AGAINST THE ODDS:Standing to land nearly ten grand if Ireland and England at Twickers panned out the right way, our man feels a tightness in his chest. It takes a while to realise he's having a seizure . . .writes RODDY L'ESTRANGE

AS IRELAND fought for their lives in west London on Saturday afternoon, Vinny Fitzpatrick was fighting for his at home in Clontarf.

The heart attack, for that’s what it was, had snuck up on the 52-year-old Dubliner like a blindside flanker at Twickenham. It didn’t occur to Vinny, for quite a few minutes, that he was actually having a coronary seizure.

Indeed, by the time he copped on he was in trouble, and began to scrabble about for his mobile phone to ring Angie, his health had taken a serious turn for the worst.

One moment, he was on the edge of his seat, his eyes fixed on a scoreline which read 13-13 at the time, the next he was clutching his chest, finding it hard to breathe.

As someone whose instincts of foreboding were invariably as accurate as Phil Taylor’s darts, Vinny was caught unawares by the drastic jolt to his health.

Yet, he had not done anything out of the ordinary that fatal day; there had been no great physical exertion which might have precipitated his illness.

For breakfast, he had consumed four sausages, two slices of batch toast and several cups of hot, sweet, tea – a bog standard buffet in any layman’s language.

He had walked to Boru Betting, not briskly mind, but at a leisurely pace, where he’d mingled with the regulars, placed his bets and tarried a while.

Vinny’s punt of the day was a € 20 long-odds treble, involving two of Ruby Walsh’s mounts at Kempton and the rugby at Twickers.

His investment was modest, chiefly because he felt his chances of cashing in were slim but when Walsh, the master horseman, booted home Escort’men to win by 14 lengths at the scarcely believable odds of 16 to 1, Vinny felt a tingle in his fingertips and toes.

Half an hour later, Walsh had his second steering job of the afternoon on The Nightingale, a hot pot at 4 to 6, which won by 18 lengths and the prickling in Vinny’s digits was now at a level rarely felt.

Sure, t’was no wonder as the first two legs of the treble had come up, meaning Vinny had € 480 riding on Ireland and England to draw at 20 to 1.

Should that happen, he stood to collect a whopping € 9,600, which would represent his greatest pay-day in over 40 years of gambling.

Ever since he had a shilling on Red Alligator to win the 1968 Grand National, Vinny had dreamed of a day when his ship would dock in port laden down with booty. Would this finally be the day?

The regulars had noted Vinny’s upbeat mood as he left Boru Betting at around half three, the way he’d patted lads on the shoulders on his way out, and whistled a tune which The Reverend later recognised as We’ll Walk Down The Avenue from the musical Easter Parade.

None of them suspected what terrible outcome was about to befall their good-natured companion. Indeed, The Reverend had remarked how well Vinny was looking in his coat, which was the sort of comment he usually reserved for the nags.

The thing was, Vinny was feeling terribly well within himself too. As he ambled up Vernon Avenue, he wore a half-smile on his round, fleshy, face. Life was good, damned good.

The Cheltenham Festival was around the corner, he had the time off booked already, and he had a substantial bet riding on the outcome at Twickers. Sure what could be better?

Walking past Noleen’s, he chuckled at how he’d being mistaken for a sex symbol when he’d brought the twins into the supermarket and found he drew female interest like files to a magnet. “Fitzpatrick, would you ever get a grip?” he said to himself at the memory.

Turning into Mount Prospect Avenue, Vinny’s mind focused on the game, and his gamble. While a part of him dearly wanted Ireland to win, largely for historical reasons, on this occasion he would gladly settle for a share of the spoils.

Draws didn’t happen too often in rugby but the law of probability, and the apparent evenness in the two teams, gave Vinny hope, and that’s all any gambler ever wanted.

As someone once put it in Boru Betting, it wasn’t the despair that got under your skin, but the hope.

On his return home, Vinny caught the Premier League half-times on Radio Five, switched on the TV and fixed himself some afternoon tea, which consisted of a couple of toasted cheese and onion sandwiches, a pot of tea and a chocolate brownie – nothing too strenuous as Angie was making dinner later.

Sitting in the front room, the sports section of the Saturday newspapers spread out around him, Vinny tuned in to Twickenham.

At one point, approaching half-time, he became aware of pins and needles in his fingers and toes but thought nothing of it.

It was a common sensation associated with his gambling and the 8-6 score at the interval meant his € 9,600 jackpot was still a runner.

During the break in play, Vinny had a sugary tea top up and shoved a fleshy fist into the biscuit tin, noting disapprovingly Angie had removed the chocolate ones he liked. Snorting, he grabbed a handful of Digestives.

After refuelling, Vinny got hooked on the rugby, which continued to ebb and flow. When Ireland went 13-6 ahead, his patriotic side was ecstatic but the punter in him slightly subdued.

And then, a few minutes later, it all changed when England were awarded a try under the posts on the say so of the TV referee. The conversion from Jonny Wilkinson put the scores at 13-13.

It was then Vinny felt himself becoming slightly flushed, and he began to feel a shortness of breath. The tingle in his fingers spread up his hands into his arms, which caused him disquiet.

He put his agitated feelings down to hyper-ventilation brought on by the size of the monstrous pot which was staring him in the face.

Against the odds, Vinny was less than ten minutes away from landing almost ten grand.

As he felt his chest squeeze and nausea waft over him, Vinny sensed what was happening to him couldn’t be explained away by his potential winnings. He knew it was more serious than that and looked about for his mobile.

He remembered England being on the attack and Wilkinson being in the pocket, sizing up a possible drop kick. After that, Vinny didn’t remember anything at all, except the blackness.

Bets of the week

2pts Egypt to draw with England (4/1, Skybet)

1pt each-way Rory McIlroy in Honda Classic (16/1, Victor Chandler)

Vinny's Bismarck

1pt lay Rite Of Passage to win Neptune Novice Hurdle (3/1, general, liability 3pts)