AGAINST THE ODDS:INITIALLY, the removal of a useful, but non-essential, organ had left Vinny Fitzpatrick disconcerted.

Not that he had ever been particularly close to his spleen, nor was he aware of its function; nonetheless, it rankled that it no longer resided in his corpulent mass.

His ribs still did, four of them fractured when the car, an Opel Astra he was later told, clipped him from behind on Mount Prospect Avenue and tossed him in the air like a bulky rag doll.

Ten days on, Vinny couldn’t quite piece together the entire fragments of a night when his life, literally, was turned upside down.

He could recall lying on the pavement, on his side, numb but acutely aware of the whiff of curried chips in the cold night air.

In his mind’s eye, he could still see the flashing blue and red lights of the ambulance, but, after that, there had been darkness and pain. Lots of pain.

He didn’t know if he’d been close to death; he didn’t want to know. He was fortunate to have survived, and with each passing day in Beaumont Hospital, was becoming increasingly agitated at his incarceration.

His spleen he could live without; the ribs would heal; as for the lacerations and bruises on his face, they didn’t matter as he had never been an oil painting.

If not quite ready for a spring gallop, he was eating up well, was able to walk to the toilets unaided and the levels of overall tenderness had subsided greatly.

On this bright Tuesday morning, when Sagittarius handed over to Capricorn, Vinny knew what he wanted for Christmas more than anything.

It wasn’t a night out with the lads in Foley’s, although that did have its appeal; it wasn’t a much-needed three points for Everton at Sunderland on St Stephen’s Day, and it wasn’t a hatful of winners at Leopardstown and Kempton.

He just wanted to go home to Clontarf, to be with Angie and their new-born twins, Oisín and Aoife, whom he had cradled for a few precious moments at the Rotunda on a night that seemed light years ago.

For their own health’s sake, none of them were allowed in to see him, although there had been a steady trail of visitors, led by Macker, Fran and Brennie.

Vinny’s sister Bernie, and her insufferable husband, Bungalow Bob, had dropped by, as had Angie’s younger sister, Debs.

That her visit coincided with that of Petra, the corker who worked for Fran in Bubbles On The Bull and had a shine for Vinny, led to an awkward moment in St Patrick’s ward. Petra had flung herself at Vinny without hesitation, slobbering his ruddy cheeks with kisses before Vinny had time to introduce her to Debs.

“An old friend,” he muttered sheepishly when Petra had left.

“Not so old, I’d say,” scolded Debs.

The Reverend, a long-standing gambling pal from Boru Betting, had also dropped by, promising to act as runner for the meetings on St Stephen’s Day if Vinny was still cast in his box.

“Ruby Walsh could go through the card at Kempton. It would be a shame to miss out Vinny. Text me with your bets and I’ll make sure you’re on,” he said, tapping the side of his nose.

They had all come and gone, their visits not as frequent as at first, the personal appearances replaced by calls and, increasingly, text messages.

Vinny wasn’t surprised. This was Christmas week; people had presents to buy, trees to decorate, cards to send – ironically, precisely the things Vinny tended to avoid like the plague.

Still he knew, his friends couldn’t drop everything to come in and see a big lump like him lying flat on his back, being fed three meals a day and looking a picture of health, of sorts.

It was time, he knew, for action. He would tell the doctors he was ready to leave, that he was fine and that this bed was required for someone worse off.

Returning from his morning ablutions, his chin dabbed with bits of toilet paper where he had cut himself shaving, he plonked down on his bedside chair, bolt upright, armed with the morning paper, and an attitude.

Shortly after ten, the matron arrived, all bustle and heaving bosom, for her rounds. She was a ringer for Hattie Jacques from the Carry On films and Vinny had become a mite fearful of her.

Still, this was his carpe diem moment. He would stand his ground in the line of fire. After 10 days cocooned, he wanted out; his wife and kids needed him – just as important, he needed them.

As the mammoth matron saw Vinny, she stopped, turned to a young nurse and barked: “Why is Mister Fitzpatrick still here?”

Vinny opened his mouth to protest, only to realise he and matron were singing the same Christmas carol. “He’s good to go and was due to be discharged yesterday. I want him out of here before lunch,” she snapped.

Within the hour, Vinny had been given a prescription for pain-killers, a programme for exercise and told to report back for a check-up in four weeks.

It was just after noon when Vinny slipped into the passenger seat of Macker’s spotless Mercedes, which had pulled up outside the front door of the hospital. “Home, James,” he said.

Soon, they were heading down Collins Avenue when Vinny’s mobile rang. It was Angie returning his call. She and the twins were in Castleknock with Debs and wouldn’t be back home for an hour or two.

“She says to let myself in with the spare key and wonders if I can manage on my own until she gets back,” he said breezily to Macker. “She must think I’m helpless.”

By now, they had turned down into Vernon Avenue, and were only a couple of minutes from home. They were, both men knew, dangerously close to Foley’s.

Vinny shot a glance at Macker, who looked back through his Lee Van Cleef eyes. “You thinking what I’m thinking,” he said.

Vinny nodded. “Sure a quick one won’t hurt us, will it?”

Five minutes later, the old friends were parked in their corner under the telly in Foley’s.

“Good to have you back in one piece, Dad,” grinned Macker as he and Vinny touched glasses.

It wasn’t long before Vinny caught Dial-A-Smile’s eye behind the bar and ordered a second pint.

Bets of the Week

2ptCooldine to win Lexus Chase (6/1, Ladbrokes)

1ptStoke City to beat Manchester City in Premier League (8/1, Boylesports)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pt LayRoberto Mancini to be Manchester City manager on January 1st, 2011 (1/2, Paddy Power, liability 3pts)