AGAINST THE ODDS:Standing on the 18th tee box Vinny's friend Brennie only needed a double-bogey seven to win the Captain's Prize. Only.

‘HERE COMES the “so say” ’chirped Brennie as the single-decker from Dublin Bus nosed into the tiny car park outside Foley’s on Sunday morning. As Vinny Fitzpatrick had long ago observed, Brennie had a habit of breaking into Dublin slang, in this instance, “so say all of us, bus”, when he became excited, which happened often and was understandable given what was at stake.

As Vinny reached for his pencil bag and golf shoes – for a big man he travelled light – others loaded up their pro-sized golf bags and expensive electro-powered trolleys for their date with destiny at Hollystown Golf Club.

There were 32 declared runners for the Captain’s Prize in Foley’s Golf Society, of all shapes, handicaps and abilities, including Vinny, who had forlornly pursued the society’s Major for more than 30 years. Not once had he come close.

Each year, the winner received what was jokingly known as the “Potato Jacket” a bright cherry red affair, which looked like the one “Mr Tayto” wore on the crisp packets.

It had been donated by Frank Foley, son of old man Foley, who’d put his name as licensee above the doorway of the famed Clontarf premises more than 60 years ago.

On this day, Vinny knew he had two chances of breaking his captain’s bogey; none and none at all. It didn’t matter he had been given a shot back on medical grounds and was off a 22 handicap. Even if was 32, he hadn’t a prayer.

But he had paid his nifty-fifty to cover the transport to and from Foley’s, green fee and grub, to be part of the day and, just as importantly, to oversee the running of the book. Over the years, he had recorded a tidy profit, helped by wins of unfancied 25 to 1 shots “Digger” Doyle in Donabate in 1998 and “Lefty” Wright in Rush two years later.

He priced up the lads as fairly as he could, aware that the better golfers invariably won. Two-handicapper “Wizard” Willie Woodward, was a four-time champion and was 7 to 2, with Dial-A-Smile, the deeply unloved barman, at 5 to 1. He was a streaky 11 handicap who putted sideways on, like he was playing croquet.

(Macker had once queried the Wizard’s membership on abstinence grounds, but the teetotaller was a figure of awe as he was a member of the prestigious Royal Dublin links – a wedge away from Foley’s – and had once competed in the South of Ireland).

Vinny felt the book was balanced, excluding Brennie, who had a score on himself at 20 to 1 and was playing in the final three-ball with Vinny and Shanghai Jimmy.

Deep down, Vinny wanted Brennie to win as his life had been in turmoil following his troubles in the Killester bank where he worked – but for the shambolic practices of those further up the ladder, Brennie might have ended up out on his ear. Instead, he’d got a caution and was now under surveillance, from his boss and his missus, who, it must be said, was hard work.

No, nothing would give Vinny greater pleasure than to give Brennie four hundred smackers, secure in the knowledge it would all be put behind the bar in Foley’s.

It helped Vinny that his own profit and loss account was in fair nick after the extraordinary finish to the Everton versus Manchester United game the day before where he’d nipped into Boru Betting after United’s third and put €20 on 10 to 1 the draw.

With €200 in his pocket, he’d taken a little longer than usual to come home which had led to a rollicking from Angie. (It explained why there were pictures but no sound at breakfast that morning).

Never mind, he thought to himself. He’d be home by eight, reasonably sober, in time to put the kids to bed and recover lost ground.

Vinny’s golf unfolded as expected. He didn’t register a score until the fourth, lost a ball in the water at the eighth and dunked two more in the pond dedicated to Johnny Giles at the ninth.

At the turn, Kojak, who didn’t play but kept tabs on the scores, reported the Wizard’s wand wasn’t working. “Dial-A-Smile turned with 19 points, two ahead of Fran,” he said.

Brennie had 16 points and wasn’t out of it yet. Against the odds, the 16-handicapper plugged on and then, on the short 16th, stiffed an eight-iron close and made the putt.

“Everybody says the bird’s the word,” he beamed. “How am I doing Vinny?” he asked cheerily. “You’ve 32 points to here. Two more one overs and you’ll have 36. Might have a squeak,” replied Vinny nonchalantly.

Brennie went one better, holing a 12-footer for par on the tough 17th. He now had 35 points and was wiggling his driver on the 18th when Kojak ambled up. “What are the scores on the doors?” asked Brennie.

Kojak looked at Vinny, uncertain what to say. Vinny shrugged. “Dial-A-Smile is in with 36,” informed Kojak.

The last hole on the blue nine at Hollystown is a par-five, measuring 542 yards off the white tees. With his better back nine, Brennie only needed a double-bogey seven to win the Captain’s Prize. Only.

Vinny couldn’t bear to look. And it had nothing to do with the 400 smackers riding on it. Brennie blessed himself and let rip with a quick draw, bordering on a hook, which got snagged among trees on the left.

From there, he zig-zagged towards the hole and eventually found a greenside bunker in five shots.

Vinny felt for his friend as he waggled a club in the bunker, taking a practice swing, as he did, the club barely skimming the surface of the hazard.

Seconds later, there was an explosion of sand and Brennie’s ball crept on to the green, 35 feet from the hole. A crowd of lads from Foley’s, pints in hand, were gathered, including the captain, Basil “Brush” Murphy. They knew the score.

Grimacing, Brennie bashed the ball hopefully towards the cup. The line was true, the pace quick. Tending, Vinny wrenched out the pin a split-second before the ball hit the back of the hole, popped up, and disappeared. Brennie went berserk and the lads invaded the green but Vinny was silent. He had seen Brennie momentarily ground his club in the bunker and was unsure what to do.

As his grinning friend was chaired shoulder-high towards the bar, Vinny called Macker over. Quickly, he filled him in and asked for advice.

Macker rolled a cigarette slowly before replying. “Did Brennie gain any advantage by what happened? No, because he made a horlicks of the shot. So I say let’s invoke the Bobby Locke local rule.”

Vinny was puzzled. ‘What’s that?”

“One year Locke won The Open at St Andrews he forgot to replace his ball properly on the final green after marking it to one side.

“When it was mentioned, the R A said it made no difference to the outcome and Locke was declared the champion, correctly in my book. Brennie had no idea he touched the sand and also gained nothing by it. For me, he’s the winner alright.”

Vinny was €400 lighter in the pocket but hadn’t felt as good as this for months. The craic on the “so-say” going back to Foley’s would be mighty.

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