HAVING SAFELY escorted the screaming urchins from Vernon Primary School, and their unfortunate teachers, to Dublin Zoo at lunchtime on a golden October Monday, Vinny Fitzpatrick contemplated his options.

With three hours to pass before the return of the St Trinian-like terriers, he could take a power-walk up Chesterfield Avenue and back, or enjoy a toasted sarnie, apple tart and pot of tea before considering a more leisurely stroll around the “a-zoo”.

The latter option was his preference and he was about to follow the signs for the restaurant when his phone buzzed with a text.

It was from Macker and it read: “France in play-offs, first game Croker. Two chances; slim and none.”

Vinny smiled. He had been hoping Ireland would land France for several reasons. First, there was the matter of revenge, as the French had blocked Ireland’s path to a number of World Cup finals, 1978, 1982 and, most recently, 2006.

Second, he felt the French were the team Ireland would most likely raise their game against in the play-offs.

“We’d have lost to the Russkies before a ball was kicked and would have been expected to beat Greece,” he thought, making a mental note to back Ireland to go through on penalties.

Third, and most importantly, he and the lads had pre-booked flights on Ryanair to Paris for €20 each-way, going out on Tuesday and back on the Thursday. “Fail to prepare, prepare to fail,” he thought as another text announced its arrival. It was Macker again. “Flights cancelled by Ryanair. New ones available for €300 return. Lousers.”

Vinny pulled a face and scowled – which was not a pretty sight. He was cursing Michael O’Leary and the horse he rode in on when he became conscious of a hubbub around him.

A gaggle of tourists had poured in through the zoo entrance, armed with bags, cameras, maps and loud American accents.

“Do we go right or left, George, for the tiger cubs? George, did you hear me?” shouted a woman of considerable bulk and forthright attitude who reminded Vinny of the indestructible Molly Brown.

Vinny felt sorry for George and had begun to slope off when he felt someone tug at his shoulder. He turned, a mite startled. It was mighty “Molly”.

“Hey, mister. You look like you’re from these parts. Can you show us the way to the goddamn baby tigers?” she said.

Vinny’s ears had been almost singed with non-stop talk of the tiger cubs on the trip over from Clontarf. He’d seen the Trinian’s raiding party head left at the entrance and he duly pointed a pudgy finger in that direction.

“You’ll find them down there,” he said helpfully, for he was an obliging soul.

“Molly” bawled out “thanks”, and slipped a fleshy forearm around Vinny’s. “Mister, we need a guy like you to get us around this place. Whatever you were about to feed, forget it. You’re coming with us.”

Vinny blushed bright pink and, before he could protest, found himself at the point of a troupe of babbling, bustling, tourists. Suspecting he had been mistaken for a zookeeper due to his Dublin Bus uniform, he knew he had to make a call, quick.

Arriving at the enclosures of the tigers, Vinny took a deep breath and boldly went where he had never gone before.

“Here are the Sumatran tigers, one of the world’s most endangered species. They are called Emas and Wanita after a competition among Irish schoolchildren to name them. Emas means ‘gold’ in Indonesian, Wanita means ‘woman’,” he blurted.

With that, there was no turning back. Digging deep from memories of his own school days when he had spent long hours in the zoo, where his ma’s uncle, Pops Gavigan, had worked, he stumbled and spoofed his way around.

Along the way, he made mistakes, like pointing out polar bears only to find they were grey wolves, while he enjoyed a lucky break when the party’s arrival at the sea lions coincided with feeding time.

“Molly”, whose real name was Martha from Des Moines, Iowa, squealed with delight as the sleek leviathans of the deep did their customary party routine, arf-arfing all the way and gobbling up enough fish to keep Burdock’s in business for a week.

“Mister, take a picture of me and George with those sea dogs in the background,” she said excitedly, shoving a camera at Vinny.

Later, as they moseyed out in the African Plains, they passed the lions’ den, which got the Iowa crowd agog. It was the cue for Vinny’s finest moment as he recalled an answer from a pub quiz.

“It’s not widely known that the famous MGM lion, Leo, who adorned all those movie intros, began life in Dublin Zoo as a cub called Slats,” Vinny intoned.

Martha was ecstatic. “Hey, what about this guy? Ain’t he the real deal,” she cooed.

By the time they completed their “guided” tour and arrived at the Meerkat Restaurant, Vinny’s tummy was growling; he was so hungry he’d even have eaten a meerkat.

The Iowa gang, to their credit, didn’t hold back and proceeded to graze for their state while Vinny tucked into a large burger and chips, smothered with tomato sauce. “After all that fresh air, I deserve this,” he said to himself.

Just then, the door to the restaurant opened and a gaggle of 10- and 11-year-olds, in school colours he recognised as those of Vernon Primary, burst in with the force of a tsunami.

Squealing and giggling, they swept past the bemused Iowans and crammed four-deep at the counter demanding fizzy drinks and crisps. With them was a haggard-looking teacher, who spotted Vinny.

“Ah, there you are driver. We’ll be rounding this lot up in a few minutes,” she said.

Vinny nodded, but said nothing; he was scared stiff his little game was up. As he pushed his chair back, he caught Martha’s eye.

She beckoned him over.

“Mister, you may not be as pure as the driven snow but we had a blast out there thanks to you. Take this as a show of gratitude,” she said, thrusting a roll of notes into Vinny’s hand. “No buts, we insist, don’t we guys?”

All around, the friendly Iowans raised heads from their nose bags and nodded and smiled in Vinny’s direction.

Several hours later, Vinny sat in Foley’s recounting an extraordinary day in his ordinary life, topped off by a €100 tip from Martha and Co.

“You know, Vinny. Forget about those tigers, you’re the one who is an endangered species,” laughed Macker as he raised a pint glass to his old friend.

2pt Lay Dr Crokes in Kerry SFC (6/4, Boylesports, liability 3pts)

Bets of the Week

1pt AC Milan to beat Real Madrid in Champions League (7/1, Stan James)

1pt each-way Anthony Wall in Castello Masters (33/1, Paddy Power)