few quick hands of poker. Who’s in?”

Fair City had come and gone, and Match of the Day too, by the time Vinny, pockets heavy with coins after the cards had fallen his way, waddled home to Mount Prospect Avenue.

The lights were on, which was strange, as Angie was usually in bed by this time. After fiddling with the key and stumbling into the hall, Vinny was surprised to see Angie in the kitchen, sitting over a cuppa.

“All right, love, you okay?” he said, doing his damnest to stand upright and appear sober. “Sorry, I’m a bit late but Everton beat United in the Cup and I had to celebrate.”

Angie looked up at Vinny. She was pale and her eyes were glassy, as if she’d been crying.

“I’m a bit late too, Vinny. I’m pregnant,” she said.

Bets of the Week

2ptsHoo La Baloo to win Bet365 Gold Cup (6/1 general)

1pt ewJohn Rollins in Zurich Classic of New Orleans (125/1, Ladbrokes)

Vinny's Bismarck

2ptLay Monaghan to beat Cork in NFL Div 2 final (6/4 general, liability 3pts)