The name above the bookies board was Paddy Sharkey. He was the sole trader at Enniscorthy dog track on Monday evening where business was anything but brisk.

From his perch in the near-empty stand, Vinny Fitzpatrick observed the dapper man in dark suit, natty tie and Homburg hat.

Between races, the layer mingled with the regulars, taking care to buckle the clasp on his brown brief case, which hung from his “pitch” like a shield of honour, before each break.

As the bowlers made for the stalls, Paddy Sharkey, if that was his real name, would return to stand on a blue wooden box so he could be seen and quietly call the odds.

A few tenners and the odd score passed hands but trading was modest, as an early July in the heart of Wexford was about as far removed from Shelbourne Park on Irish Derby night as was possible.

Yet, the pastoral setting, against the backdrop of a misty Mount Leinster, suited Vinny. The veteran bus driver needed to be on his own and a couple of hours at de dogs, or "Lotto on legs" as his old man used to call them, allowed time for the healing process to begin.

The recovery, which would take longer than a rush hour stint on the 44 from Larkhill to Enniskerry, was initiated that morning when Vinny announced to Angie over brekkie that he was headed to their mobile home in Curracloe for a wee breather.

“It’s been a bit mad at work the past few weeks with so many lads on holidays and I’m bushed filling in,” he said.

“I reckon a few walks through the Raven Wood, a dip in the briny, chowder for lunch and a couple of creamies every evening is just what I need to recharge the batteries. I’ll be back by Friday, fit as a fiddle.”

Bus men’s bonanza

Angie arched a delicate eyebrow, for her husband rarely acted on impulse. Something was up but she knew better than to crack the whip.

“You fire away, love,” she said kindly.

Which is what Vinny did, pointing his battered Opel in the direction of the N11, as soon as he had loaded the dishwasher.

There was only one good news story in town: the bus men’s bonanza in the EuroMillions and every radio station was rolling out the yarn about the 22 drivers from Phibsboro scooping €24 million between them.

What made it all the more heart-warming was the decision of the drivers to report for work that morning – in that regard, they were all chips off Vinny’s block.

There was a sense of goodwill towards the drivers which, Vinny felt, might not have been the case if a Luas syndicate had struck gold.

Vinny knew many of the winners for he had first come across them in the “Banana Cup”, the annual inter-garage sporting challenge, named after the banana routes, such as the 16 and the old 46A, which tended to arrive in bunches.

When the EuroMillions lottery was launched in 2004, Vinny suggested all the bus garages form a syndicate.

“This is the big kahuna, lads,” he had predicted over a post-Banana Cup beer. “This isn’t a loose change gig like the Irish Lotto where a million between us would barely cover the holliers.

“Like all things to do with the EU, this is a serious earner. €2 a week, every week and we’re in the pot for real dosh.”

The "Fizzboro" lads signed up readily but other garages preferred to do their own thing, including his own crew at Clontarf, much to Vinny's dismay.

Honourable chap

Being an honourable chap, for he had first lobbed out the idea, Vinny agreed to oversee the biweekly entry, which saw him cycle up to Broadstone of a Monday to collect €2 a head.

He stuck at it for a few years, the 23rd member of the consortium, which he referred to as the “Rossoneri Rogues” in deference to Bohemian FC, and the only one not attached to the Dublin 7 depot.

However, his heart wasn’t in it and a few summers back, he cashed in his chips. He wished the Fizzboro lads all the best and predicted improved fortune down the road.

“Maybe I’m the Jonah,” he joked.

On Monday evening, as he chomped on an overdone burger between races at Enniscorthy, he tried to get his over-sized head around it all.

If only he’d kept up his lousy €2 per week, he’d be free-wheelin’ to early retirement now with a cool million in his panniers.

The sum would have wiped away the mortgage on Mount Prospect Avenue, teed up the twins for a decent start in life and allowed Angie to fulfil her dream of a world cruise.

Instead, what was ahead? At 58, he faced an uncertain future: he had few savings and his health was dodgy.

Prime number

If he’d played his cards right, he could have been the 23rd man in that successful syndicate. Twenty-three.

A prime number and not everyone’s favourite, not least dart players who needed two throws for a 23 check-out and only one for any lower number.

Two and three. There was one race left on the card at Enniscorthy, a 575-yarder with a first prize of €255.

He ambled over to Paddy Sharkey’s pitch and cleared his throat. “€10 reverse forecast on two and three,” he said, handing over a score.

Thirty-five seconds later, Vinny headed for the exit, with a beaten docket in one pocket and his shattered dreams in another.