Wild cards lead to wild talk and wild scenes

AGAINST THE ODDS:  The traditional tranquillity of Foley's is shattered by revelations - and they have nothing to do with who…

AGAINST THE ODDS: The traditional tranquillity of Foley's is shattered by revelations - and they
have nothing to do with who will be playing for Europe at Valhalla, writes Roddy L'Estrange

AS HE carefully reversed the 29A into its allotted berth in the Clontarf bus depot last Sunday, Vinny Fitzpatrick had a quick squint at his watch.

It was almost 5.40, which left him with time to wash his hands, comb the strands of hair across his pink scalp and saunter down the seafront to Foley's to meet the lads for a jar to coincide with the announcement of Nick Faldo's Ryder Cup wild cards.

It was the final day of August and, while the early evening was warm, Vinny had detected the faintest of autumnal chills that morning. "The great bard was right about summer's lease hath all too short a date," he mused.

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As he turned the bend in the Clontarf Road and spied the giant Beamish mural outside Foley's, he saw Fran and Macker engaged in earnest discussion.

As he neared, Vinny heard raised voices. Macker was jabbing his finger in Fran's chest and spitting out words with a machine-gun rattle. He was agitated and Vinny reasoned why: he must have found out Fran was playing away on his wife, Marilyn, who was Macker's little sister.

"Howya lads, all okay here?" said Vinny innocently as he came up beside his old friends. He was greeted by a stony silence. Macker was glaring at Fran, who was flush of face.

"Yeah, everything's fine," said Macker. "Call us a pint, see you inside in a minute."

Vinny entered the lounge, ordered three pints of stout and hooked up with Brennie and Kojak by the telly. The Sky Sports coverage of the golf was just teeing off and an air of excitement rippled among the lounge lizards.

"Has to be Clarke and Monty," said Brennie.

"No, Clarke and Casey for me," opined Kojak, while Vinny rubbed his chin and said, "I'd go for Clarke and Pettersson, but you never know with Faldo, he's always done his own thing."

As a couple of European Tour heads waffled on, Macker and Fran arrived. They looked tense and, in Fran's case, a mite shook. With pints in hand, they sat at opposite sides of the lads' customary nook, neither saying a word.

Moments later Faldo took the microphone and, after announcing the 10 qualifiers in alphabetical order, disclosed his hand. Ian Poulter and Paul Casey were in. Darren Clarke, Monty, Paul McGinley, Carl Pettersson and the rest were out.

Faldo would never know it, but his selections ignited a ferocious discourse in Foley's not witnessed since Mick McCarthy stood up to Roy Keane in Saipan. Then, families had been split and best friends had fallen out. It was, as they say, déjà vu all over again.

Clarke's omission was seized upon. "No Clarke? That's a thundering disgrace," screamed Brennie, while Fran fumed, "those wild cards are more Fal-dope than Faldo, I hope Europe lose now".

Kojak was incandescent with rage. "Now we know why Poulter skedaddled off to the States this week. It must have been a ready-up."

Even Vinny, not accustomed to taking sides, was stirred. "Leaving out Clarke certainly raises a lot of questions about Faldo's captaincy," he said.

There was a silence. Then the laconic Macker spoke. "You know what, Faldo got it spot on. I wouldn't have picked Clarke either."

For a moment all was still, and then Krakatoa, east of Fairview, erupted. "You cannot be serious Macker?" exclaimed Fran. "Clarke had far more going him than anyone else. He's won twice this year; Poulter and Casey haven't won a thing."

"And don't forget," observed Brennie. "Westwood and Harrington wanted Clarke on the team, yet Faldo has ignored them. That can't be good for morale."

Macker sucked deeply on his pint, smacked his thin lips and said. "Clarke had two years to make it and finished well off the pace in both qualifying lists.

"Remember, he wasn't good enough to play in any of the Majors, so how can you say his game is better than either Poulter's or Casey's? Who nearly won the Open? Poulter. Where was Clarke? Cutting the lawn. Poulter and Casey are the next highest guys on the world rankings who didn't make it automatically. It makes sense to pick both of them."

There were times in the next half hour or so when it seemed Foley's was not unlike the scene from the song Copacabana where Barry Manilow sang "and then the punches flew, and chairs were smashed in two; there was blood and a single gunshot, but just who shot who?"

In spite of the hostilities, Macker stood his ground, but then when you've been driving a cab for over 25 years you know all about occupying Speaker's Corner, and Macker didn't flinch, even in the face of ferocious spleen-venting.

"And another thing," he said above the hubbub. "How seriously can you take a guy who's overweight, over 40 and wears white trousers?" he said.

That was it for Brennie, who rounded on Macker. "What about showing loyalty to a guy who's come through a difficult personal time, eh? That should have counted more than anything."

Macker slapped his pint on the counter ledge at his elbow, so hard that it spilt. "Don't talk about loyalty to me. Preach it to Fran here, he knows all about loyalty, don't you Fran?" he thundered.

Fran's face was the colour of puce. He glowered at Macker and then spoke quietly. "Don't go there, Macker, you don't understand," he said.

"Oh, I understand alright. I understand that it's fine to be sharing a home with my sister and a bed with a girl who's young enough to be your daughter. Where's the loyalty in that Fran?" he bawled.

Fran stood up and confronted Macker. The stocky pit bull versus the spindly lurcher. "Don't dare pass judgment on me without knowing the facts," he hissed, before emptying the contents of his pint glass over Macker's shirt, turning on his heels and stomping out.

Stunned, Vinny studied the actions of his old friends before tilting the remnants of one of Foley's finest slowly down his throat. It was, he knew, time to knock heads together and mend a few bridges before it was too late.

Vinny's Bismarck: 2pts Lay Waterford to beat Kilkenny in SHC final (4/1, Betfair, liability 8pts)

Bets of the Week: 5pts Ireland to beat Georgia (4/5, Boylesports)

2pts Man City to finish in top four of Premier League (13/2, Bet365)

Roddy L'Estrange

Roddy L'Estrange

Roddy L'Estrange previously wrote a betting column for The Irish Times