AGAINST THE ODDSUSUALLY, text messages didn't excite Vinny Fitzpatrick, chiefly because he rarely turned on his mobile phone in the first place and also because he was an infrequent sender or receiver - his pudgy fingers too often hit the wrong buttons.

But this Sunday-morning text was different. It was from Angie and it read, "Tarf tenis clb 7 2nite."

That was it: short and not particularly sweet. In these estranged times with Angie, he'd completely forgotten all about the Clontarf mixed doubles championship. Now, here they were looming like a Kenny Egan jab.

As he rummaged under the stairs for his old Dunlop wooden racket, Vinny assessed the state of play with Angie. They hadn't spoken for a fortnight, not since she picked up the wrong idea over Darina's scantily-clad appearance at Vinny's house.

Despite the phone messages he had left and the handwritten notes he had dropped into Boru Betting and her home, Vinny hadn't heard a peep and was worried sick she was going to break off their engagement.

He knew how the Darina episode must have looked to Angie. But he had an explanation, albeit a delicate one, and all he wanted was the chance to explain himself. Tonight's rendezvous on the courts would, he felt, provide him with the opportunity to set the record straight.

It was a quarter to seven that evening when Vinny cycled up the tree-lined drive of Clontarf Lawn Tennis Club. It must have been 30 years since he'd last played there. Back in the 1970s, the club had consisted of four bumpy grass courts, sagging nets, and a pokey, musty-smelling clubhouse.

Now, he counted eight all-weather courts, floodlights, a massive modern clubhouse and a car-park full of shiny people-carriers and SUVs.

Leaning his trusted Raleigh racer beside the main entrance he dipped into the entrance lobby, to be confronted by a locked door, complete with a security key pad.

"How am I supposed to know the code?" he wondered, before making an inspired guess. He dialled 1-0-1-4, heard a click, smiled and went inside.

The men's dressingroom was like a palace. There were deep sofas and armchairs, giant lockers and racks of king-sized white towels. He saw a sign for showers, sauna and steam room.

"It's a far cry from a wooden bench and an outside tap," he mused as he got changed.

It had been a while since Vinny's tennis gear had seen the light of day, but his old Donnay top still fitted, as did his baggy shorts, which resembled a small tent.

His socks had holes in the toes but nobody would notice, and if his runners could do with a little whitening, and a lot of extra grip, they would have to do.

For that little professional touch, Vinny slipped a grimy sweatband around his wrist.

After a couple of practice swishes and a half-hearted attempt to stretch his hamstrings, Vinny felt he'd done enough of a warm-up and made his way outside.

Most of the courts were occupied and he could hear the gentle thwock-thwock of racket on ball, and cries of "yours", "mine" and "out" as the good folk of Clontarf, most of them senior citizens, he noticed, enjoyed their Sunday-evening knockabout.

On one court, he could see two people, young and athletic, smacking the living daylights out of a ball as they chased around energetically.

And there, sitting on a chair by the net, was Angie.

She was wearing a tight, pink skirt, hitched up to reveal a fine pair of pins, tanned and toned.

Catching Angie's eye, but not her smile, Vinny straightened up and strode purposefully towards the court.

"Hi, Angie. I hope you brought your A game with you tonight," he said with false bravado.

"About time you got here," she snapped in reply. "Another five minutes and we'd have had to give a walkover."

With that Angie got to her feet and oversaw the briefest of introductions.

"Nigel and Norma, Vinny's here. Let's play, shall we? This won't take long I suspect."

As they made their way to one end of the court, Angie turned to Vinny.

"Look, I'm only here because I didn't want to let the opposition down," she hissed.

Vinny's jaw dropped and he thought about walking off but checked himself.

"Angie. Give me five minutes after this is over and I'll explain everything. Before that, we have a match to win. Let's show Nigel and Norma what we can do, eh?"

For a split second, he thought he saw a flicker of warmth in Angie's eyes but he couldn't be sure.

"Let's play," she said.

It was the best of three sets and the early signs were far from encouraging. Not only was Vinny rusty and ponderous but, being left-handed, he kept getting in Angie's way.

After their rackets clashed noisily for the third time, and another point was lost, Angie barked, "Vinny, stay over on your side, for heaven's sake. I'll look after the ball down the middle."

The first set was lost 6-2 in jig time, Vinny's serve having been twice broken, once to love. His first serve, a wild slash, was all over the place. His powder-puff second was so gentle even Norma could play a winning return.

At 2-1 down in the second, Vinny, chest heaving, sweat seeping from every pore, was about to serve when Angie approached: "Sorry for snapping at you earlier. Let's make a fist of this okay?"

It was just the sign of encouragement Vinny needed as he immediately fired in a serve that fizzed past a startled Nigel.

"Fifteen-love," he said before rifling another exocet past Norma. "Thirty-love."

At 6-6, the set went into a tie-break. Here, Angie excelled, darting across the court like a gazelle, displaying a stunning variety of lobs, drops shots, cross-court volleys and passing shots on the run. The tie-break was secured 7-3 and Vinny knew there was no way back for Nigel and Norma.

The final set was a 15-minute breeze that ended when Vinny played a sweet backhand return down the line leaving a despairing Nigel on his backside.

"Federer, eat your heart out," grinned Angie as she planted a smacker on Vinny's ruby cheek.

Nigel and Norma took defeat on the chin like the good eggs they were and said they looked forward to being stood a large gin and tonic in the bar later.

"See you there in a bit," said Angie before turning to Vinny.

"Right, you've got my attention. This explanation had better be good."

Bets of the Week

5pts Seattle Seahawks to win NFC West (4/5 Paddy Power)

1pt e.w. Michael Campbell in Johnnie Walker Championship (50/1 general)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pt lay Wexford to beat Tyrone (5/2 Boylesports, liability 5pts)