AS MORNING summits with Socket Twomey, the controller at Clontarf bus garage, were about as rare as back-to-back wins for Everton in the Premier League, Vinny Fitzpatrick was agog with intrigue as he strolled to work on Monday.
The portly driver was in fair spirits after an enjoyable ‘touch’ on Manchester United in the FA Cup the previous day when he’d punted €20 at 4 to 1 on United to lead at half-time and full-time against rivals City.
He’d been convinced that United would win, for the simple reason they had the greater motivation, having been tanked 6-1 by City in October.
In the end, it had been a close run thing after 10-man City displayed more backbone than Vinny gave them credit for but, as in horse racing, it doesn’t matter what the winning distance is, only who has their nose in front at the post.
It had been a dinger of a cup tie, all ebb and flow, and the only aggravation for Vinny had been Wayne Rooney’s kiss-the-badge buffoonery after the first United goal.
“If Barcelona came up with the readies tomorrow, Rooney would be on his bike quicker than an Alex Ferguson head throw,” he thought to himself as he turned into the forecourt of his workplace.
Some 34 years on, he still loved the place, especially on crisp mornings like this, when the buses were tethered likes horses in the stalls; engines revving as they pawed and stamped, eager to be unleashed on the gallops.
Vinny’s stallion today was the 130, a regular companion over the years, which provided a rather circuitous route from Clontarf Castle to the city centre. Vinny knew every stop and most of the passengers too. They were his people; and he was of them.
For a while, the legacy of his stroke had looked like bringing his days in the cabin to a premature cul-de-sac but he had recovered almost full movement in his right arm and had managed to convince the Dublin Bus medical examiners he was fit to drive.
(He did still feel a little numbness but didn’t let on).
He arrived at Socket’s office, on time, and knocked three times before entering.
Socket was not alone. To Vinny’s surprise, Dick Delamere, Socket’s equivalent at Donnybrook Garage was with him, sipping tea and looking as fierce as ever from beneath bushy eyebrows.
“You know Dick, don’t you Vinny?” said Socket, gesturing towards an empty seat.
Vinny nodded, “Dick,” and sat down. He knew Dick Dastardly alright. For years, they had crossed swords in the Banana Cup, the annual inter-garage sports day held in midsummer – so called because of the running joke about so many routes coming in bunches.
More often than not, Dick Dastardly’s Donnybrook divisions were winners amid unproven stories of underhand Bank Holiday bonuses and half-day shifts as a reward.
Vinny had come up against Dick Dastardly every year since the first Banana Cup in 1987 – the year Dublin Bus was formed – and he reckoned Donnybrook had won outright around 15 times. In contrast, Clontarf had only won twice.
Donnybrook were the Manchester United of the seven Dublin garages; they were big, brash, playground bullies, and Dick Dastardly was their Alex Ferguson. Vinny couldn’t stand him.
“Dick has a proposal to put to you, Vinny, one that I am supportive of, as are head office,” said Socket. “The floor is yours, Dick,” he added.
Dick Dastardly stood up – he towered over Vinny. He was well over six foot and proud of his links with Blackrock College where he’d played on the same schools team as Hugo MacNeill.
“Vincent,” he said. “You’ve done good work out here in the sticks with the bus arrival information service; work that hasn’t gone unnoticed on our side of town.
“To be honest, I can’t believe Clontarf, with its limited resources, beat us to the post in rolling out the real time estimates of your bus arrivals, but you did.
“Then again, I know from the Banana Cup never to underestimate the Clontarf bantams, eh?” he added with a supercilious chuckle.
“What I want, Vincent, is for you to come across the Liffey to work with us on implementing the service from Donnybrook. We’re behind schedule and I’m under pressure from O’Connell Street to have it up and running by mid-summer.
“There is, shall we say, an inducement for you to join us for six months, which Socket will make you aware of. I expect you to accept and to report for duty in Donnybrook at nine o’clock next Monday. Good day to you both.”
With that Dick Dastardly was gone, leaving a gobsmacked Vinny staring into space.
It was Socket who broke the silence.
“Sorry about lobbing the grenade in without any warning Vinny but Dick insisted.”
At that, Socket pushed an envelope across the table. “The terms of the, er, transfer. For your eyes only,” he said.
Vinny was in a state of shock as he reached inside and unfolded the Dublin Bus headed notepaper on which Private and Confidential was written in capitals.
The transfer terms were extraordinary. For starters, there was a 20 per cent increase on his basic salary, and a relocation payment of €5,000, tax-free.
His working hours were 9am to 4pm from Monday to Friday, with an hour for lunch, and he would be off every Saturday, Sunday and Bank Holiday – he would still be paid the hefty bonus for the latter without having to clock in.
To top it off, he would be off the fourth Monday of every month, which coincided with Foley’s Golf Society outings.
Dick Dastardly had thought of everything.
“It’s an unbelievable package,” said Socket. “I don’t know how Dick pushed it through but it shows you his clout and also how desperate he is to deliver on the real time service. Vinny, you can’t pass up on this.”
Vinny got to his trotters, rather unsteadily, and walked across to the window. He looked out on the forecourt where the shunters had the morning fleet ready to nose out on Clontarf Road; the 29As, 31s, 32s, 42s, 43s, 104s, and his beloved 130s.
He had worked here boy and man; had never known any other place of business. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the first tram to the city centre running from here in 1899, the first official bus route in 1925 to the city centre too.
There was living, breathing, transport history in the meadow of the bull. It was his meadow, and he was now one of the older bulls.
But could he possibly say no to Dick Dastardly? Finances at home were tight and he knew from Angie that turnover in Boru Betting last year had been down a third on the previous year’s take.
There was a hefty mortgage on their Mount Prospect Avenue property which the rental income from his old family home came nowhere near covering. The twins had to be fed and clothed; and a monthly contribution was needed for his grandson, young Vinny, too.
The extra dough would come in useful; there might even be a little left over for a spot of wagering.
He thought of how football players kissed their badges in front of fans one day and then kissed the club goodbye the next after being promised a king’s ransom to play for someone else. Was he to become one of them? Could he afford not to?
Without turning away from the window, Vinny cleared his throat. “Socket,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice, “you can tell Dick Delamere he can shove his transfer where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Bets of the Week
2ptsLiverpool to win the League Cup (7/4, Ladbrokes)
3ptsLeicester to beat Ulster in Heineken Cup (10/11, Paddy Power)
Vinny's Bismark
1ptLay Denver to beat New England in NFL play-offs (11/2, general, liability 5.5pts)
