AGAINST THE ODDS: In his time Vinny has been to the famous stadiums in Dublin but never to the Rotunda

AS SOMEONE who lived in Dublin all his life, Vinny Fitzpatrick’s knowledge of the interior of the city’s famous landmarks was, sad to say, non-existent.

He knew his way blindfolded to the triumvirate of sports stadiums on the northside, Dalymount Park, Tolka Park and Croker; while the dog tracks of Shelbourne Park and Harold’s Cross were well-trodden trails too.

The RDS and Lansdowne Road were familiar patches, as was Leopardstown, even if it was a trek from Clontarf, unlike Baldoyle racecourse whose closure in 1972 had so angered Vinny.

Through the years, he’d regularly frequented Morton Stadium, the National Stadium, Parnell Park and Richmond Park but when it came to the attractions on the tourist beat, he was, alas, in the ha’penny place.

Vinny had never been inside Trinity College, never darkened the doorsteps of Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin Castle or the Abbey Theatre, which he drove past every day.

He had yet to grace the magnificent cathedrals of Christchurch and St Patrick’s; or experienced the mummies of St Michan’s; while it was unforgivable to think he had never sampled the delights of either the Guinness Storehouse or the Jameson Distillery.

And he had also never, ever, been to the Rotunda Hospital, until yesterday.

It was the occasion of Angie’s 13-week scan and she had requested Vinny’s presence. “You’re the father; I want you there,” she’d said firmly.

It was a working day on the buses but Vinny had swung an early lunch to be sure he was at the hospital ahead of time.

As he hopped from foot to foot, nervously, Vinny looked around the public waiting area and was taken aback slightly by the number of non-Irish nationals queuing to be seen.

There were women from Africa, the Indian sub-continent, the Far East and a couple of blonde corkers he suspected were from Poland.

He smiled in their direction just as Angie entered the lobby, slightly out of breath. “Are you with them or with me?” she whispered. “Come on, follow me.”

Walking a step behind Angie, for he knew his place, they crossed the Rotunda grounds to the private clinic. Looking after Angie was Dr Robert Rainsford, whom she knew from Clontarf Tennis Club.

“I’m happy to pay for the peace of mind and Robert is a dear old friend,” she’d explained to Vinny.

In contrast to the hubbub and apparent disorder of the public clinic, the private facility was an oasis of calm.

At reception, an attractive lady confirmed Angie’s appointment and they were ushered into a welcoming waiting room, complete with sofas, comfy chairs, a water dispenser and lots of glossy women’s magazines.

After a few minutes, Angie’s name was called out and they were escorted into the private rooms of Dr Rainsford. He was 60ish, tall, bespectacled and tanned. With his silver hair he was a ringer for Marcello Lippi, the Italian football manager, thought Vinny.

“Angela, my dear, how wonderful it is to see you again; you look simply marvellous,” he gushed, greeting Angie with a kiss on the cheek that wasn’t casual enough for Vinny’s liking.

“And this must be,” he said looking down at his notes, “Vincent”. “Good to meet you. I see you are a bus driver, hmm,” he said, nodding perfunctorily in Vinny’s direction.

“Alright, Bob. Yeah, that’s me. I drive the 130 past your pad every morning. You’ve a lovely gaffe by the way,” said Vinny.

“Thank you, I’m sure. By the way, the name’s Robert,” sniffed Dr Rainsford.

For the next few minutes, the good doctor engaged in conversation with Angie, ignoring her partner in his slightly crumpled finest Dublin Bus driver’s suit.

Dr Bob calculated the due date to be around December 15th, which had Vinny working back where he’d been on March 15th.

That was the weekend he’d missed the rugby in Cardiff because he and Fran got on the wrong train in Bristol. On his return to Clontarf, Angie had, to say the least, been sympathetic to his plight.

Aware that he was wearing a faraway smile, Vinny snapped back to attention. Dr Bob was droning on about Angie’s general health, about the do’s and don’ts of what she should eat and drink.

“While you are in excellent fettle dear, you are, after all, in your 42nd year and we can’t be too careful can we?’ tut-tutted Dr Bob.

Angie was adamant she would lead as normal a life as possible and had no intention of giving up her work in Boru Betting much ahead of the big day.

“I’ll go on as far as I can. Saturdays from October on are busy as the National Hunt season takes off. I don’t want to miss them.”

Dr Bob looked over his glasses and smiled. “Angela, you’ll have to think or yourself and the baby. You’re not that slip of a girl I first saw dashing around the courts over 15 years ago,” he said with a grin that Vinny interpreted as lecherous.

“Now,” added Dr Bob. “I think it’s time for the all-important scan, don’t you?”

He got to his feet and took Angie by the arm into an adjacent room.

“Can’t Vinny come too?” said Angie. Dr Bob half-stopped. “If that’s agreeable to you Angie, of course he can,” he said.

Vinny felt a little awkward as Angie nimbly slipped onto the examination table and opened up her blouse.

Dr Bob applied some gel and then made a great fuss over running his hands over Angie’s tanned stomach for far longer than Vinny felt was necessary.

“This is an ultra-sound machine, which is hooked up to this monitor via a transducer. It’s just like shining a torch into the womb and it allows us see what’s going on,” explained Dr Bob. “Now, let’s have a peep, shall we?” he added.

The screen looked like one of those old black and white TVs, all grainy. Vinny didn’t know what he was looking for. It all seemed a blur to him.

All of a sudden, he heard Dr Bob’s syrupy tones. “My my, what have we here? Can you see Angie?” he said, pointing at the monitor. Angie cried out. “Oh my God,” and began to cry.

“What is it love, is everything alright?” said Vinny. “Doc, what’s going on here? I’ve a right to know.”

Dr Bob turned away from the screen and looked at Vinny. “Congratulations, Mister Fitzpatrick, you’re about to become the father of twins.”

Bets of the Week

2pts Faroe Islands (+2 goals) to beat Serbia (7/4, Paddy Power)

1pt Wexford to beat Kildare in Leinster SFC (7/2, Boylesports)

Vinny's Bismarck

1pt lay Ireland to beat India (13/2, Paddy Power, liability 6.5 pts)