Against the odds:On a quiet Monday night in Foley's, five middle-aged men, none of whom could be described as athletic, were in animated conversation under the giant telly in the bar. Minutes earlier, Liverpool had drawn 2-2 with Aston Villa at Anfield and now trailed Manchester United by 14 points, their title ambitions in shreds once more.
From where Vinny Fizpatrick was sitting, the updated Premier League table showed Liverpool to be two points behind Everton, the football love of Vinny's life.
"David Moyes - now there's a real manager," thought Vinny as he contentedly sipped a fine stout. Vinny had been weaned on Everton by his dad, Finbarr, who had followed the Blues since the early '50s when Tommy Eglinton and Peter Farrell were the gods of Goodison Park. Jimmy O'Neill, Don Donovan and Tommy Clinton were other Evertonians in the Republic of Ireland team at that time.
The blue torch had been passed on to Vinny, who never thought twice about reminding the lads Everton, traditionally, were the team of the Irish on Merseyside, not Liverpool.
Vinny's hero was Kevin "Sheeds" Sheedy, whose cultured left peg had steered Everton to League, FA Cup and Cup Winners Cup glory back in the mid-1980s.
"As sweet a passer of the ball as there ever has been," thought Vinny.
The inflamed talk among the lads this night wasn't of Liverpool's demise or, for that matter, Everton's resurgence. It was about the next manager of the Ireland team. And things were getting hot, not least because the lads had a vested interest in the outcome. Macker had punted heavily on Paul Jewell, a bet he'd long since given up on, and was putting the boot into the drawn-out selection process devised by the FAI: "Look, Staunton was sacked before Halloween; it's nearly Pancake Tuesday now and they're still fiddling about. England took three weeks, we've taken three months. It's a joke."
Fran, a big Villa fan, felt the FAI should have beaten a path to the door of Martin Francis O'Neill and offered a king's ransom to the Derry native.
"Villa's loss would have been Ireland's gain but they didn't even try for him," said Fran, who'd had a score on O'Neill at 33 to 1 before Christmas and, like Macker, knew the bet was lost.
Brennie had fancied Graeme Souness when the betting opened and also put a saver on Gerard Houllier at 20 to 1.
"The longer it goes on, you know, the more we're in danger of losing the support of the players," he warned. "They're taking stick in every dressingroom in England and I wouldn't be surprised if some of them called it a day with Ireland."
Vinny sat in the corner and observed his friends as passions and voices rose. He had his own views but preferred to keep his counsel. What staggered him was the amount of money being matched on Betfair for the Irish job - when last he looked it was almost €1.5 million.
What Vinny also found amazing was the way the market had fluctuated. He'd read there had been eight different favourites for the job. Who were they, he wondered? Jewell, Venables, Houllier, Dave O'Leary and Liam Brady were five he could think of right away.
Didn't Didier Deschamps appear from nowhere last week? Kenny Dalglish had been floating around the scene on and off, Glenn Hoddle too. Was that eight? Surely, there were more.
Suddenly, the bar door opened and Vinny was shaken from his reverie by a blast of Polar chill around his nether regions. But it wasn't the icy current that most caught his attentions; it was the familiar, heady perfume.
"Hi, lads, what are you having?"
It was Angie, the eye-catching assistant manager of Boru Betting next door, just returned from an Alpine skiing holiday with her ex-husband Ron. Always one to stand her round, Angie ordered five pints of stout, a gin and tonic for herself, and drew up a stool. "What's been happening while I've been away, lads? Oh, I heard about your big win on the nags Vinny," she said with a dazzling smile, leaning over to give Vinny's thigh a playful squeeze.
Vinny Fitzpatrick sat bolt upright. Ever since the embarrassment of Christmas Day, he'd been thinking of a way to make amends while at the same time letting Angie know of his true feelings for her. At 50, he knew his life was stagnating and it was time to live a little. He fancied Angie and had a hunch, just a hunch, the sentiment might be reciprocated.
Did he show his hand now in front of the lads or wait until the coast was clear? The thing was, it was almost impossible to tie Angie down. When she wasn't working in Boru Betting, she was running after her sporty teenage daughter. Then there was big fat Ron, still mooching around.
Suddenly, the break Vinny craved, materialised. Macker and Brennie went out the back for a fag while Kojak and Fran nipped into the toilet. Vinny had about two minutes to make his move.
Inside, he could feel his heart thumping; his armpits, he knew, were glowing; his tongue felt like sandpaper.
"Angie," he said, in a voice he barely knew. "This may sound crazy but I was wondering, as it's not far off, would you be free for dinner on Valentine's night?"
There was a silence. As Vinny, who had been intently studying his own shoes, glanced up, the toilet door opened and Macker and Brennie fell out, laughing. Under his breath, Vinny cursed. The moment had been lost.
The chat continued for a bit but the fire and brimstone over the Irish manager - even the debate over Liverpool's demise - had lost much of its fury.
After midnight, the group disbanded. As Vinny left Foley's, turning left in the direction of home behind the bus garage, someone caught his arm.
"Didn't have you tagged as a Lothario, Vinny," grinned Angie. "See you on the 14th."
With that she was off, heels clicking noisily, leaving behind in the January air that piquant fragrance, the scent that always filled Vinny with a mixture of terror and exhilaration.
Bets of the week
•1pt each way State Of Play in the Costwold Chase, (12/1 Coral)
•1pt each way Paul McGinley (right) to be top player from these islands in Qatar Masters (25/1 Boylesports)
Vinny's Bismarck
•1pt lay Leeds United to win the First Division (4/1, Boylesports, liability 3pts)
