AGAINST THE ODDS:BEHIND THE bonhomie, the beery breaths, the brag of bets, not all was what it appeared in Foley's pub, Clontarf, last Sunday night.

The six middle-aged men, if the range of 45 to 62 could be termed as such, were enjoying a pre-Lenten splurge and the gargle and gags flowed as fast as the Tolka in full spate.

Of the sextet, none had greater reason to feel exultant than Vinny Fitzpatrick.

He had, after all, told everyone he knew that Cooldine and Neptune Collonges would win for Ruby Walsh at Leopardstown that afternoon, which they had.

He’d also advised backing Ireland at even money with a minus 14-point handicap against the Italians, and had insisted his conviction that Everton would beat Aston Villa in the FA Cup at 11 to 8 was not borne out of bias to his beloved Toffees.

All his tips had turned up trumps and Vinny was entitled to hold the high ground, for this night at least, as a sporting soothsayer without peer.

“I turned a lousy score into a ton today thanks to you Vinny. You’re a miracle worker,” grinned Shanghai Jimmy, holding a large Jemmy and ice with both hands around the glass in an effort to disguise the shakes now wracking his skinny frame.

And Brennie, the youngest and most excitable of the friends, observed: “Vinny, if you advised the banks on investments, sure the country wouldn’t be in this unholy mess.”

It was good-natured knockabout stuff, but as Vinny horsed down his umpteenth pint of porter there was a faraway, cheerless look in his eyes.

As he excused himself for a pee, Macker, sensing something was amiss, got to his feet and joined his old friend in the gents which, unlike other aspects of Foley’s, had not moved with the times.

“What’s the story, Vinny? You look like you won the Lotto but lost the winning ticket,” said Macker as they stood shoulder to shoulder in the smelly phone box that passed for a toilet.

Vinny sighed. “Don’t mention the war,” he said, adding, “Come on, let’s go out the back and I’ll tell you what a gombeen I am.”

As Macker rolled a fag, Vinny related his tale.

It had begun on Friday night when, as he was winding down a late shift on the 130, it struck him that Saturday was St Valentine’s Day.

Unlike the previous year, when he’d been courting Angie, this time the occasion had kind of snuck up on him.

There was no fancy table booked in a swanky Malahide hotel, no champagne, chocolates and flowers; no big effort was being made, because there was no need.

Instead, he’d popped into the Spar at the end of Vernon Avenue and bought Angie a card which he felt was suitably romantic. There were two love hearts entwined on the cover and inside were the words: “The beauty of our love is that the magic never ends. You mean the world to me.”

He’d thrown in €25 worth of scratch cards, just to let Angie know he wasn’t a skinflint, even in these tight times.

Continuing, Vinny told Macker how he had got up early on Saturday morning to make Angie breakfast in bed. He shouted up and she said she’d be down after a quick shower.

“I didn’t hold back,” he recalled. It was the full works, double fried egg, sausage, bacon, beans, black and white pudding and a big pot of tea.

“I topped it off with two slices of batch bread fried in the pan I’d used for the eggs.

“It was a greasy spoon special. Absolutely top notch grub,” he said with pride.

Vinny had then put a copy of the Racing Post, which was delivered daily, on the kitchen table and switched on The Morning Line on Channel 4. “I felt I was doing okay, you know,” he said.

Macker looked at him, inhaling deeply on his fag. “Go on,” he said.

Vinny said he was sitting at the table feeling like he’d ticked most of the Valentine’s boxes when he spied one of the scratch cards peeping suggestively out from Angie’s envelope, which wasn’t sealed.

It was then he had an idea which he would later regret. “I thought, Angie will hardly miss one, and sure I’ve bought her loads,” he said.

Taking care to brush the butter off his meaty fingers, he opened the envelope and took out the first card that came to hand. It was a €2 All €ash Gold.

Taking a 10 cent coin from his pocket, he then erased the foil to reveal three €4 symbols underneath. He was a winner!

Peeping into the envelope again, his eye was caught by the words Las Vegas.

“I thought, ‘one more won’t hurt us’,” he said. The flashy, €5 card had a dice game, slots, roulette and four hands against the dealer. Vinny won nothing, but now the urge to carry on scratching had consumed him.

With his fingers and toes tingling in anticipation, he continued with a Crossword game card, where he had been only one letter away from scooping a fiver.

He then lost the run of himself entirely and soon the kitchen table was covered with tiny clusters of foil scratchings.

“I was sitting there with a Free Ticket, a €4 win and three stars for entry into the Winning Streak game show when I heard Angie coming down the stairs,” he said.

“What happened then?” said Macker quietly.

“I covered my tracks like any huckster would. I tidied up the cards, brushed away the scratchings and served up brekkie for the two of us.

“The thing is, Macker, she said she loved the card and the breakfast had been a wonderful surprise. Then come the worst bit, she gave me a peck on the cheek and an envelope.

“You can guess what was inside: a Valentine’s card and about half a dozen scratch cards. You know, I hadn’t the heart to rub them, so I threw them in the bin.”

Macker blew cigarette smoke forcefully out of his nostrils and spoke. “Not for the first time, Vinny, you’ve done your best to make a horlicks of things.

“Yet, as far as we know, Angie thinks you’re the bee’s knees, so too do the lads who made a few bob on your advice this weekend. Count your blessings son, and replace that scowl with a smile.”

Vinny shrugged and smiled. He knew Macker was right, that it was about keeping up appearances, and not feeling miserable.

It was cold outside Foley’s and he placed his hands in his pockets for warmth. In doing so, he felt his fingers touch the sinful scratch cards of Saturday morning.

There was, he knew, another handful buried in a bin at home in Mount Prospect Avenue.

“Shame to let them go to waste,” he thought as he shuffled back into the lounge.

1pt ew Notre Pere in Aintree Grand National (25/1, Ladbrokes)

1pt ew Geoff Ogilvy in Northern Trust Open (25/1, general)

2pts Lay West Brom to finish bottom of Premier League (6/4, Boylesports, liability 3pts)