AGAINST THE ODDS:For Vincent Finbarr Fitzpatrick, life had never been better so why did he feel like he had lost a winning ticket on Channel Four's Scoop 6?

THE REVEREND tapped his aquiline nose, thought for a moment and said: “Right then, Vinny, here goes. Cow, sheep, pig, snake and bear,” he said.

“You’ve five minutes; write your answers on a betting docket and I’ll see you before the off for the 4.10 at Uttoxeter. Shanghai here can be the independent observer.” Vinny Fitzpatrick chuckled to himself as he repaired to a quiet corner of Boru Betting with Shanghai Jimmy, his right-hand trembling more than ever, in tow.

He’d struck a bet with The Reverend that he’d know the words which related to five animals as chosen by his old betting buddy. The stake was a fiver; the bragging rights worth more.

Saturday was a grand afternoon for a bet and Vinny’s luck was holding up following a grim start at Cheltenham where Ruby Walsh, of all people, got turned over on the hot pot in the opener.

Vinny had regrouped by punting on Mister McGoldrick (20/1), Taranis (16/1) and Tidal Bay (14/1), all each-way. Two wins and a place later, he was comfortably ahead, his wallet bulging, his spirits high.

Sucking on a pencil, Vinny’s face was a mask of concentration as his little grey cells focused on finding the words which related to the five animals picked by The Reverend.

“Cow is easy, bovine,” he said to himself, ticking of the first on the list. He knew porcine was for pig but then had to scrunch his brow for a bit – not a pleasant sight – before recalling that ovine was sheep-like.

That left two, the snake and the bear. He checked the clock; three minutes left. “Don’t panic Captain Mannering,” he said to himself.

The snake was proving slippery but he knew he’d read it somewhere. He could picture the snake slithering, left and right, making an s-shaped figure in the sand and then it hit him: serpentine.

Four down, one to go. That just left the bear.

“At the start at Uttoxeter,” whispered Shanghai. “Best get a wriggle on Vinny.” The bear. Vinny thought of different types of bears: brown, black, grizzly, polar, panda, koala. There had to be a connection; had to be.

The Reverend was tapping his watch, a mite smugly, and the white flag had just been raised at Uttoxeter, when Vinny had a flash of inspiration.

“The Great Bear,” he said to himself. “Of course, Ursa Major! Ursine, that’s what it is.” He quickly scribbled down the final answer and scooted across to The Reverend. “Take five,” he said triumphantly, “and I’ll take five from you.” The Reverend nodded his patrician head and unfolded a crisp fiver from his pocket. “Vincent, you missed your vocation,” he said with a benevolent smile.

Shanghai, as regular at Boru Betting as the dogs at Romford, put an arm around Vinny’s shoulders and grinned. “You never lost it, me ’ol mucker.” As he stood there, in front of the racing, the football, the dogs, surrounded by newspapers and betting slips, with winnings in his pocket and friends by his side, Vinny became acutely aware of how much he missed his winter Saturdays in Boru Betting, where he had first caught Angie’s eye.

There was the thrill of the chase – initially, on both sides of the betting counter – the banter with the regulars, the despair at leaving with your backside sticking out of your trousers, and those all too rare afternoons when the selections clicked.

Always, as soon as the final race was run, no matter who was up or down, there would be a migration next door to Foley’s for reflective debate and fine pints, which often continued past Match of the Day and last orders.

These days, Vinny’s free time was no longer unaccounted for; it was bundled up in a world of nappies, feeds and increasingly pressing family duties.

In the past year, he had shed his skin as a man of the pint, the punt, and the people; and was now no longer a balding, blobby, bachelor puttering towards middle-age at a pedestrian pace.

Now, he was a husband to a dashing wife, Angie, and a first-time father of healthy infant twins. He had found love and fulfilment in a way he never thought possible.

Financially, he was on a porcine back too.

As part of her divorce settlement, Angie had been left ownership of her four-bed detached house in Mount Prospect Avenue by ex-husband Ron, while Vinny was renting out his own modest artisan dwelling beside the bus garage to the cricket-loving Khans.

At work, there was talk of early retirement deals and Vinny, a 30-year lifer behind the wheel, could be one of those to cash in and get out.

For Vincent Finbarr Fitzpatrick, life had never been better so why did he feel like he had lost a winning ticket on Channel Four’s Scoop 6? Even when Everton’s lead goal flashed up on the Sky Sports ticker bar, and the lads around him reacted, Vinny found it difficult to join in the craic.

He knew he had reason to celebrate, having invested a tenner on the Blues to beat Wigan at 7/5 and another on Tim Cahill, to score at any time at 5/1 but while his afternoon was yielding a substantial profit, he felt strangely subdued.

Alongside him, Shanghai sensed the negative vibes. “Have you time for a quick one, Vinny? Macker and Fran said they’d be down for the Chelsea game. C’mon,” he said.

Inside the dark, comfortable, surroundings of Foley’s, Vinny’s mood perked up a little. Like Boru Betting, this was familiar turf; he could act on any going here.

He checked his watch. He was due home at half six, not a minute later Angie had warned, for feeding time and another round of noxious nappies, no doubt.

The thought of returning to the bosom of his family, should have filled him with happiness, but instead mild apprehension broke over his rounded shoulders.

Was this what lay in store for the next two years? Early nights, broken sleep and sobriety? Was his life path to be shaped utterly by the demands of his baby son and daughter? As he lowered the drawbridge, noting briefly the excellence of the Guinness, he felt as if his world was closing in.

Another pint later, Vinny felt emboldened enough to make a decision which would, in time, have considerable consequences for his well-being, not that he knew it then.

“To hell with feeds and wipes,” he said aloud. “What are ye having lads?”

Bets of the week

2pts Ireland to win Six Nations (5/2, Sporting Bet)

2pts New Orelans Saints to win Super Bowl (9/5, Paddy Power)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pts Lay Celtic to win SPL (2/1, William Hill, liability 4pts)