AGAINST THE ODDSVinny's dutiful visit to his sister in Laytown turns into a modest but rewarding betting opportunity

THE COVERED terrace at United Park was a seething mass of bodies, smells, sweat and noise. As the teams emerged from the dressingrooms flares erupted and the pitch was covered in a misty haze.

In the midst of the Drogheda United ultras was a corpulent Dubliner keeping his counsel. Vinny Fitzpatrick would have been happy among the Bohemians rossoneri directly opposite; and happier still if was back in Foley's of Clontarf watching the match on the telly, nursing a pint.

Beside Vinny, his insufferable brother-in-law, Bob, was chanting "Go on you Drogs, go on you super Drogs" as loud as he could, spraying pellets of saliva in Vinny's direction.

Vinny didn't like Bob, a civil servant-type who did everything by the book, from ironing his underpants to clipping his toenails after his weekly bath.

He didn't drink, smoke, gamble, pick his nose when no one was looking, or even eat crisps. His only vice, if you could call it that, was his new-found enthusiasm for Drogheda United.

It was a Johnny-come-lately conversion, done, Vinny reckoned, to appease his boss in the planning department of Fingal County Council who was a soccer "head" and had been following Drogheda since they had a Town as their suffix, not United.

The invitation to attend the game had come about during Vinny's Sunday visit to his sister, Mary, a kind-hearted soul, who lived in Laytown with "Bungalow Bob", so called by Vinny because his brain is missing.

Vinny hadn't been to Mary's since Christmas when he managed to win at Monopoly and also polished off some of Bob's finest single malt, which was sighted about as often as Lord Lucan. A couple of years older than Vinny, Mary kept a maternal eye on her kid brother and could always be relied upon, if that was the right word, for an invitation to dinner three or four times a year - hence Vinny's Sunday appearance for prime rib of beef, glazed parsnips, roast spuds and gravy, followed by home-made apple tart and cream.

He'd made small talk with his two teenage nieces, one of whom had just started a journalism course in DCU, before settling down in front of the box to watch Manchester City against Portsmouth in the knowledge that City would always induce a nap.

Vinny hadn't been asleep long when he was jolted awake by Bungalow Bob, who shook him by the shoulders. "C'mon Vincent, it's almost time to head off for the match. You're a Bohs supporter, or so a little bird tells me."

Vinny was a closet Gypsies fan and preferred to keep it that way. How did Bungalow Bob know? He glanced at Mary, who smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"Sure, what's the harm? You go with Bob and enjoy the match. I'll have beef sandwiches and a pot of tea ready when you get back."

That was how Vinny Fitzpatrick found himself in the midst of a battalion of Drogheda supporters around 6.50pm last Sunday. As the players did their final warm-ups, his mind drifted back to his "Dalyer" days as a young fellah. Every second Sunday through winter, together with his late father, Finbarr Fitzpatrick, he'd catch the 30 bus into town and walk up to Phibsboro, past the Black Church, Blessington Street and on to the North Circular Road where the giant floodlight pylons dominated the landscape like something from War of the Worlds. Vinny and his Da always stood at the St Peter's School end of the ground, where the great Liam Whelan had been a past pupil, to watch the men in red and black in combat.

Vinny's heroes were Joe Bourke, a burly, pirate-like centre-half with a bullet shot; Eamon Gregg, a composed, overlapping right-back who went on to play for Ireland, and the "Silver Fox" himself, centre-forward Turlough O'Connor. "We all agree Turlough O'Connor is magic" was always the cry from the Bohs' cognoscenti whenever the net bulged from a Turly special.

The other day, Vinny had seen Turly, still silver, still trim, in the newspaper beside current striker Glen Crowe, who'd just eclipsed Turly's scoring record for Bohs. "I know who I'd have in my all-time Bohs team," he said to himself.

With 15 minutes played at United Park, the fizz had evaporated from the Drogheda diehards in the covered terrace as both teams cancelled each other out. Even Bungalow Bob had gone quiet. For the crack, Vinny suggested a bet.

"Bob, let's have a tenner on the result, Drogheda (he couldn't call them Drogs) for you, Bohs for me. A draw no bet."

Bob sucked in a breath and blew out hard. "A tenner? That's a bit rich for me Vincent (he always called Vinny Vincent, much to Vinny's annoyance)."

Slightly tetchy, Vinny replied. "Look Bob. You're getting evens on the home team, who also happen to be the champions. It's a great price. A tenner it is. Are you on?"

Bob tugged at his goatee, as he always did when concentrating.

"Alright, I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb."

Almost two hours later, on the short hop back to Laytown, Vinny sat in the passenger seat of Bob's Skoda Octavia with a half-smile on his lips. Beside him, Bungalow Bob was silent - an arrangement that suited Vinny to a tee.

In Vinny's wallet was Bob's crisp tenner, one which he'd enjoy putting behind the bar in Foley's before last orders that night.

The outcome could not have been sweeter, he thought. With three minutes of stoppage time played, the scores were level, 1-1, and Bob was sniggering about Vinny's record when it came to betting - "Mary is always saying you gamble too much" - when Bohs were awarded a penalty.

Vinny held his breath as Killian Brennan scored with a dinky chip down the middle - an event which prompted a portly, middle-aged figure amid the home fans in the uncovered terrace to erupt in paroxysm of joy.

As Bob pulled into the drive of his Laytown house, complete with cobble-lock drive and privet hedge, Vinny glanced at his watch: nearly 9.30pm. "Just enough time for one of Mary's famous sarnies and a quick brew before hitting the road," he thought. He'd be in Foley's by 10.50pm, in time for three creamy pints, courtesy of Bungalow Bob. It hadn't been such a bad day trip, after all.

Bets of the Week

1pt e.w. Damien McGrane to be top British & Irish golfer in BMW Asian Open (13/1, Paddy Power)

4pts Munster and Toulouse to reach Heineken Cup final (4/5, Paddy Power)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pt Lay Birmingham City to beat Liverpool (2/1, liability 4pts)