AGAINST THE ODDS:THE PANDA head flew straight and true, smacking Vinny Fitzpatrick square on the forehead. It was followed by a volley of football boots, all of which hit the panting, podgy, Dubliner. "Jeepers, I'm being picked off at will here," puffed Vinny as he twisted his heavy body from side to side in an effort to avoid the missiles shooting at him from the TV screen.

It was a snow-bound Sunday in the suburbs of north Dublin and Vinny Fitzpatrick was being introduced to the joys, and mysteries, of the Nintendo Wii Fit Plus.

When Emma, Angie’s 16-year-old daughter, had suggested the Wii, Vinny had raised his eyebrows and remarked she was old enough to go to the toilet without having to announce it.

Undeterred, Emma plugged in the Wii Fit and Vinny soon found himself standing shoeless atop a white balance board, like a scales, looking at the TV which was displaying a range of balance games and fitness work-outs. “This might be a short-cut to losing a few pounds,” he thought to himself.

Over the holidays Vinny hadn’t held back, nose-bagging relentlessly and taking pats on the back, and pints in the hand, from all-comers over the arrival of Oisín and Aoife.

He had weighed-in on Little Christmas, when his revelries traditionally finished, and noted glumly he had tipped past the 100kg mark.

In old money, that was 220lbs, a full 25 more than he had been warned was his maximum following his recent health skirmish.

Having teed off into his 53rd year, Vinny knew he had to do something but the thought of checking into one of those modern fitness clubs appalled him.

He suspected they were soulless places populated by muscle-bound hunks, of both sexes and where Fattie Arbuckle-types like him were regarded as objects of mirth.

Far better, he thought, to stay at home and do a stint on this Wii Fit gizmo twice a day. It meant less travelling, less hassle and less embarrassment.

Not that he was pleased with how he’d started. The “Soccer Heading” game seemed tailor-made for a former junior star with Vernon Albion, who once scored 20 goals with his head in 1983-84, the year Everton won the FA Cup.

He’d begun well, shifting his body to make contact with the balls as they were fired at him. But as soon as the first panda hit and he lost three points, it went pear-shaped. By the end, he was awarded one star, for being “unbalanced”. “Never mind,” said Emma just as the doorbell rang. Angie, who had been smiling quietly at her husband’s antics, nimbly got to her feet. It was barely a month since she had given birth but Angie was regaining her svelte figure and was, Vinny had to admit, looking a million dollars.

Moments later, Angie returned in the company of Jackie, a willowy long-legged brunette whom Vinny recalled from a charity poker night with rather racy undertones some months back.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Cincinnati Kid himself,” she said advancing to Vinny, arms outstretched, lips puckered. “Er, hello Jackie,” said Vinny, turning his jowly cheek at the last second, upon which was left a smidge of red lipstick.

“Vinny, you remember Jackie of course, and this is Jeff, her husband. We used to do a line years ago, Jeff and I,” said Angie.

Vinny squinted his eyes, Lee Van Cleef-like, at Jeff. “Yes,” he thought to himself. “This was precisely the type of guy you’d find in Total Fitness or one of Ben Dunne’s places. Perma-tan, chiselled features, broad shoulders, glistening teeth.”

“Er, pleased to meet you Jeff,” said Vinny offering an outstretched paw which he instantly regretted as Jeff’s grasp was made of concrete.

“Emma was introducing Vinny to the Wii Fit. I’m on a timeout as the twins are asleep. Why don’t you two have a try too?” said Angie.

Inwardly, Vinny groaned. Jeff was in his early 40s without a pick on him while Jackie sashayed like she’d just walked off the set of Strictly Come Dancing. This was going to be uncomfortable, he felt.

It was. The first game was a shambles for Vinny. It involved a penguin on a block of ice where the player tilted and tried to catch as many fish as possible, without falling into the sea. Vinny’s penguin had all the agility of Moby Dick on a luge and he spent more time getting dunked than on board the floe.

Next was “Bird’s Eye Bulls-eye” where the player was a bird and had to flap their arms to fly and land on what looked like little oil rigs. “This is about building upper strength, not that you need it darling,” said Jackie, running a hand over Jeff’s ironing-board chest.

Vinny crash-dived into the sea on his first run before reaching such a height on his next that his bird disappeared from the screen. “If this game has a Bermuda Triangle, you’re in it,” laughed Jackie.

The agony continued through “Table Tilt” “Ski Slalom” and “Lotus Focus” where the player had to remain motionless while staring at a flame. “Is it alright Jackie if I look at Angie for this one?” grinned Jeff. The final game was the “Ski Jump” where Jackie and Jeff suggested, for a bit of fun, to have a fiver on whose combined jumps would be furthest.

The wager was sufficient to stir Vinny’s competitive juices, even if he knew the odds were against him. Jackie and Jeff both took their two jumps each first, totting up 500 metres between them.

Emma was next, staying as steady as a statue as she raced down the jump, before flexing her knees at the latest take-off point, to land at a whopping 175 metres.

When she added another 165 metres for a total of 340 metres, attention turned to Vinny. “You need 161 to win love,” trilled Angie.

Stepping on to the balance board, where his socks were about to leave a damp imprint, Vinny was on a mission. He had been humiliated all afternoon; this was his moment.

He assumed the position and tried to line himself up properly. Next, he was flying down the ramp. With one eye on the take-off area, and another on the beam on the corner of the screen which told him how balanced he was, he straightened his knees and hoisted his frame upwards. On the screen, the words “take off failed” came up and Vinny’s figure became entangled in a ball of snow. Embarrassed, he stepped off the board, aware of giggles from the JJs, as he called them.

He had one last chance. He asked Emma to line him up and to count to five before pressing the start button on the hand piece.

As he stood there, bent forward, he thought, not of his wife and kids but off a former English ski jumper who became famous for being useless. He nodded at Emma, took a breath, bent his creaky knees and concentrated hard.

Seconds later, he looked up and his figure was soaring out into the white wonder. After what seemed like an age the skis landed squarely on the snow. The length of jump flashed up on the screen: 164 metres.

“Eddie the Eagle, eat your heart out,” roared Vinny at the top of his voice.

Bets of the week

1pt each-way Sean O'Hair in Sony Open (12/1, Betfred)

2pts Stoke City to beat Liverpool in Premier League (11/2, Skybet)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pts Lay England to beat South Africa in fourth Test (9/4, Boylesports, liability 4.5pts)