AGAINST THE ODDS:AS THE mass of bodies swayed and heaved in Parnell Square on Saturday, Vinny Fitzpatrick was briefly escorted back to 'Dalyer' on big match afternoons in the 70s when the terraces were jammers and Turlough O'Connor was a legend.
“These days, the only Turlough people talk about is yer man in Fair City,” he thought to himself with a chuckle.
Along with Shanghai Jimmy, Vinny was representing the workers of Clontarf bus garage in the monster public service march to Dáil Éireann in protest at the Government’s handling of the economy.
Wearing his standard company blazer, complete with an egg stain and flecks of dandruff, Vinny mingled contentedly with firemen, nurses, teachers, aircraft workers, ‘corpo’ heads, and the ordinary Joe and Josie Soaps.
“If only I’d gone to third level education, I could have been a student activist and done this sort of thing every other weekend,” he said to Shanghai Jimmy as they walked past The Gate Theatre at the outset of the march.
Passing the Parnell monument, Vinny spied a couple of familiar faces in the throng: Seán ‘Sundance’ Ellis and Leo ‘Lofty’ Peake from Donnybrook Garage, regular competitors in the ‘Banana Cup’, the inter-garage sporting challenge held each summer.
They were two sound heads, unlike some high falutin’ types in Donnybrook. Both liked their sport, and, more importantly, liked their pint. “Alright Sundance, Lofty,” said Vinny. “Not a bad day for this sort of mullarkey,” he said.
At the junction of North Earl Street, the rally ground to a halt. As some union honcho blared out a message of solidarity through a loudspeaker, Vinny’s antennae twitched.
“Lads, there’s a grand little boozer around the corner. What say we nip in for a swifty and rejoin the march on O’Connell Bridge? Sure, no one will miss us.” Before you could say “last orders” the fourball, led by Vinny, had darted into Briody’s in Marlborough Street. “This is a great place for a quick pint,” said Vinny, ordering four creamies.
As they waited, a little restlessly it must be said, for the pints to settle, they talked shop talk. Sundance and Lofty were in the same boat at Donnybrook as Vinny and Shanghai Jimmy were in Clontarf.
“What brasses me off is that we work long hours for the sort of money politicians can claim in expenses alone, and yet find ourselves in the firing line. It’s a disgrace,” thundered Lofty, who, despite his moniker, was only five foot two.
“You’re dead right,” said Shanghai Jimmy. “We take our life in our hands on the vomit comet night link and no one bats an eye lid. I’d love the Minister for Transport to do a weekend with me on the last 27 from town.”
By now, the pints were the perfect blend of ebony and ivory. Four hands went out, four draw bridges were lowered and the black magic disappeared inside within seconds.
“Right, back to the parade, er protest,” said Vinny.
Crossing the Liffey, Vinny looked left towards the port. “Pete St John was right about the glass cages springing up along the quay. It’s such a shame,” he said to himself.
The mood among the quartet was upbeat as they trundled up D’Olier Street and turned towards College Green. Around them, fellow workers held placards and posters, and waved flags. “Power to the people, eh,” grinned Vinny.
It was Sundance who lobbed in the next curve ball. “Doyle’s has always been an unpretentious drinking den,” he said with a mischievous twinkle.
Four excellent pints followed, taken at a slightly slower pace this time. “Sure, we’re going nowhere quick,” said Vinny.
By Trinity College, they passed the statues of Goldsmith and Burke on the pristine lawn.
“Hey Vinny, yer man Goldsmith must have been thinking of you when he wrote ‘and still they gazed and still the wonder grew, that one small head, could carry all he knew’,” quipped Shanghai.
Turning into Nassau Street the pace was now positively funereal. “It’s bloody slower than a Foley’s golf society outing. C’mon, we need a timeout,” said Vinny, steering his fellow workers through the welcoming doors of Porterhouse Central.
“Lads, prepare to have your stout senses titillated. Four oysters please,” he said.
Shanghai wailed: “But I don’t like oysters, they taste like cold snot. I want a pint.” Vinny gave his old friend a withering glance. “Be patient, Shanghai. Do you think I’d serve ye a pup?” When the pints of home-brewed oyster stout arrived, there was a companionable silence for the first communal swallow.
After a pause, Sundance spoke first. “Mother of all that’s divine, that’s a pint to die for,” he purred softly. “It would be most rude not to go again.” The reload was followed by another; then another and almost an hour had elapsed when the four drivers emerged. “We’re not in the lead bunch any more but I don’t think the Lance Armstrong types at the front will miss us much,” grinned Vinny.
Rejoining the swarm, the lads found themselves walking alongside a bright red fire engine, when they heard a voice from the driver’s cabin. “Hey Vinny, do ye want a ride?” It was Big Dave, a bar fly from Foley’s, who worked in the fire station in Donaghmede. “Howya Dave. Sure. Plenty of seats on top, I take it,” smiled Vinny.
Soon, the four bus drivers, six pints of stout swirling around their insides, were straddling the ladder atop the tender from where they waved and smiled at fellow workers on the shuffle up to Kildare Street.
“This must be what it’s like when a team wins the FA Cup and goes on an open top bus through the streets the day after,” said Vinny.
“As an Everton fan, you must have forgotten what that’s like,” retorted Sundance.
Outside Leinster House, there was the usual tirade of chest-beating speeches from union chiefs, most of which was unintelligible waffle.
To break the monotony and give the workers something to cheer about, Big Dave gave the siren a few blasts every now and then, much to the amusement of Dublin Bus’ finest on their precarious perch.
“Ye know what lads, this is the best parade ever,” said Vinny.
Leaning over the side of the tender, he placed his next order. “Dave, when you’re done here, can you drop us off at the top of Grafton Street. It may surprise you, but this protesting lark has given us all a thirst.”
Vinny's Bismarck
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