AGAINST THE ODDS:Vinny and Fran make a last minute decision to join Foley's Soiled & Ancient Golf Society on the trip north for the Irish Open in Portrush.

AS HE hugged the advertising hoarding bordering the 16th tee at Royal Portrush, Vinny Fitzpatrick had a sense of what it must have been like for the unfortunate souls from the Titanic, desperately clinging for a grip on flotsam in the icy North Atlantic 100 years ago.

The tiny slanting ledge, perched high in the Antrim dune land, had room for about 20 spectators but many more in the huge gallery following Pádraig Harrington on Saturday were doing their best to gain a foothold for a look-see.

As one burly fan tried to muscle his way up on to the shelf, Vinny aimed a judicious boot at his shoulder and applied a tad more force than probably necessary. “Sorry pal, there’s no more room at the inn.”

The punter lost his grip and slid 10 feet down to the bottom of the dune, cursing as he came to rest. “Quiet please,” shouted a steward. Vinny said nothing. He and Fran had fought hard for this observation point and were in no mood to be charitable.

It was, he knew, one of the best pitches on the Portrush links.

Not only did it offer a view of the challenging tee shot on the 16th, it also provided a perfect sighting of the bowl-like 15th green. The 11th green and 12th tee were also close by.

It was a wonderful watch tower and it made the dawn patrol hike from Clontarf and the rain-sodden sacrifice of the morning all the worthwhile.

For Vinny and Fran, it had been a spur of the moment decision to traipse north.

The night before, they had supped pints with Charlie St John Vernon, the well-connected president of Foley’s Soiled Ancient Golf Society, who told them there were two places left on Barney’s Bus for a day-trip to Portrush.

“It’s €50 all-in, including admission. We’re on the road at six bells and we leave Portrush half an hour after the final putt drops. We’ll be back here for half nine, in plenty of time for a jar. Well? What you say chaps?”

Vinny wasn’t prone to off-the-cuff decisions – he still deeply regretted the goat incident of Poznan – but the chance to see Harrington, Big Darren and all the Macs was too good to turn down.

The next morning he’d left a note on the kitchen table for Angie, promised he’d be back by midnight and slipped out, armed with half a dozen ham rolls, a litre of milk, a four-pack of Mars bars, and a slightly woolly head.

He also packed his rain gear and golf shoes in his old Gola bag.

The craic had been mighty on the way up, helped by a fine napper tandy – brandy – to mark the crossing into “occupied territory”, as Charlie Vernon put it.

There were the usual society heads on the bus, including Spider, Big Dave, Stormin’ Norman, Two-Mile Boris, Timmy Two Shots, The Reverend, The Fooster, Bones Brogan, Charlie, Vinny and Fran. “A right wrecking crew,” thought Vinny.

Approaching Portrush, Vinny was reminded of childhood holidays in Lahinch, as the links stretched out and back from the town’s embrace, flanked on one side by the Atlantic.

Although the skies were weeping, Vinny alighted from the bus like a kid in a sweet shop.

He was an Irish Open veteran from Woodbrook in ’75, where Tom Watson and Jack Newton were famously reunited after Carnoustie. He felt 24 again, not 54. “Bring it on,” he said aloud to no one in particular.

Three hours later, a damp and down-hearted Vinny returned to the tented village to grab shelter and a hot brew. With Fran, he’d set up base camp by the short sixth, the furthest point away from the clubhouse.

Through the squalls, they’d seen the three Macs; McDowell, McGinley and McIlroy, file through. McDowell was first up, with a tee shot that drifted left but rebounded on to the green off a mound.

“Member’s bounce,” shouted Vinny, at which McDowell quipped “there are some good people up there.”

Walking off the green, the players went through a corridor of fans, all clapping and offering encouragement.

McDowell and McGinley engaged in the banter, smiled and each threw a ball into the gallery. In contrast, McIlroy kept his head down and hands in his pockets.

“He’s a surly boy,” said a Northern voice close to Vinny.

By now, the rain was teeming down and Vinny and Fran headed back towards sanctuary. It took an age as they waited for crossover points to become free and by the time they got back, they were sweating and soaking, in equal measure.

Others in the Soiled Ancient were equally miffed. “You can’t see a thing out there for the bloody umbrellas,” wailed Spider, who was knee-high to a grasshopper and better off on Big Dave’s shoulders.

“There are no vantage points like the Marnock,” moaned Two-Mile. “The decent ones are roped off and you can’t get close to the action. As for the scoreboards, they don’t exist.”

Not everyone was scorpy. “I haven’t the foggiest what all the fuss is over. The hot whiskies are splendid and you can follow the play on the big screens,” said Bones, who hadn’t left the Sports Bar and was already half cut.

While the rain had seeped into Vinny’s marrow, he remained optimistic. “Lads, I think she’s clearing up. We still have the back nine of this day to look forward too. C’mon, let’s be having you.”

But the mood for more golf was lukewarm. After a head count, the decision to repair to the Sports Bar was carried 12-2. Only Fran ventured out for a second lap.

Within 20 minutes, Vinny knew they had struck gold. It helped that by the time they came across the 16th tee box, the three Macs had all gone through while the leaders were at the turn.

All was quiet up there on their isolated outcrop where a friendly steward said they were fine where they were once they kept quiet.

By the end of the day, Vinny and Fran counted 11 matches through the 15th green and 16th tee, from James Morrison and Anthony Wall, to Mark Foster and Gregory Bourdy.

Vinny was struck by how little was said by the golfers as they waited for the fairway to clear. There was no chit-chat, no signs of camaraderie.

He also realised how little he knew about the European Tour. Alex Haindl, Oscar Floren, Matthew Zion, Paul Waring and Mikael Lundberg would have passed unidentified but for the sodden draw sheet he had with him.

The highlight had been the Harrington-Lorenzo Gagli two-ball. Harrington had smoked his drive to the heart of the fairway while Gagli’s belter had prompted Vinny to blurt out “Forza Italia, Forza Azzurri.”

Gagli wasn’t having a great day, but he plucked his tee from the turf with a beaming smile and gave a thumbs-up to Vinny.

It reminded Vinny that he had €20 each-way on Italy at 18 to 1 in the Euro finals. Just like the weather, things had started to pick up.

Bets of the week

1pt each-way Rafael Cabrera Bello in French Open (40/1, Ladbrokes)

2pts Nicolas Roche to finish in top six in Tour de France (14/1, Betfair)

Vinny's Bismarck

3pts Lay Dublin to win All-Ireland SFC (10/3, Boylesports, liability 10pts)