Against the odds: Vinny Fitzpatrick had never heard of David Ogrin until New Year's Eve. That Ogrin was a professional golfer meant nothing to Vinny either, even after he'd spent 20 minutes on his laptop to see who he shared a 50th birthday with.

Ogrin, a native of somewhere called Waukegan, Illinois, was the only person born on December 31st, 1957 Vinny could find on Google.

"Typical," thought Vinny, "another nobody."

There was no shortage of famous birthdays on the last day of the year: Alex Ferguson, Anthony Hopkins, Ben Kingsley, even Paul Barber, who co-owned Denman, National Hunt racing's equivalent of a Sherman Tank, who, Vinny was certain, would beat Kauto Star in the Gold Cup. Alas! None of them were born in 1957.

On the flipside, plenty of momentous events had taken place on that date, such as the opening of the Ellis Island immigration depot in 1890; the patenting of Monopoly by Charles Darrow in 1934; and Paul McCartney filing a lawsuit to dissolve The Beatles in 1970.

Vinny particularly liked the Monopoly link. It was one of his favourite board games and he'd had a chance to play an old-style Irish version, complete with "Water Works", "Super Tax" and "Crumlin" over the holidays when he visited his sister Mary in Laytown.

His brother-in-law had been miffed by Vinny's insistence all fines and taxes should be lumped on to "Free Parking" and given out to the person who landed there. That the dice rolled favourably for Vinny, who collected nearly a grand, only further irritated the unyielding Civil Servant-type.

Victory in Monopoly, where he'd played hard against his nieces in the bargaining stakes - in one act of larceny he'd managed to exchange Pearse Street for North Earl Street without paying extra - had been one of bachelor Vinny's few end-of-year highlights.

Even now, he squirmed at the memory of Christmas Day, when he'd been invited around to Angie's for dinner.

The morning had begun well. As was custom, Vinny had opened his presents under his miniature fold-up Christmas tree - a desk-sized Paddy Power racing diary, two golf books and the latest Robert Harris novel, The Ghost.

He had run a bath before his boiled-egg breakfast and then put on his only suit, which he'd had cleaned and pressed for free, thanks to his pal Fran, who owned the Bubbles On The Bull launderette. He took great care shaving, clipped the stray hairs sprouting from nose and ears - a few more this year than last, he noticed - and, following a vigorous application of black Kiwi polish on his finest brogues, headed off to St Gabriel's for Mass.

Armed with a box of Yardley soaps and bath salts for Angie - "You never know your luck in a small town, Vincent," he whispered conspiratorially to himself - he actually paid attention in church and didn't slip out after Communion.

Angie lived with her teenage daughter Rebecca in a fine three-bed semi off Mount Prospect Avenue. She'd been on her own since splitting with her husband, Ron, about five years ago.

Vinny's only previous visit there followed a riotous race night in Foley's sponsored by Boru Betting about 18 months ago. Angie had invited a gang back for a nightcap and Vinny, blissfully unaware he was an each-way shot in the "Score With Angie Stakes", had crashed out on the sofa, the remains of a curry on his lap.

"This time, things will be different," he told himself. As his feet crunched the gravel on the path to Angie's door a little after half-one, Vinny felt confident he could, if the opportunity presented itself, work his charm on Angie.

What followed, well he didn't want to go there. Even now, on New Year's Day, he cringed as he recalled the ghost of his most recent Christmas. It had begun well; a dazzling smile from Angie, who looked stunning in an off-the-shoulder number. She planted a smacker on Vinny's lips, thrust a flute of champagne into his hand and dragged him into the front room to "meet the family".

That's where the first nut loosened on Vinny's wheel. Never comfortable in a crowd, excluding the lads in Foley's, he found himself in the middle of a throng of strangers.

Thinking back, he recalled meeting Angie's mother, a sprightly septuagenarian, and a couple of maiden aunts. There were two brothers, a sister and, worse, Angie's estranged husband, Ron, who peered at Vinny with contempt.

Angie's daughter Rebecca giggled when she shook Vinny's hand, while a couple of young boys sprayed him with water pistols and then dived behind a couch.

Confronted with such terrors, Vinny took refuge in drink. He'd always been a speed drinker and this time he put the foot down, hard.

With Angie darting about like a firefly, Vinny guzzled the champers while Angie's mother planted a monster gin and tonic in his hand and told him to "relax". By the time Angie summoned everyone to arms in the dining room, Vinny was flushed. An excellent white (Chablis?) accompanied the smoked salmon and tiger prawn starter; then it was back to the red for the consommé.

For a spell, Vinny had been in good form, engaging in racing banter with Angie's mam and one of the spinsters. But just as soon as he felt relaxed, his world began to close in.

Fine food had never agreed with Vinny, and when Angie slapped a mountainous dish of steaming Brussels sprouts, complete with bacon bits, in front of him, his tummy began to gurgle and groan in protest. As the eruption neared, Vinny made a dive for the downstairs toilet but didn't quite get there quick enough. Cue disaster. The deadly deed done, Vinny tried to haul himself off the carpeted hall floor when he felt two strong arms link around him."Angie, I'm taking him home," barked Ron.

Vinny's final memory of the evening, both wretched and retching, still stung. As he tottered in the hallway of his small mid-terrace house behind Clontarf bus garage, he could remember Ron, big and burly, standing over him. "Fitzpatrick, you're a loser," he said, as he slammed the door.

Vinny had been so ashamed he'd skipped the races at Leopardstown on St Stephen's Day with the lads and had stuck to betting online since, not daring to go near Boru Betting lest he meet Angie. The Laytown gig apart, he'd worked overtime on the buses for the rest of the week before slipping out on Monday tea-time to meet Macker in Foley's for a quiet pint.

Macker did his bit to cheer the birthday boy up but, for once, his friend wasn't biting. As far as Vinny was concerned, the Old Year had been a disaster; things could only get better in the new.

2pts - Any club to win both Premier League and FA Cup (12/1 Hills)

2pts - Darren Clarke (right) to be top Northern Ireland golfer in 2008 European Order of Merit (11/4 Skybet)

1pt Lay - Irish-trained horses to finish 1-2-3 in Champion Hurdle (6/1 Skybet, liability 5pts)