AGAINST THE ODDS:Vinny and the lads are off to support the Boys in Green in Budapest before the real business in Poland next Sunday, but will they get to see the game?

MAYBE BECAUSE it was a morning flight to Budapest and the lads were tired and emotional, as Eamon Dunphy would have put it, but the first head throw on “Operation Joxer” was a right vein-buster.

It was Fran, the Captain Mainwaring of the party, who lost his cool with a petite Ryanair attendant after he parked his 6ft 2ins frame in the empty row of seats by the emergency exits, to avail of the extra leg room.

Vinny Fitzpatrick had slipped in beside his friend, even though a normal seat would have done him, for his pink trotters were short and fat.

“You can’t sit there gentlemen,” said the pretty dark-haired attendant with porcelain cheek bones. “They are reserved seats.”

Fran wasn’t buying it. “Reserved for who? We were the last ones to board the plane and it’s half-empty.”

The attendant, whose name tag identified her as Karin, was knee high to a grasshopper but she stood her ground. “It is company policy that no one can sit there, in case of an emergency.”

“Is it now,” roared Fran. “One minute these seats are reserved, the next it’s company policy. Are you making this up as you go along?”

At that Vinny called a time-out. He unstuck himself from the seat and got to his feet. “C’mon, Fran, there’s no point in falling out over it. The lady is only doing her job.”

“Sorry about that love,” he said to the attendant as he ushered Fran into the aisle.

“Thank you for helping,” said Karin, touching Vinny lightly on the arm.

As Fran muttered aloud about passengers’ rights, Vinny guided his old school friend to their seats in steerage, where Brennie and Macker were wearing broad smirks.

“Well, Fran, I think that went well,” sniggered Brennie.

“Operation Joxer” had begun under weeping skies in Croker the previous day where the lads stood on Hill 16 and watched their boys in blue begin the defence of “Sam” with a chilling efficiency.

They had cleaned up too, availing of the even money offer in Boru Betting on the Dubs to beat Louth with a minus eight point handicap – the €50 profit had paid for the pints in Foley’s and a grease-laden supper from The Capri.

It was the ideal send-off for a journey which was taking them to Budapest for Ireland’s friendly with Hungary and then north to Poznan, their base camp for the Euro finals.

In all, they would be away from home for 15 nights, their longest stint on the road since Italia ’90, unless Ireland did the unthinkable and advanced to a quarter-final in Ukraine.

After Vinny had marched on with Jack’s Army in Genoa and Rome in 1990 he had returned home with his backside out of his trousers and his job as a bus driver on the line. Given their age profile – Brennie was 48, Macker 52 and Fran and Vinny both 54 – this would almost certainly be their last tour with the Boys In Green at a major final, and they’d solemnly agreed the night before in Foley’s they would pace themselves.

“There’s no point in shooting off from the front, like a pace-setter, and running out of puff,” warned Vinny.

“Better to be like Camelot in the Derby. Take it handy and then come with a surge,” he said as they touched down in Budapest at lunchtime on Monday.

They were staying one night in the Hungarian capital but had barely seen the inside of their hotel, a three-star job on the Buda side of the Danube, before high-tailing it in a taxi to Yeats Irish pub for a tipple or two and a pre-match nosebag.

It was a sun-kissed afternoon and Vinny had suggested a boat trip on the mighty Danube might be nice, pointing out how the second longest river in Europe coursed through four capitals (Vienna, Bratislava, Budapest and Belgrade), more than any other in the world, on its way to the Black Sea.

But the look of disdain from the lads scuttled his idea without trace.

“Are you mad or what?” said Brennie.

“When you’ve seen one river, you’ve seen them all. If you want a cruise, go paddle up the Liffey. C’mon on, we’re losing drinking time.”

A handful of Irish fans were in Yeats, where the four newcomers downed pints of Dreher Classic, a fine pilsener-beer, and enjoyed bowls of steaming goulash, paprika stew and dumplings.

They were firmly ensconced by 7.30pm, when Vinny suggested it was time to get a wriggle on for the match.

There was a silence before Macker replied. “Why? Sure, we’re having great craic here and the game is on the telly. What would we be missing anyway?” Brennie and Fran said nothing.

Vinny went on the front foot. “Lads, we’ve forked out for the tickets and we’ve come all this way. This is a senior international, the last warm-up before the finals. Trap and lads would appreciate us being there.”

At that, Macker snorted. “Trap and the lads couldn’t give a fiddler’s toss if we turned up or not.”

Cowed, Vinny tried a different tack. “Look, it’s the old Nep Stadium, one of the great cathedrals of football, where Puskas, Kocsis, Hidegkuti and the Magical Magyars once ruled the world. It’s about to be knocked down. Let’s go and drink the history.”

Brennie piped up: “Let’s stay here and drink a few more Drehers instead.”

Vinny was aghast. He liked his beer as much as anyone but the Irish team exercised a pull on his heart like the Dubs, Everton and Bohs. They were playing up the road and this was a chance to see how they were shaping up before taking on the heavy-hitters in the Euro finals.

He shook his large head, stood up, and waddled towards the toilet. He was almost at the door when he heard a female voice at his elbow. “Hello there, Mr Peacekeeper.”

He turned sharply. For a moment, he didn’t recognise who it was. Then, it struck him.

“You’re the attendant from Ryanair, Karin, is that right?”

Karin’s dark-hair was draped around exposed, tanned, shoulders and she had, Vinny noticed, eyes like mahogany. She was small but perfectly formed.

“It is so good to see you again. Thank you for this morning. You helped sort out a problem that could have got out of control. I would like to show my appreciation. Would you like a beer?”

Vinny stole a glance back at the lads. They were laughing their heads off at a joke someone had cracked and were as settled in their seats as concrete. He knew there was no way he could prise them away for the game.

He puffed out his fat cheeks, glanced at his watch. “Karin, delighted to see you again,” he said offering a sweaty paw. “The name is Vinny, Vinny Fitzpatrick. Of course, I’d love a beer. Tell me, do you like football? It just so happens I have a spare ticket . . .”

Vinny's Bismark:

Ireland to have one draw and two losses in Group C (5 to 2, Boylesports, liability 5pts)

Bets of the Week:

2pt: Netherlands to win Euro 2012 (7 to 1, Coral)

1p: Robin van Persie to be top scorer at Euro 2012 (10/1, general)