AGAINST THE ODDS:Our hero soon suffers from withdrawal symptoms as a result of a hasty Lenten vow to forgo gambling

IT WAS Sunday afternoon when the first withdrawal symptoms kicked in for Vinny Fitzpatrick, when the craving to gamble coursed through his hardening arteries.

He was so convinced of the outcome of the English League Cup final that he was prepared to stake his entire Betfair account – all €868.70 of it – and lay Spurs to lose.

Only he couldn’t. Nor could he have a nibble on Ebaziyan at Leopardstown, or Leicester Tigers against London Irish. Even the Geoff Ogilvy v Paul Casey matchplay final in Arizona was out of bounds – and all because of a silly bet, struck when pints were supped.

Looking back to the previous Friday night’s off-the-cuff session in Foley’s, it had begun so innocently. Do-gooder Brennie has suggested they all take a Lenten vow and give up something that mattered until Easter Sunday.

Brennie, by far the most charitable of the crew, made the point that, as everyone across the planet was worse off than before, it was morally right to make a sacrifice of some sort.

“If nothing else lads, it’s a gesture,” he said. “I suggest we all put a nifty-50 behind the bar to give us a motive for lasting the pace.”

Vinny was about to observe that not everyone was poorer for the recession, particularly politicians riding the ridiculous expenses gravy train and gardaí milking overtime shifts, but thought better about it.

“Right,” said Macker. “Brennie, you suggested it. What are you forsaking for the next six weeks?”

Brennie wrinkled his chin for a bit. “I’m setting the bar high here. I’m going to give up playing poker on-line,” he said.

There was a silence.

“You cannot be serious Brennie,” sniggered Macker. “Sure, you’re never off that computer. Before you can say ‘ace pot’ you’ll crack.”

Had Brennie backed off, reflected Vinny, then the silly idea would never have got beyond Go.

Instead, Brennie had become belligerent to the point where he said he would leave his laptop behind the bar in Foley’s the following morning as proof of his intentions.

“My password is ‘Little Boy Blue’. I’m only registered to play poker with Paddy Power. You can log on and check if I’m active any time,” he said.

One by one, the others followed. Fran volunteered to give up tea, which wasn’t going to be easy considering he drank, by his estimation, at least a dozen cups a day. Even last thing at night, after a feed of pints, Fran would fumble in the kitchen for a beloved cup of Barry’s finest.

Shanghai Jimmy’s vice was chocolate, in all shapes and forms. Whether it was the shell-like covering on Jaffa biscuits, or the full metal, dark chocolate Bourneville bar, it didn’t matter, he had to eat it.

More than once, Vinny had taken over a shift from Shanghai and found the driver’s cabin littered with empty wrappings of Snickers, Mars and, in particular, Picnic bars, which Shanghai seemed to have a fetish for.

Even the drinks dispenser at the bus garage wasn’t spared as Shanghai regularly emptied the sachets of hot chocolate in a week.

“Shanghai,” said Macker, a touch sympathetically. “You’ve as much chance of kicking the chocolate fix as I have of getting a fare to Timbuktu.”

Shanghai smiled, revealing a handful of crooked, stained, teeth – not unlike ol’ Albert Steptoe, thought Vinny. “Look, if Brennie can quit cards, I can quit chocolate. Anyhow, it’s only for six weeks,” he said.

Macker’s choice was clear-cut. “The fags have to go,” he said, adding a little wheeze for effect. “I’m getting fed up rolling them and the cost of baccy is sky high. Do the lungs good to have a clear out,” he said.

Kojak was next. Never a man to use two words when one would do, he simply grunted “crisps”.

At this, Vinny did a double-take. Kojak was to Walker’s what Shanghai was to Cadbury’s, a lifer. Each night, Kojak would average a bag of crisps per pint; more than once he’d placed an 18-bag variety pack on the table and let rip.

He also enjoyed different crisp addictions. For about a year, he was hooked on Worcestershire sauce; currently it was chocolate and chilli, which Vinny had to admit was downright delicious.

Five down, one to go, the lads turned to Vinny. “Right, what’s it to be,” said Macker expectantly.

Vinny thought about the things he knew he couldn’t give up – the gargle, which, curiously, none of the lads had mentioned; the Saturday morning hairy fry; weekly bath; Match of the Day; and The Morning Line.

He was stroking his fleshy chin when Brennie piped up. “I know something you couldn’t possibly do without Vinny,” he said, “having a bet.” The others nodded in agreement.

“C’mon,” quipped Fran. “At least we’re being realistic with our intentions.”

The good-natured goading continued for a few minutes as the lads took it in turns to slag Vinny about his gambling infatuation.

And then, against the odds, Vinny took the bait. “Right,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “I’m off betting for six weeks and I’m putting my money where my mouth his,” he added, placing a crisp 50 on the table.

The money was handed over to a disbelieving Dial-A-Smile at closing time that night.

“Tell ye what. Anyone who does the porridge without cracking, I’ll match a 50 from behind the bar, and I don’t expect to hand over a cent,” he leered.

The talk among the lads later that night, after a lorry load of curried chips from the Capri, was of staying together for support so they could turn €300 into €600 and drink the bar dry on the back of Dial-A-Smile’s dough.

“We’ll be like the Samaritans. Any time any one of us feels like cracking, get on the blower. It’s good to talk,” said Brennie excitedly.

Some 48 hours on and Vinny wasn’t sure he’d last the Lenten pace.

Saturday had been alright as he’d worked a double shift, grabbed the second half of the rugby over three pints at Foley’s and gone out with Angie for an Italian supper in Fairview, where they planned a new date for the wedding.

But Sunday had been different. He was off work and also off-line. The football, racing, rugby, golf all came and went, without a bet being placed, a button pushed.

It was nearly 10pm when he burst into Foley’s, flustered and infuriated. He called for a pint and waddled across to his usual corner under the telly in the lounge, where Macker and Fran sat together, glum-faced.

“Easter can’t come quick enough, eh?” said Macker.

Bets of the Week

1pt e/w: Patsy Hall in William Hill Trophy Handicap Chase (16/1, Ladbrokes)

1pt e/w: Davis Love in Honda Classic (35/1, Boylesports)

Vinny's Bismarck

1pt lay Manchester City to win Uefa Cup (4/1, Paddy Power, liability 4pts)