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25 Aug 13
23:51
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Date Joined:
10 Jan 12
There use to be a program on one the of satellite channels about this...
I remember one were a guy managed to sneek his 5 dollar chip to a 25 dollar chip, AFTER a winning roulette spin.
The guy raked in about $250,000
I remember one were a guy managed to sneek his 5 dollar chip to a 25 dollar chip, AFTER a winning roulette spin.
The guy raked in about $250,000
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The hole in one scam in the golf. Two guys who were just ahead of the game. Sheer genius
dobbo
unfortunatly Paul Simons has passed away since
unfortunatly Paul Simons has passed away since
Two guys who were just ahead of the game. Sheer genius
So therefore not a scam, as such
So therefore not a scam, as such
the bookies tried to scam them by not paying up.
''Like many of the best plots, the Trodmore Hunt was elegant in its simplicity. Someone calling himself G Martin, of St Ives in Cornwall, wrote to The Sportsman newspaper, which in those days was the principal rival to The Sporting Life. He enclosed a list of runners and riders for the Trodmore Hunt race meeting, to be held on 1 August, a Bank Holiday.
In those days, there was no official fixture list, and journalists were happy to accept what help they could from eager members of the public in compiling their racecards, not least on busy Bank Holidays. Martin had chosen his date carefully, and was effectively gambling on the ignorance and laziness of The Sportsman's journalists. It was a safe bet.
The card duly appeared without anyone bothering to check whether Trodmore exists (it doesn't). The following day, Martin sent in a list of the winners and their starting prices - including, as it happens, several horses which had been heavily backed with the illegal street bookies of the time - and these too were published. Again, the plotters had been clever, and the "results" were not too greedy - four winning favourites and nothing at odds of more than 5-1.
This was apparently enough for several bookmakers, who paid out without a second thought. It was all too easy. But the one thing the conspirators could not allow for was human error. The Sporting Life, annoyed that it had somehow missed the original card, cribbed the results from The Sportsman, but somewhere in the typesetting process, a printer's hand slipped and the price of one winner became 5-2 rather than 5-1.
Now, many bookmakers were confused, and started to investigate Trodmore a little more closely. At which point, of course, the truth emerged, and the pay-outs stopped. Yet the true identity of G Martin and his fellow confidence tricksters remains a mystery, and the fact that it took a printing error to expose them can only make you wonder if - or even how often - an identical plan might previously have succeeded.''
In those days, there was no official fixture list, and journalists were happy to accept what help they could from eager members of the public in compiling their racecards, not least on busy Bank Holidays. Martin had chosen his date carefully, and was effectively gambling on the ignorance and laziness of The Sportsman's journalists. It was a safe bet.
The card duly appeared without anyone bothering to check whether Trodmore exists (it doesn't). The following day, Martin sent in a list of the winners and their starting prices - including, as it happens, several horses which had been heavily backed with the illegal street bookies of the time - and these too were published. Again, the plotters had been clever, and the "results" were not too greedy - four winning favourites and nothing at odds of more than 5-1.
This was apparently enough for several bookmakers, who paid out without a second thought. It was all too easy. But the one thing the conspirators could not allow for was human error. The Sporting Life, annoyed that it had somehow missed the original card, cribbed the results from The Sportsman, but somewhere in the typesetting process, a printer's hand slipped and the price of one winner became 5-2 rather than 5-1.
Now, many bookmakers were confused, and started to investigate Trodmore a little more closely. At which point, of course, the truth emerged, and the pay-outs stopped. Yet the true identity of G Martin and his fellow confidence tricksters remains a mystery, and the fact that it took a printing error to expose them can only make you wonder if - or even how often - an identical plan might previously have succeeded.''
The Flockton Grey case qualifies.
.http://theapprenticejockey.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/flockton-grey.html
.http://theapprenticejockey.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/flockton-grey.html
Rochester dogs was a good un as was Gay Future but that failed so perhaps not so good
Yellow Sam
The mastermind was Barney Curley, professional gambler by trade. His accomplices were trainer Liam Brennan, and Barney’s best mate Benny O’Hanlon. The weapon of choice was a horse by the name of Yellow Sam.
Curley ran Sam in a series of races in unfavourable conditions to increase his odds and allow him to have a lighter handicap than usual in at least one race. In the meantime, Brennan trained the horse specifically for an obscure race at the Bellewstown summer festival.
On the day of the race, Curley stationed dozens of his friends in bookies across Ireland, each armed with between £50 and £300, and sealed instructions to be opened upon receiving a call. He called a half-dozen of them before the race started and asked each to contact a dozen more.
Meanwhile, at the track, Curley’s friend O’Hanlon took over the only telephone at the race-track for the day, claiming he was desperately trying to contact his dying aunt. This was 1975 – there was no other way for the on-course bookies (who were to determine the starting price of each horse) to be alerted by the betting shops and the odds remained at 20/1.
In all, O’Hanlon invested £15,000 – his life savings – in the scheme. When Yellow Sam won, he made of profit of £300,000 (or £1.5m in today’s money).
http://www.joe.ie/sports/betting/five-great-betting-coups/
The mastermind was Barney Curley, professional gambler by trade. His accomplices were trainer Liam Brennan, and Barney’s best mate Benny O’Hanlon. The weapon of choice was a horse by the name of Yellow Sam.
Curley ran Sam in a series of races in unfavourable conditions to increase his odds and allow him to have a lighter handicap than usual in at least one race. In the meantime, Brennan trained the horse specifically for an obscure race at the Bellewstown summer festival.
On the day of the race, Curley stationed dozens of his friends in bookies across Ireland, each armed with between £50 and £300, and sealed instructions to be opened upon receiving a call. He called a half-dozen of them before the race started and asked each to contact a dozen more.
Meanwhile, at the track, Curley’s friend O’Hanlon took over the only telephone at the race-track for the day, claiming he was desperately trying to contact his dying aunt. This was 1975 – there was no other way for the on-course bookies (who were to determine the starting price of each horse) to be alerted by the betting shops and the odds remained at 20/1.
In all, O’Hanlon invested £15,000 – his life savings – in the scheme. When Yellow Sam won, he made of profit of £300,000 (or £1.5m in today’s money).
http://www.joe.ie/sports/betting/five-great-betting-coups/
The jockey knew nothing about the planned coup, if I remember correctly.
Was told by a punter about 30 years ago about a horse that was run at Devon and Exeter (apparently a ringer/flapper) from memory it bolted up at 14/1, and 12 hours later was dead and buried.
Think he was Irish the bloke not the horse.
Does it stop me from gambling NO
Think he was Irish the bloke not the horse.
Does it stop me from gambling NO
ask the master
Cubone
his stories are legendary (seriously).
Prob knows more about betting scams than the whole forum combined
Cubone
his stories are legendary (seriously).
Prob knows more about betting scams than the whole forum combined
Sorry Kenny missed the bit where it said happy ending
Murphy`s Stroke is a good film about the Gay Future coup. I have it on dvd.
In the good old days, I used to bet winners in Ireland on Bank Holidays seconds after they had won. Bookies didn`t get the results until next day in the Sporting Life. 
The Horse race meeting that never was
Trodmore Racecourse was the name of a fictitious racecourse, supposedly in Cornwall. On August 1, 1898, it was the subject of a punting scam.
It is said that a man named Mr. Martin contacted the offices of a leading newspaper, The Sportsman, to inform them of a horse racing meeting he was holding the following day in the village of Trodmore. They were so impressed with the quality of the racecard that they promised to publish the runners, riders and results. Punters placed bets with several bookmakers, and collected as usual as results came through.
Everything seemed to be going to plan until another leading newspaper, The Sporting Life, noticed that they had not been informed. They didn't want to be left out, so they copied the results 24 hours later. However, there was a slight, but important, difference in the sets of results. One winning horse was given at 5-1 in the Sportsman, but at only 5-2 in the Sporting Life. This detail needed to be checked so they tried to contact the racecourse.
When they couldn't be contacted, a fraud investigation got under way. Trodmore was nowhere to be found on any map of Cornwall.
Nobody was ever caught for the scam and it remains a mystery to this day.
Trodmore Racecourse was the name of a fictitious racecourse, supposedly in Cornwall. On August 1, 1898, it was the subject of a punting scam.
It is said that a man named Mr. Martin contacted the offices of a leading newspaper, The Sportsman, to inform them of a horse racing meeting he was holding the following day in the village of Trodmore. They were so impressed with the quality of the racecard that they promised to publish the runners, riders and results. Punters placed bets with several bookmakers, and collected as usual as results came through.
Everything seemed to be going to plan until another leading newspaper, The Sporting Life, noticed that they had not been informed. They didn't want to be left out, so they copied the results 24 hours later. However, there was a slight, but important, difference in the sets of results. One winning horse was given at 5-1 in the Sportsman, but at only 5-2 in the Sporting Life. This detail needed to be checked so they tried to contact the racecourse.
When they couldn't be contacted, a fraud investigation got under way. Trodmore was nowhere to be found on any map of Cornwall.
Nobody was ever caught for the scam and it remains a mystery to this day.
Nobody was ever caught for the scam and it remains a mystery to this day.
Not a mystery to anyone who's read this fred imo.
Not a mystery to anyone who's read this fred imo.
lol
Had a quick read through & missed it
There was a thread like this a couple of years back & I posted it up then
Had a quick read through & missed it
There was a thread like this a couple of years back & I posted it up then
Most of the these scams mentioned here was in a program called.....
The world´s greatest betting scams
It was on Challenge TV, does any one here remember it?
The world´s greatest betting scams
It was on Challenge TV, does any one here remember it?
All amateurs compared to Brian LeBlanc. More of a manipulator than a scammer though.
I take it the moneysavingexperts First goalscorer experts don't belong on this thread?
No, but they've got "worst betting scam ever" pretty much nailed until time ends.
Good shout, thebetterbettor.
That was an almighty p***-take from start to finish.
That was an almighty p***-take from start to finish.
jed.davison
26 Aug 13 11:53
All amateurs compared to Brian LeBlanc. More of a manipulator than a scammer though.
I've met Brian many times jed, he certainly is an interesting character! Lots about his exploits on google.
26 Aug 13 11:53
All amateurs compared to Brian LeBlanc. More of a manipulator than a scammer though.
I've met Brian many times jed, he certainly is an interesting character! Lots about his exploits on google.
We have had a few discussions about the ante-post market slippy. Arguments he won, even though I was right.
I was at the Dagenham dog coup, I had just turned 16, we were doing our own "thing" involving Irish bookies (since 1960)It had a while longer to run before it finished, Went to most Horse/dog tracks in the country doing this which netted the "gang" thousands in the time it ran, as the junior member I did not get anything like a fair share. 
.The mightymac is partly correct the Irish bookies did not generally get the results until 15-20 minutes late, especially in the country villages, there was no commentary as the law prohibited "loitering" so you placed your bet and left. This finished with both changes in the law and "timed bets".
.The mightymac is partly correct the Irish bookies did not generally get the results until 15-20 minutes late, especially in the country villages, there was no commentary as the law prohibited "loitering" so you placed your bet and left. This finished with both changes in the law and "timed bets".
I like the one that took place in the 1970's ,I think.Some guys rented a room above a bookies ,interrupted the dog commentary,recorded it on a reel to reel,and played it back into the bookies a couple of minutes after the result was known.In that couple of minutes their colleagues placed bets in the shop on the winners.They were found out when a punter walked in from another shop nearby, heard the commentary on a race starting,and told the bookie "we've just had the result in the shop up the road".
Artie,
I believe they were only found out when someone reported cables
from the flat were trailing all over the front of the shop.
Good scam though .
I believe they were only found out when someone reported cables
from the flat were trailing all over the front of the shop.
Good scam though .
The 'Next Portsmouth Manager' market (over 16 million matched) would definitely be somewhere near the top.
Highlights included the very helpful public statements that the move wouldn't be taking place, while big money simultaneously waited to be layed (it was).
The most execrable moment came when the infamous 'Cardboard Ramp' was staged for the benefit of Sky Sports 'News' (i.e. 24/7/365 PR Nonsense) cameras, a short while after which the markets on here went completely bonkers. 1.04 out to Evens and back into 1.04 in the space of 2 minutes.
Highlights included the very helpful public statements that the move wouldn't be taking place, while big money simultaneously waited to be layed (it was).
The most execrable moment came when the infamous 'Cardboard Ramp' was staged for the benefit of Sky Sports 'News' (i.e. 24/7/365 PR Nonsense) cameras, a short while after which the markets on here went completely bonkers. 1.04 out to Evens and back into 1.04 in the space of 2 minutes.
In 1898, Mr G. Martin of St Ives, Cornwall wrote a letter to The Sportsman (the equivalent of today’s Racing Post) detailing a race meeting named Trodmore Hunt which was due to be held on Bank Holiday August 1st.
Mr Martin supplied a full list of races, runners and riders for the days’ meeting. This was fairly common practice during this time. Journalists relied on helpful members of the public to point them the correct way and bookmakers relied on the journalists to publish the race meetings and their results.
However Mr Martin was not being as generous as it first appeared. Trodmore Hunt did not exist. It had never existed. The horses did not exist. The riders did not exist. Mr Martin purposely picked the Bank Holiday safe in the knowledge that idol journalists would consider themselves too busy to check.
Subsequently, Mr Martin and his team of scallywags travelled around London placing bets on some of the runners at Trodmore Hunt. It had been published in the The Sportsman, bookies had no reason not to take bets on the meeting. They had no reason to think that the meeting had been made up.
Mr Martin then wrote another letter to The Sportsman detailing the results of the meeting. As luck would have it he had done rather well. He was clever enough to not be too greedy. Four of the favourites on the Trodmore Hunt card had won. Their prices were no bigger than 5/1. The meeting had been published in The Sportsman. The results had been published in The Sportsman, bookies took the bets and the bookies began paying out.
Rival newspaper, The Sportinglife, was extremely annoyed that it had let Trodmore Hunt slip under its radar. They stole the results from The Sportsman and published them themselves, only the Sportinglife proceeded to publish an error in the results by mistake. One winner that was listed as 5/1 in The Sportsman was printed as being 5/2 in The Sporting Life.
Bookies were at odds at what to do and whose price to believe and they began questioning their papers. Of course when they all looked a little closer they discovered that Trodmore Hunt had never existed. The payouts stopped, but they had paid out an awful lot already!
Mr Martin supplied a full list of races, runners and riders for the days’ meeting. This was fairly common practice during this time. Journalists relied on helpful members of the public to point them the correct way and bookmakers relied on the journalists to publish the race meetings and their results.
However Mr Martin was not being as generous as it first appeared. Trodmore Hunt did not exist. It had never existed. The horses did not exist. The riders did not exist. Mr Martin purposely picked the Bank Holiday safe in the knowledge that idol journalists would consider themselves too busy to check.
Subsequently, Mr Martin and his team of scallywags travelled around London placing bets on some of the runners at Trodmore Hunt. It had been published in the The Sportsman, bookies had no reason not to take bets on the meeting. They had no reason to think that the meeting had been made up.
Mr Martin then wrote another letter to The Sportsman detailing the results of the meeting. As luck would have it he had done rather well. He was clever enough to not be too greedy. Four of the favourites on the Trodmore Hunt card had won. Their prices were no bigger than 5/1. The meeting had been published in The Sportsman. The results had been published in The Sportsman, bookies took the bets and the bookies began paying out.
Rival newspaper, The Sportinglife, was extremely annoyed that it had let Trodmore Hunt slip under its radar. They stole the results from The Sportsman and published them themselves, only the Sportinglife proceeded to publish an error in the results by mistake. One winner that was listed as 5/1 in The Sportsman was printed as being 5/2 in The Sporting Life.
Bookies were at odds at what to do and whose price to believe and they began questioning their papers. Of course when they all looked a little closer they discovered that Trodmore Hunt had never existed. The payouts stopped, but they had paid out an awful lot already!
Anyone got any info on the Trodmore Hunt scam, I've trawled the internet but cant find owt?
stonecold- 27 Aug 13 11:16
missed tober posting the same
Yes & I felt embarrassed when I posted the same thing
What odds a fourth person does the same thing
missed tober posting the same
Yes & I felt embarrassed when I posted the same thing
What odds a fourth person does the same thing
Wasn't there one where a guy managed to sneek his 5 dollar chip to a 25 dollar chip, AFTER a winning roulette spin, raking in about $250,000?
ALBERT DAVISON
Davison was notorious in the 1970s and 1980s for the betting coups he pulled off from his stables at Caterham in Surrey.
He operated behind a wall of secrecy - jockeys would not be allowed to ride work, staff often did not know the names of horses in the yard and he never spoke to the press.
Davison gave up his licence in 1993 after it had been discovered he was using his land as an unofficial dumping round for building waste.
In 1998 he was warned off for six years by the Jockey Club for his part in the victory of Will I Fly at Leicester in November 1994.
He was found guilty of conspiring to defraud the betting public after the horse, nominally in the care of Wiltshire trainer Anne Jermy, had been found to have been stabled at Davison's Tilling Down Farm, in the care of trainer Monica Long.
Davison's daughter Zoe has established herself as a trainer in her own right, distancing herself from her father's reputation.
She said of her father on Saturday: "He was diagnosed with prostate cancer only three months ago, but he'd been having trouble with his back for a while. It was being treated as sciatica but it turns out to have been a secondary cancer on his spine.
"Up until then he was in good health and had recovered well from a triple heart bypass, but he had been dying for a week and in the end his passing was a bit of a relief.
"It's the end of an era in a way, as he was one of racing's characters and attracted a lot of controversy over the years.
"He wasn't involved in racing much in the end, apart from breeding a couple, and he hadn't been to the track for a year or so, but he followed [granddaughter and jockey] Gemma's career closely and would go along if she was anywhere local."
Tales of Davison's gambles abound, with possibly the best known being Great Things' 33-1 victory at Leicester in December 1978, which reputedly netted him £250,000 - more than £1m in today's money.
His daughter said: "When he was training his instructions might be something like ‘go for a mile, then pull it up and walk it back'.
"I remember at Uttoxeter one day when Gerry [Gracey, Zoe's former husband] was riding a horse called Yukon Flash, he said ‘if I'm waving a white handkerchief when you pass the stands you are off', but Gerry couldn't see him. He didn't know what to do, but he rode the horse out and they won, which luckily was the plan.
"He landed a huge gamble with Great Things at Leicester one Boxing Day. It was a conditional riders' selling hurdle and Dad had two in it. Richard Rowe rode Great Things, who was a 33-1 chance, and they hammered the other horse, who wasn't off, of course. Great Things won and Dad had people backing him all over Ireland. He's reputed to have won a six-figure sum, which was a lot of money in those days, and the bookmakers weren't very happy about it, but Mum and me never saw any of it and I don't know what he did with his winnings."
Davison was notorious in the 1970s and 1980s for the betting coups he pulled off from his stables at Caterham in Surrey.
He operated behind a wall of secrecy - jockeys would not be allowed to ride work, staff often did not know the names of horses in the yard and he never spoke to the press.
Davison gave up his licence in 1993 after it had been discovered he was using his land as an unofficial dumping round for building waste.
In 1998 he was warned off for six years by the Jockey Club for his part in the victory of Will I Fly at Leicester in November 1994.
He was found guilty of conspiring to defraud the betting public after the horse, nominally in the care of Wiltshire trainer Anne Jermy, had been found to have been stabled at Davison's Tilling Down Farm, in the care of trainer Monica Long.
Davison's daughter Zoe has established herself as a trainer in her own right, distancing herself from her father's reputation.
She said of her father on Saturday: "He was diagnosed with prostate cancer only three months ago, but he'd been having trouble with his back for a while. It was being treated as sciatica but it turns out to have been a secondary cancer on his spine.
"Up until then he was in good health and had recovered well from a triple heart bypass, but he had been dying for a week and in the end his passing was a bit of a relief.
"It's the end of an era in a way, as he was one of racing's characters and attracted a lot of controversy over the years.
"He wasn't involved in racing much in the end, apart from breeding a couple, and he hadn't been to the track for a year or so, but he followed [granddaughter and jockey] Gemma's career closely and would go along if she was anywhere local."
Tales of Davison's gambles abound, with possibly the best known being Great Things' 33-1 victory at Leicester in December 1978, which reputedly netted him £250,000 - more than £1m in today's money.
His daughter said: "When he was training his instructions might be something like ‘go for a mile, then pull it up and walk it back'.
"I remember at Uttoxeter one day when Gerry [Gracey, Zoe's former husband] was riding a horse called Yukon Flash, he said ‘if I'm waving a white handkerchief when you pass the stands you are off', but Gerry couldn't see him. He didn't know what to do, but he rode the horse out and they won, which luckily was the plan.
"He landed a huge gamble with Great Things at Leicester one Boxing Day. It was a conditional riders' selling hurdle and Dad had two in it. Richard Rowe rode Great Things, who was a 33-1 chance, and they hammered the other horse, who wasn't off, of course. Great Things won and Dad had people backing him all over Ireland. He's reputed to have won a six-figure sum, which was a lot of money in those days, and the bookmakers weren't very happy about it, but Mum and me never saw any of it and I don't know what he did with his winnings."
Ballydonnell Sam
“WOULD THERE BE ANY CHANCE THAT YOU MIGHT COME TO MULLINGAR NEXT SATURDAY NIGHT? THERE IS A LITTLE BIT OF BUSINESS THAT I WANT YOU TO DO FOR ME.”
It is almost twenty-nine years ago since Con Murphy, a part-time bookmaker and greyhound trainer from Church Street in Abbeyfeale, circulated about forty relatives, friends and associates with the above request. The “little bit of business” turned out to be a beautifully crafted and brilliantly executed betting coup that made international headlines throughout the racing world and struck terror in the hearts of bookmakers from the four corners of Ireland and beyond!
One evening in Jack O`Rourke`s bar, Con was listening to a friend recounting how he had been paid tote odds of 6/1 on a horse that had been returned at 9/4 by the bookmakers. Con began to wonder whether there might be a flaw in the tote system and whether it was possible to exploit this defect and turn it to his advantage.Con`s own dog, Ballydonnell Sam, was due to run in Mullingar the following Saturday night, 21st October 1979. He consulted with a life-long friend and fellow greyhound trainer, local butcher Connie McMahon, and together they began to formulate a plan to make a killing and pull the stroke of a lifetime.The idea was that they would manipulate the tote odds in the track at Mullingar so that Ballydonnell Sam (should he win) would be returned at a grossly inflated price. Meanwhile, they would place small wagers on the dog at numerous betting offices throughout the country, stipulating to the unsuspecting bookmakers that they wished to be paid at tote odds.
Most bookmakers settled bets at SP but were willing to lay the occasional tote bet when specifically requested to do so - despite having a morbid dread of the unknown! Mullingar Track on that Saturday night seemed ideally suited for the staging of a coup. Ballydonnell Sam looked a certainty to score – on paper, at least! A winner of the Television Trophy and a track record-holder at Dunmore Park in Belfast, he had a faster time than any other dog in the race and, by the end of his career, would have chalked up 23 victories against some pretty hot opposition. Mullingar was quite a small track and did not have many tote windows, making it possible to control access by the general public if enough willing and obstructive volunteers could be mobilized. And, as luck would have it, the Guinness 600 greyhound final was been staged at Shelbourne Park the same night and would attract most of the greyhound fraternity as well as the larger bookmakers. There would be little interest in an insignificant and modest meeting in Mullingar – a fact that suited the conspirators perfectly!
The whole operation was planned with military precision over the following four days, by the two Cons – Murphy and McMahon – so much so that they even tape recorded every conversation, so that nothing might be overlooked. This was a necessary precaution, as many a good idea, discussed over a few beers in Jack O`Rourke`s late at night, had been known to culminate in a severe dose of amnesia and rigorous inactivity the following morning!The first order of business was to ensure that there would be no problem in placing bets on a greyhound at totes odds in the various betting offices. Bookmakers have a built-in radar system, which tells them immediately when trouble is brewing, and they are wary of everyone and everything unusual. Con decided to have a dummy run by placing bets at tote odds in several betting offices in the Cork region on Wednesday 18th October on a dog running at Cork Track later that night. The bets were accepted without comment, and the fact that the dog in question finished stone last, may have allayed suspicions somewhat!Next, Con phoned the trainer of Ballydonnell Sam, Francis Murray, on the pretext of enquiring about the dog`s well-being. It must be stressed that Murray had no knowledge of the impending coup and, in case of trouble further down the line, Con had no wish to compromise the trainer by including him in the operation. If the dog won – he would win on merit. As they chatted, Con mentioned to Murray that he was taking his girlfriend to Mullingar on the Saturday night and he wondered if there was a tote window in the bar, as his partner enjoyed the odd flutter. The unsuspecting Murray replied that there were indeed three tote windows in the bar, as well as four more, down beside the stand.
Con had never been to Mullingar track, but now he knew how big an army he needed in order to control the tote windows during those vital few minutes before the race!As the plan began to gather momentum, Con now set about recruiting and mustering his troops. He sent the cryptic message about “a little bit of business” to his individual friends and acquaintances and, to a man, they answered the call to arms.Among the motley crew were an assortment of schoolteachers, publicans, solicitors, shopkeepers, gardai, politicians and small farmers. They were all sworn to secrecy and, to conceal the true nature of their mission, they were advised to bring along their wives or girlfriends (or both, if they wanted to) so as to give the appearance of a normal night out. In all, over forty volunteers travelled to Mullingar on that fateful Saturday at various times and in various modes of transport. (“Cops and Robbers” observed Con, as he watched one carload of bookmakers and gardai depart from The Square and head north.)And so to the delicate but vital operation of getting the money on at totes odds in the various betting offices without alarming the layers. It was decided to place the bets in small denominations of between 50p and ?2 and, to confuse the issue further, nominal bets were also placed on Here`s Tat which was running in the final of the Guinness 600 at Shelbourne Park that night. Three cars only were used in placing the bets so that as few people as possible would be aware of what was afoot. Con`s big fear throughout the day was that someone might inadvertently spill the beans and ruin the operation, He rightly concluded that the less people that knew what was happening, the less was the chance of being rumbled.
Con and some of his trusty lieutenants set out from Abbeyfeale on the Saturday morning and travelled to Cork, and continued on through Waterford and Kilkenny and in to Mullingar, calling to every likely looking betting office along the way. Accompanying Con was local bookmaker, publican and gamekeeper-turned-poacher for the day, Jack O`Rourke, who had been appointed Director of Operations – a fancy title that merely hid the fact that he was responsible for purchasing any liquid refreshments that the team might require along the way! Another, along for the ride and the craic, was butcher/bookmaker and scratch golfer, Eric Browne from Listowel. The designated driver was Jimmy Prendiville, a veteran FCA activist whose expertise in hand-to-hand combat would come in handy if any trouble erupted.Their cover was almost blown in Waterford when Con entered Pat Moran`s office and found the proprietor himself working behind the counter. Con and Moran knew each other, and the bookmaker would think it strange that the Abbeyfeale man might come all the way to Waterford just to have a ?1 bet on his own dog! However, Moran was preoccupied with the busy Saturday afternoon trade, and a relieved Con made his escape without being noticed.Meanwhile, Con’s brother, Denis, who was living in Dublin, covered the northern half of the country, travelling through Drogheda, Dundalk, Castleblaney and along by the border. Denis had enlisted the aid of a friend, Jack McCleod to do the driving. Late in the evening with virtually minutes to go before the betting offices closed at 5pm, McCleod was hurtling along the road into Ballybay, Co. Monaghan at around 70 mph in a 30 mph zone. Unsure of the road to Castleblaney, their last intended port of call, McCleod pulled up with a screech of brakes and in a shower of gravel in front of a somewhat stunned garda on point duty.“Quick” yelled McCleod, as the custodian of law and order reached for his notebook and pencil. “Which is the road to Castleblaney?” “Back the way you came.” replied the bemused garda, still reaching in his tunic.“Good man!” acknowledged McCleod, all business, taking off again in a cloud of dust and travelling some fifty yards before executing a perfect handbrake turn and shooting back the way he came, leaving the garda standing, open-mouthed in his wake. They reached Castleblaney just in time and successfully completed their assignment.The third car covered the greater Dublin area and all the posh betting offices such as those in Howth and Clontarf. (All the shops that later refused to pay up) The driver here was not Miss Daisy, but Miss Lane from The Hill, while Tim (Spike) Murphy rode shotgun and Danny Browne kept tabs on the betting slips. This team also carried out its mission as per instructions and returned safely to base.Back in Abbeyfeale, Connie McMahon was being kept informed by telephone on how the punting was progressing.
Even now, they communicated in code for fear of eavesdroppers. “I tried to buy ten head in Dungarvan, Connie, but could only manage to get five head.” (e.g. “I got ?5 on the dog in Dungarvan.”) The final tally came to the princely sum of ?92 wagered on Ballydonnell Sam in over seventy betting offices throughout the country!The conspirators finally gathered in The Colt Inn in Mullingar on Saturday evening at the appointed time, as stipulated by Con. There was much amazement as people arrived at the rendezvous point to be greeted by friends, relatives and next-door neighbours, none of whom realized that the others had also been recruited. Con arranged his volunteers into teams of five with an experienced punter in charge of each team and revealed the mission on which they were about to embark.“We are going to Mullingar Greyhound Track,” Con explained, “and, as soon as the second race is over, you are all to get into line for the tote windows and stay put. When the bettings starts on the third race, you are to move forward slowly, and take as much time as you can. You can bet on anything in the race – except number 3. (Ballydonnell Sam) Take your time, act dumb, and create plenty of confusion and disorder, and make it difficult for others to reach the windows. However, it is important that you do not physically restrain or obstruct anybody from having a bet. And try and act normal. Remember, you are just out for a good night at the dogs, and you are doing nothing illegal or dishonest. We are merely trying to move the goalposts ever so slightly!”Having received their instructions, Con`s secret army dispersed silently and slipped away, in ones and twos, into the night. They reassembled again in front of the tote windows at the track, studiously ignoring each other so as to give the impression that they were all totally innocent and uninvolved strangers, just waiting to have a little flutter on their particular fancy.The plan worked like clockwork. There were less than 500 paying customers in Mullingar Track that night and it was relatively easy to get to the tote windows and stall operations. Many of Con`s punting pals had wasted much of their misspent youth, loitering and frittering their time away in Malachy Skelly`s Betting Office at the back of the Old Graveyard in Abbeyfeale, and they were no strangers to the gentle art of deception and roguery.The opening gambit was to back traps 1 and 5 in a 20p reverse forecast. However, since trap 1 was a non-runner, the whole weighty process of selection had to be considered again, thus wasting a few more precious minutes.Brendan Burke, who had driven all the way from Newcastlewest to join Con`s Army, was most disconcerted by the non-appearance of trap 1. “Jaysus! What will I do?” he appealed to the startled cashier. “Mary Mulvihill warned me to back the number 1 for her. Will I have it on trap 6? Or maybe the 2 dog. Would you have a Sporting Press handy `till I check the form? Jaysus! Mary Mulvihill will kill me – so she will!”Another ploy was to use a ?20 note for a 20p transaction and then proffer an additional ?20 note for a second 20p bet. “They are for two different people, “was the explanation, “and sure I don`t want to get the change mixed up.”One punter caused consternation by handing in a ?100 note to pay for a 20p each way wager, This, of course, was the school master because nearly everyone else present had never even SEEN a ?100 note at that time! However, he managed to use up a few more valuable minutes as he carefully counted out his change and queried the cashier as to its correctness. The late Paddy (Hector) Browne commandeered a tote window to himself and kept both the cashier and the waiting punters in a state of thrall with a series of magic tricks for which he had become justifiably famous. “How the feic did you do that, Paddy?” queried one fascinated Dub, all thoughts of having a bet forgotten, as Hector caused a lighting cigarette to disappear in to his handkerchief. Nothing got past Paddy Browne that evening!One passionate punter was even struck by Cupid’s Arrow and asked a particularly attractive female cashier if she would like to accompany him to a little party after racing. When she declined, he demanded to know the reason why, and a fervent discussion followed during which he swore undying love and even proposed marriage, while all the time keeping one eye on the clock!With the job all but completed – disaster threatened! The stipendiary steward, who was in charge of starting the race, noticed that a crowd was still congregating around the tote windows and he approached to see if he should delay the start of the race until the windows were cleared. Brendan Burke, who was playing a blinder, realized that the steward might become suspicious if he heard from the tote staff that they were backing everything in the race except the odds-on favourite. He grabbed the official by the arm and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Go in and back 3 and 6 in a forecast. They are all backing 3 to beat 6!”Satisfied that all was in order, the steward retreated to the traps and signaled to the driver to start up the hare.
The race itself did not go exactly to plan. Ballydonnell Sam was arguably the best long-distance greyhound in Ireland at the time and was virtually unbeatable over 600 yards. He was invariably slow away from traps and usually gave his opponents at least 6 lengths to the first bend. He would then accelerate down the back straight and gradually pick them off, one by one, until he raced in splendid isolation going around the final bend.However, in Mullingar that Saturday night, he must have suspected that there was a lot of money riding on him, because he did something that he had never done before – he flew out of traps in company with the rest of the bunch! Breaking from trap 3, he was badly baulked and almost knocked over at the first bend. He quickly regained his equilibrium and, despite being a dozen lengths behind, he began to close the gap. He was baulked again at the second and third bends, but asserted his authority in the home straight and ran out an easy if somewhat relieved winner by an ever-increasing 3/4 lengths.However, no sooner had “Sam” crossed the winning line than alarm bells started to go off all over the place as the tote staff suddenly woke up to the fact that something was not quite right. The winner, quoted at 1-2 by the bookmakers, had hardly been backed at all on the tote. So well had the Abbeyfeale Mafia performed their custodial duties in front of the tote windows that there had been just one 20p winning tickets – the one placed by Jimmy Collins on behalf of Con so that a dividend on the race could be declared.The bells and the subsequent pandemonium caused a few anxious moments for the less experienced of the Abbeyfeale Mafia. Indeed, half a dozen of them bolted for the gate, only to find it locked! They were just about to panic when the attendant returned and calmly opened the gates and released the Mullingar Six. He had only locked it in the first place so that he could go and watch the race.
Con, meanwhile, repaired to the public bar under the stand with some of his trusty sidekicks and there they remained until after the last race, quietly quaffing a few pints of beer and looking entirely innocent of any wrongdoing. Jimmy Collins presented his winning ticket at the tote window and received ?191.20 for his 20p stake – a return of 956-1 on a dog that the track bookmakers had reluctantly rated and laid at 1-2. To put it in perspective, Gay Future, about whom both a book and a film were made, only returned odds of 8-1 when he won on that other famous occasion in Cartmel. By a strange coincidence, the book and film were called “Murphy`s Stroke”!
After racing, Con and his cohorts headed for The Sunrise Inn in Birr where the real celebrations were being held. Such was the loud and boisterous nature of the ensuing party that the landlady enquired whether they were after winning a match or coming from a wedding.“Neither, Ma`m” replied Con, “but if you buy the Sunday Independent in the morning, you will be able to read all about us on the front page!”And indeed the landlady DID read about it the following day, because all the leading newspapers in Ireland and Britain carried the story in one form or another..The Daily Mail referred to Mullingar as “a tiny village in County Westmeath.” This so enraged the members of Mullingar Urban District Council that a motion was passed urging that an letter of protest be sent immediately to the editor of the Daily Mail informing him that Mullingar was a thriving provincial town, and inviting him to visit the area and see for himself! The Daily mirror revealed that “the gang” (as it described the assortment of local publicans, shopkeepers, farmers, etc.) stood to collect ?250,000. The Daily Express claimed that they “could have netted a cool ?1 million” for their evening’s work.As usual, Fleet Street did not allow the truth to get in the way of a good story. In fact, Con and his little army of punters stood to win just over ?90,000. However, for an investment of ?92 this was a good return, especially back in 1978!Too good, in fact, because they never did collect their winnings. Only two bookmakers - O`Mahony`s of Cork and Byrne`s in Leeson Street – honoured their commitments. But, as these had limits displayed of 100-1 and 50-1 respectively, they only paid out ?100 and ?50 on ?1 dockets. The other bookmakers, caught with their collective trousers down around their ankles, cried foul, welched on the bets and refused to pay. A meeting of the Bookmakers Association endorsed this decision and notices went up in practically every betting office in the country the following Monday morning stating; NO TOTE BETS ACCEPTED!
The layers were running scared.Despite the fact that Con and his men broke no laws and, following intensive Guardai and Bord na gCon investigations, were not charged with any offence, they never succeeded in claiming their winnings from what, in all honesty, was just a good, old fashioned betting coup. They considered legal action to reclaim their money, but were advised against it, and decided to take their beating.Con`s brother, Spike, had the last word on the matter. “The money wasn’t everything.” he explained. “At the end of the day - it was the ONLY thing!”
“WOULD THERE BE ANY CHANCE THAT YOU MIGHT COME TO MULLINGAR NEXT SATURDAY NIGHT? THERE IS A LITTLE BIT OF BUSINESS THAT I WANT YOU TO DO FOR ME.”
It is almost twenty-nine years ago since Con Murphy, a part-time bookmaker and greyhound trainer from Church Street in Abbeyfeale, circulated about forty relatives, friends and associates with the above request. The “little bit of business” turned out to be a beautifully crafted and brilliantly executed betting coup that made international headlines throughout the racing world and struck terror in the hearts of bookmakers from the four corners of Ireland and beyond!
One evening in Jack O`Rourke`s bar, Con was listening to a friend recounting how he had been paid tote odds of 6/1 on a horse that had been returned at 9/4 by the bookmakers. Con began to wonder whether there might be a flaw in the tote system and whether it was possible to exploit this defect and turn it to his advantage.Con`s own dog, Ballydonnell Sam, was due to run in Mullingar the following Saturday night, 21st October 1979. He consulted with a life-long friend and fellow greyhound trainer, local butcher Connie McMahon, and together they began to formulate a plan to make a killing and pull the stroke of a lifetime.The idea was that they would manipulate the tote odds in the track at Mullingar so that Ballydonnell Sam (should he win) would be returned at a grossly inflated price. Meanwhile, they would place small wagers on the dog at numerous betting offices throughout the country, stipulating to the unsuspecting bookmakers that they wished to be paid at tote odds.
Most bookmakers settled bets at SP but were willing to lay the occasional tote bet when specifically requested to do so - despite having a morbid dread of the unknown! Mullingar Track on that Saturday night seemed ideally suited for the staging of a coup. Ballydonnell Sam looked a certainty to score – on paper, at least! A winner of the Television Trophy and a track record-holder at Dunmore Park in Belfast, he had a faster time than any other dog in the race and, by the end of his career, would have chalked up 23 victories against some pretty hot opposition. Mullingar was quite a small track and did not have many tote windows, making it possible to control access by the general public if enough willing and obstructive volunteers could be mobilized. And, as luck would have it, the Guinness 600 greyhound final was been staged at Shelbourne Park the same night and would attract most of the greyhound fraternity as well as the larger bookmakers. There would be little interest in an insignificant and modest meeting in Mullingar – a fact that suited the conspirators perfectly!
The whole operation was planned with military precision over the following four days, by the two Cons – Murphy and McMahon – so much so that they even tape recorded every conversation, so that nothing might be overlooked. This was a necessary precaution, as many a good idea, discussed over a few beers in Jack O`Rourke`s late at night, had been known to culminate in a severe dose of amnesia and rigorous inactivity the following morning!The first order of business was to ensure that there would be no problem in placing bets on a greyhound at totes odds in the various betting offices. Bookmakers have a built-in radar system, which tells them immediately when trouble is brewing, and they are wary of everyone and everything unusual. Con decided to have a dummy run by placing bets at tote odds in several betting offices in the Cork region on Wednesday 18th October on a dog running at Cork Track later that night. The bets were accepted without comment, and the fact that the dog in question finished stone last, may have allayed suspicions somewhat!Next, Con phoned the trainer of Ballydonnell Sam, Francis Murray, on the pretext of enquiring about the dog`s well-being. It must be stressed that Murray had no knowledge of the impending coup and, in case of trouble further down the line, Con had no wish to compromise the trainer by including him in the operation. If the dog won – he would win on merit. As they chatted, Con mentioned to Murray that he was taking his girlfriend to Mullingar on the Saturday night and he wondered if there was a tote window in the bar, as his partner enjoyed the odd flutter. The unsuspecting Murray replied that there were indeed three tote windows in the bar, as well as four more, down beside the stand.
Con had never been to Mullingar track, but now he knew how big an army he needed in order to control the tote windows during those vital few minutes before the race!As the plan began to gather momentum, Con now set about recruiting and mustering his troops. He sent the cryptic message about “a little bit of business” to his individual friends and acquaintances and, to a man, they answered the call to arms.Among the motley crew were an assortment of schoolteachers, publicans, solicitors, shopkeepers, gardai, politicians and small farmers. They were all sworn to secrecy and, to conceal the true nature of their mission, they were advised to bring along their wives or girlfriends (or both, if they wanted to) so as to give the appearance of a normal night out. In all, over forty volunteers travelled to Mullingar on that fateful Saturday at various times and in various modes of transport. (“Cops and Robbers” observed Con, as he watched one carload of bookmakers and gardai depart from The Square and head north.)And so to the delicate but vital operation of getting the money on at totes odds in the various betting offices without alarming the layers. It was decided to place the bets in small denominations of between 50p and ?2 and, to confuse the issue further, nominal bets were also placed on Here`s Tat which was running in the final of the Guinness 600 at Shelbourne Park that night. Three cars only were used in placing the bets so that as few people as possible would be aware of what was afoot. Con`s big fear throughout the day was that someone might inadvertently spill the beans and ruin the operation, He rightly concluded that the less people that knew what was happening, the less was the chance of being rumbled.
Con and some of his trusty lieutenants set out from Abbeyfeale on the Saturday morning and travelled to Cork, and continued on through Waterford and Kilkenny and in to Mullingar, calling to every likely looking betting office along the way. Accompanying Con was local bookmaker, publican and gamekeeper-turned-poacher for the day, Jack O`Rourke, who had been appointed Director of Operations – a fancy title that merely hid the fact that he was responsible for purchasing any liquid refreshments that the team might require along the way! Another, along for the ride and the craic, was butcher/bookmaker and scratch golfer, Eric Browne from Listowel. The designated driver was Jimmy Prendiville, a veteran FCA activist whose expertise in hand-to-hand combat would come in handy if any trouble erupted.Their cover was almost blown in Waterford when Con entered Pat Moran`s office and found the proprietor himself working behind the counter. Con and Moran knew each other, and the bookmaker would think it strange that the Abbeyfeale man might come all the way to Waterford just to have a ?1 bet on his own dog! However, Moran was preoccupied with the busy Saturday afternoon trade, and a relieved Con made his escape without being noticed.Meanwhile, Con’s brother, Denis, who was living in Dublin, covered the northern half of the country, travelling through Drogheda, Dundalk, Castleblaney and along by the border. Denis had enlisted the aid of a friend, Jack McCleod to do the driving. Late in the evening with virtually minutes to go before the betting offices closed at 5pm, McCleod was hurtling along the road into Ballybay, Co. Monaghan at around 70 mph in a 30 mph zone. Unsure of the road to Castleblaney, their last intended port of call, McCleod pulled up with a screech of brakes and in a shower of gravel in front of a somewhat stunned garda on point duty.“Quick” yelled McCleod, as the custodian of law and order reached for his notebook and pencil. “Which is the road to Castleblaney?” “Back the way you came.” replied the bemused garda, still reaching in his tunic.“Good man!” acknowledged McCleod, all business, taking off again in a cloud of dust and travelling some fifty yards before executing a perfect handbrake turn and shooting back the way he came, leaving the garda standing, open-mouthed in his wake. They reached Castleblaney just in time and successfully completed their assignment.The third car covered the greater Dublin area and all the posh betting offices such as those in Howth and Clontarf. (All the shops that later refused to pay up) The driver here was not Miss Daisy, but Miss Lane from The Hill, while Tim (Spike) Murphy rode shotgun and Danny Browne kept tabs on the betting slips. This team also carried out its mission as per instructions and returned safely to base.Back in Abbeyfeale, Connie McMahon was being kept informed by telephone on how the punting was progressing.
Even now, they communicated in code for fear of eavesdroppers. “I tried to buy ten head in Dungarvan, Connie, but could only manage to get five head.” (e.g. “I got ?5 on the dog in Dungarvan.”) The final tally came to the princely sum of ?92 wagered on Ballydonnell Sam in over seventy betting offices throughout the country!The conspirators finally gathered in The Colt Inn in Mullingar on Saturday evening at the appointed time, as stipulated by Con. There was much amazement as people arrived at the rendezvous point to be greeted by friends, relatives and next-door neighbours, none of whom realized that the others had also been recruited. Con arranged his volunteers into teams of five with an experienced punter in charge of each team and revealed the mission on which they were about to embark.“We are going to Mullingar Greyhound Track,” Con explained, “and, as soon as the second race is over, you are all to get into line for the tote windows and stay put. When the bettings starts on the third race, you are to move forward slowly, and take as much time as you can. You can bet on anything in the race – except number 3. (Ballydonnell Sam) Take your time, act dumb, and create plenty of confusion and disorder, and make it difficult for others to reach the windows. However, it is important that you do not physically restrain or obstruct anybody from having a bet. And try and act normal. Remember, you are just out for a good night at the dogs, and you are doing nothing illegal or dishonest. We are merely trying to move the goalposts ever so slightly!”Having received their instructions, Con`s secret army dispersed silently and slipped away, in ones and twos, into the night. They reassembled again in front of the tote windows at the track, studiously ignoring each other so as to give the impression that they were all totally innocent and uninvolved strangers, just waiting to have a little flutter on their particular fancy.The plan worked like clockwork. There were less than 500 paying customers in Mullingar Track that night and it was relatively easy to get to the tote windows and stall operations. Many of Con`s punting pals had wasted much of their misspent youth, loitering and frittering their time away in Malachy Skelly`s Betting Office at the back of the Old Graveyard in Abbeyfeale, and they were no strangers to the gentle art of deception and roguery.The opening gambit was to back traps 1 and 5 in a 20p reverse forecast. However, since trap 1 was a non-runner, the whole weighty process of selection had to be considered again, thus wasting a few more precious minutes.Brendan Burke, who had driven all the way from Newcastlewest to join Con`s Army, was most disconcerted by the non-appearance of trap 1. “Jaysus! What will I do?” he appealed to the startled cashier. “Mary Mulvihill warned me to back the number 1 for her. Will I have it on trap 6? Or maybe the 2 dog. Would you have a Sporting Press handy `till I check the form? Jaysus! Mary Mulvihill will kill me – so she will!”Another ploy was to use a ?20 note for a 20p transaction and then proffer an additional ?20 note for a second 20p bet. “They are for two different people, “was the explanation, “and sure I don`t want to get the change mixed up.”One punter caused consternation by handing in a ?100 note to pay for a 20p each way wager, This, of course, was the school master because nearly everyone else present had never even SEEN a ?100 note at that time! However, he managed to use up a few more valuable minutes as he carefully counted out his change and queried the cashier as to its correctness. The late Paddy (Hector) Browne commandeered a tote window to himself and kept both the cashier and the waiting punters in a state of thrall with a series of magic tricks for which he had become justifiably famous. “How the feic did you do that, Paddy?” queried one fascinated Dub, all thoughts of having a bet forgotten, as Hector caused a lighting cigarette to disappear in to his handkerchief. Nothing got past Paddy Browne that evening!One passionate punter was even struck by Cupid’s Arrow and asked a particularly attractive female cashier if she would like to accompany him to a little party after racing. When she declined, he demanded to know the reason why, and a fervent discussion followed during which he swore undying love and even proposed marriage, while all the time keeping one eye on the clock!With the job all but completed – disaster threatened! The stipendiary steward, who was in charge of starting the race, noticed that a crowd was still congregating around the tote windows and he approached to see if he should delay the start of the race until the windows were cleared. Brendan Burke, who was playing a blinder, realized that the steward might become suspicious if he heard from the tote staff that they were backing everything in the race except the odds-on favourite. He grabbed the official by the arm and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Go in and back 3 and 6 in a forecast. They are all backing 3 to beat 6!”Satisfied that all was in order, the steward retreated to the traps and signaled to the driver to start up the hare.
The race itself did not go exactly to plan. Ballydonnell Sam was arguably the best long-distance greyhound in Ireland at the time and was virtually unbeatable over 600 yards. He was invariably slow away from traps and usually gave his opponents at least 6 lengths to the first bend. He would then accelerate down the back straight and gradually pick them off, one by one, until he raced in splendid isolation going around the final bend.However, in Mullingar that Saturday night, he must have suspected that there was a lot of money riding on him, because he did something that he had never done before – he flew out of traps in company with the rest of the bunch! Breaking from trap 3, he was badly baulked and almost knocked over at the first bend. He quickly regained his equilibrium and, despite being a dozen lengths behind, he began to close the gap. He was baulked again at the second and third bends, but asserted his authority in the home straight and ran out an easy if somewhat relieved winner by an ever-increasing 3/4 lengths.However, no sooner had “Sam” crossed the winning line than alarm bells started to go off all over the place as the tote staff suddenly woke up to the fact that something was not quite right. The winner, quoted at 1-2 by the bookmakers, had hardly been backed at all on the tote. So well had the Abbeyfeale Mafia performed their custodial duties in front of the tote windows that there had been just one 20p winning tickets – the one placed by Jimmy Collins on behalf of Con so that a dividend on the race could be declared.The bells and the subsequent pandemonium caused a few anxious moments for the less experienced of the Abbeyfeale Mafia. Indeed, half a dozen of them bolted for the gate, only to find it locked! They were just about to panic when the attendant returned and calmly opened the gates and released the Mullingar Six. He had only locked it in the first place so that he could go and watch the race.
Con, meanwhile, repaired to the public bar under the stand with some of his trusty sidekicks and there they remained until after the last race, quietly quaffing a few pints of beer and looking entirely innocent of any wrongdoing. Jimmy Collins presented his winning ticket at the tote window and received ?191.20 for his 20p stake – a return of 956-1 on a dog that the track bookmakers had reluctantly rated and laid at 1-2. To put it in perspective, Gay Future, about whom both a book and a film were made, only returned odds of 8-1 when he won on that other famous occasion in Cartmel. By a strange coincidence, the book and film were called “Murphy`s Stroke”!
After racing, Con and his cohorts headed for The Sunrise Inn in Birr where the real celebrations were being held. Such was the loud and boisterous nature of the ensuing party that the landlady enquired whether they were after winning a match or coming from a wedding.“Neither, Ma`m” replied Con, “but if you buy the Sunday Independent in the morning, you will be able to read all about us on the front page!”And indeed the landlady DID read about it the following day, because all the leading newspapers in Ireland and Britain carried the story in one form or another..The Daily Mail referred to Mullingar as “a tiny village in County Westmeath.” This so enraged the members of Mullingar Urban District Council that a motion was passed urging that an letter of protest be sent immediately to the editor of the Daily Mail informing him that Mullingar was a thriving provincial town, and inviting him to visit the area and see for himself! The Daily mirror revealed that “the gang” (as it described the assortment of local publicans, shopkeepers, farmers, etc.) stood to collect ?250,000. The Daily Express claimed that they “could have netted a cool ?1 million” for their evening’s work.As usual, Fleet Street did not allow the truth to get in the way of a good story. In fact, Con and his little army of punters stood to win just over ?90,000. However, for an investment of ?92 this was a good return, especially back in 1978!Too good, in fact, because they never did collect their winnings. Only two bookmakers - O`Mahony`s of Cork and Byrne`s in Leeson Street – honoured their commitments. But, as these had limits displayed of 100-1 and 50-1 respectively, they only paid out ?100 and ?50 on ?1 dockets. The other bookmakers, caught with their collective trousers down around their ankles, cried foul, welched on the bets and refused to pay. A meeting of the Bookmakers Association endorsed this decision and notices went up in practically every betting office in the country the following Monday morning stating; NO TOTE BETS ACCEPTED!
The layers were running scared.Despite the fact that Con and his men broke no laws and, following intensive Guardai and Bord na gCon investigations, were not charged with any offence, they never succeeded in claiming their winnings from what, in all honesty, was just a good, old fashioned betting coup. They considered legal action to reclaim their money, but were advised against it, and decided to take their beating.Con`s brother, Spike, had the last word on the matter. “The money wasn’t everything.” he explained. “At the end of the day - it was the ONLY thing!”
The odds of winning big at the race track can be hundreds, or thousands, to one against. Only a few ever get that far. And some don't even collect when they do win.
Few know that, from the dropped and lost race tickets left uncashed each year, there are millions of dollars that remain unclaimed.
For a short time last year, those few included two young men who knew where to find the money and how to get it. Their misadventures would eventually lead them to what is thought to be the largest betting scandal in American sporting history.
In an exclusive interview for Primetime Monday, Glen DaSilva, a key player in the scandal, sat down and discussed his involvement in the scheme which rocked the betting world. It is the first time that any of the principal players involved in the scandal has agreed to a television interview.
An Ominous Meeting of the Minds
The story began about 10 years ago at Drexel University in Philadelphia, where Glen DaSilva met his roommate Chris Harn, a shy yet talented computer whiz kid in his freshman year.
The friendship was serendipitous. Harn helped DaSilva with computers and the charismatic DaSilva helped Harn socialize. DaSilva eventually convinced Harn to join the same fraternity as he did.
DaSilva stayed friends with Harn after college and moved to Manhattan. But the slow job market began to wear on him. "It's the 'why me' syndrome. 'Why do I continue to be the one who's laid off?,' " recalls DaSilva, 30.
But DaSilva liked the high life and began using drugs. He was even arrested for cocaine possession. At this low point for DaSilva, financially and emotionally, Harn approached DaSilva with an idea for how to make a few quick bucks.
Now working as a programmer with a company named Autotote, a company which handles most of the nation's horse racing bets, Harn discovered those tickets which remain uncashed were listed in his company's computer.
"He printed on the Autotote computers tickets with serial numbers that he knew were uncashed," says Daniel Conti, Harn's attorney. DaSilva took these tickets and brought them to New York area race tracks, slipped in the "winning" tickets into the betting machines, which would print cash vouchers in return.
"It's not as if we were doing stick-ups," DaSilva told ABCNEWS. "This was unclaimed money."
All told, this pulled in around $6,000 a month for Harn and DaSilva.
The Greed Grows
DaSilva used his share to jet off to places like Los Angeles, Miami and Las Vegas. "I like nice things and I had begun to live beyond my means," he said. They wanted more money.
Harn thought of a more lucrative way to scam the tracks. They would hit the "Pick Six," a bet which requires picking the winners of six consecutive races. They would test the scheme at Belmont Park, New York's biggest racetrack.
Here's how they did it: Harn would phone in a "pick six" bet using DaSilva's off-track betting account. The winners he chose did not matter.
Following the fourth race, Harn would use his computer access as a programmer at Autotote and, within the span of 20 minutes, exploit a loophole which allowed him to change the bets before the results were recorded.
For the last two races, he did what was known as "betting the wheel," which was to select every horse to win. "So you can't lose," DaSilva adds.
The first pick six bet netted more than $100,000. "They sent me my money and they congratulated me on my style of betting," says DaSilva.
Meanwhile, racing officials were completely unaware of the scams. "It laid under the radar screen," says Bill Nader of the New York Racing Association. "It was a relatively small payoff. It wasn't something that was very noticeable." This, of course, was the beauty of the scam or so DaSilva and Harn thought.
"You do it because the software is vulnerable," says DaSilva, "and you are not gonna be caught. You're simply not gonna be caught."
Losers By a Longshot
But then they made what would be the biggest mistake of their lives. Harn decided to hit last years' Breeders' Cup, the biggest day in horse racing, and, without telling DaSilva, got another fraternity brother, Derrick Davis, in on the scheme. The scam was the same.
And it might have worked if it were not for a little known horse with odds 43-to-1 against making a miracle finish.
"It was simply the undeniable will of the universe that brought in Volponi that day," recalls DaSilva. Volponi "blew every other horse out of the water that day by at least five or six lengths."
As DaSilva recalled, this meant Derrick Davis was holding the only winning tickets in the world for the biggest bet on the biggest day in horse racing. He held claim to the entire pot reserved for the winner of the highest bet — in this case, the Pick Six — and would have been entitled to $3.1 million.
"This could have been the biggest wagering fraud ever," says Nader.
The New York State Wagering Board had never seen anything like it. Tom Casergola, audits director for the board, then heard from the head of the OTB where Davis' tickets had been purchased.
Casergola was told, "Well, if you think that wagering combination is unusual, we had another one a couple of weeks ago, same type of wagering pattern."
The OTB executive was referring to Glen DaSilva's Pick Six win at Belmont. It was not long until it was discovered that the winners of the two suspicious bets — Davis and DaSilva — had each lived together had the same address years ago. It was their Drexel University fraternity house. And one other person lived there as well — a computer programmer for the Autotote named Chris Harn.
"So at that point, we pretty much had a pretty clear understanding of who was involved," says Casergola.
Cut and Run
Still, DaSilva was unmoved by the prosecution that was starting to mount around him and his friends. "What they had was a lot of suspicion," DaSilva says, "and a lot of coincidence, but they had no evidence."
But Harn, facing potentially seven years in prison for his deeds and with it, many years away from his wife and young daughter, cut a deal for a lighter sentence and confessed everything, including the scheme to cash bogus tickets with the serial numbers from the unclaimed winning tickets.
"This was something they could have done I'm sure for years and years because that was well below the radar screen." Nader says, admitting that the men could still have been making thousands a month on the scam. Instead, all three landed in federal prison.
Harn is serving a year and a day. Dasilva got two years, and Davis, three.
When asked about the possibility of being able to have to continue winning, to continue the high life, and never getting caught, DaSilva replies matter-of-factly: "What could have been … "
But for Glen DaSilva, Chris Harn and Derrick Davis, the difference between the high life and hard time was a 43-to-1 longshot no one ever heard of named Volponi.
Few know that, from the dropped and lost race tickets left uncashed each year, there are millions of dollars that remain unclaimed.
For a short time last year, those few included two young men who knew where to find the money and how to get it. Their misadventures would eventually lead them to what is thought to be the largest betting scandal in American sporting history.
In an exclusive interview for Primetime Monday, Glen DaSilva, a key player in the scandal, sat down and discussed his involvement in the scheme which rocked the betting world. It is the first time that any of the principal players involved in the scandal has agreed to a television interview.
An Ominous Meeting of the Minds
The story began about 10 years ago at Drexel University in Philadelphia, where Glen DaSilva met his roommate Chris Harn, a shy yet talented computer whiz kid in his freshman year.
The friendship was serendipitous. Harn helped DaSilva with computers and the charismatic DaSilva helped Harn socialize. DaSilva eventually convinced Harn to join the same fraternity as he did.
DaSilva stayed friends with Harn after college and moved to Manhattan. But the slow job market began to wear on him. "It's the 'why me' syndrome. 'Why do I continue to be the one who's laid off?,' " recalls DaSilva, 30.
But DaSilva liked the high life and began using drugs. He was even arrested for cocaine possession. At this low point for DaSilva, financially and emotionally, Harn approached DaSilva with an idea for how to make a few quick bucks.
Now working as a programmer with a company named Autotote, a company which handles most of the nation's horse racing bets, Harn discovered those tickets which remain uncashed were listed in his company's computer.
"He printed on the Autotote computers tickets with serial numbers that he knew were uncashed," says Daniel Conti, Harn's attorney. DaSilva took these tickets and brought them to New York area race tracks, slipped in the "winning" tickets into the betting machines, which would print cash vouchers in return.
"It's not as if we were doing stick-ups," DaSilva told ABCNEWS. "This was unclaimed money."
All told, this pulled in around $6,000 a month for Harn and DaSilva.
The Greed Grows
DaSilva used his share to jet off to places like Los Angeles, Miami and Las Vegas. "I like nice things and I had begun to live beyond my means," he said. They wanted more money.
Harn thought of a more lucrative way to scam the tracks. They would hit the "Pick Six," a bet which requires picking the winners of six consecutive races. They would test the scheme at Belmont Park, New York's biggest racetrack.
Here's how they did it: Harn would phone in a "pick six" bet using DaSilva's off-track betting account. The winners he chose did not matter.
Following the fourth race, Harn would use his computer access as a programmer at Autotote and, within the span of 20 minutes, exploit a loophole which allowed him to change the bets before the results were recorded.
For the last two races, he did what was known as "betting the wheel," which was to select every horse to win. "So you can't lose," DaSilva adds.
The first pick six bet netted more than $100,000. "They sent me my money and they congratulated me on my style of betting," says DaSilva.
Meanwhile, racing officials were completely unaware of the scams. "It laid under the radar screen," says Bill Nader of the New York Racing Association. "It was a relatively small payoff. It wasn't something that was very noticeable." This, of course, was the beauty of the scam or so DaSilva and Harn thought.
"You do it because the software is vulnerable," says DaSilva, "and you are not gonna be caught. You're simply not gonna be caught."
Losers By a Longshot
But then they made what would be the biggest mistake of their lives. Harn decided to hit last years' Breeders' Cup, the biggest day in horse racing, and, without telling DaSilva, got another fraternity brother, Derrick Davis, in on the scheme. The scam was the same.
And it might have worked if it were not for a little known horse with odds 43-to-1 against making a miracle finish.
"It was simply the undeniable will of the universe that brought in Volponi that day," recalls DaSilva. Volponi "blew every other horse out of the water that day by at least five or six lengths."
As DaSilva recalled, this meant Derrick Davis was holding the only winning tickets in the world for the biggest bet on the biggest day in horse racing. He held claim to the entire pot reserved for the winner of the highest bet — in this case, the Pick Six — and would have been entitled to $3.1 million.
"This could have been the biggest wagering fraud ever," says Nader.
The New York State Wagering Board had never seen anything like it. Tom Casergola, audits director for the board, then heard from the head of the OTB where Davis' tickets had been purchased.
Casergola was told, "Well, if you think that wagering combination is unusual, we had another one a couple of weeks ago, same type of wagering pattern."
The OTB executive was referring to Glen DaSilva's Pick Six win at Belmont. It was not long until it was discovered that the winners of the two suspicious bets — Davis and DaSilva — had each lived together had the same address years ago. It was their Drexel University fraternity house. And one other person lived there as well — a computer programmer for the Autotote named Chris Harn.
"So at that point, we pretty much had a pretty clear understanding of who was involved," says Casergola.
Cut and Run
Still, DaSilva was unmoved by the prosecution that was starting to mount around him and his friends. "What they had was a lot of suspicion," DaSilva says, "and a lot of coincidence, but they had no evidence."
But Harn, facing potentially seven years in prison for his deeds and with it, many years away from his wife and young daughter, cut a deal for a lighter sentence and confessed everything, including the scheme to cash bogus tickets with the serial numbers from the unclaimed winning tickets.
"This was something they could have done I'm sure for years and years because that was well below the radar screen." Nader says, admitting that the men could still have been making thousands a month on the scam. Instead, all three landed in federal prison.
Harn is serving a year and a day. Dasilva got two years, and Davis, three.
When asked about the possibility of being able to have to continue winning, to continue the high life, and never getting caught, DaSilva replies matter-of-factly: "What could have been … "
But for Glen DaSilva, Chris Harn and Derrick Davis, the difference between the high life and hard time was a 43-to-1 longshot no one ever heard of named Volponi.
Like many of the best plots, the Trodmore Hunt was elegant in its simplicity. Someone calling himself G Martin, of St Ives in Cornwall, wrote to The Sportsman newspaper, which in those days was the principal rival to The Sporting Life. He enclosed a list of runners and riders for the Trodmore Hunt race meeting, to be held on 1 August, a Bank Holiday.
In those days, there was no official fixture list, and journalists were happy to accept what help they could from eager members of the public in compiling their racecards, not least on busy Bank Holidays. Martin had chosen his date carefully, and was effectively gambling on the ignorance and laziness of The Sportsman's journalists. It was a safe bet.
The card duly appeared without anyone bothering to check whether Trodmore exists (it doesn't). The following day, Martin sent in a list of the winners and their starting prices - including, as it happens, several horses which had been heavily backed with the illegal street bookies of the time - and these too were published. Again, the plotters had been clever, and the "results" were not too greedy - four winning favourites and nothing at odds of more than 5-1.
This was apparently enough for several bookmakers, who paid out without a second thought. It was all too easy. But the one thing the conspirators could not allow for was human error. The Sporting Life, annoyed that it had somehow missed the original card, cribbed the results from The Sportsman, but somewhere in the typesetting process, a printer's hand slipped and the price of one winner became 5-2 rather than 5-1.
Now, many bookmakers were confused, and started to investigate Trodmore a little more closely. At which point, of course, the truth emerged, and the pay-outs stopped. Yet the true identity of G Martin and his fellow confidence tricksters remains a mystery, and the fact that it took a printing error to expose them can only make you wonder if - or even how often - an identical plan might previously have succeeded.
In those days, there was no official fixture list, and journalists were happy to accept what help they could from eager members of the public in compiling their racecards, not least on busy Bank Holidays. Martin had chosen his date carefully, and was effectively gambling on the ignorance and laziness of The Sportsman's journalists. It was a safe bet.
The card duly appeared without anyone bothering to check whether Trodmore exists (it doesn't). The following day, Martin sent in a list of the winners and their starting prices - including, as it happens, several horses which had been heavily backed with the illegal street bookies of the time - and these too were published. Again, the plotters had been clever, and the "results" were not too greedy - four winning favourites and nothing at odds of more than 5-1.
This was apparently enough for several bookmakers, who paid out without a second thought. It was all too easy. But the one thing the conspirators could not allow for was human error. The Sporting Life, annoyed that it had somehow missed the original card, cribbed the results from The Sportsman, but somewhere in the typesetting process, a printer's hand slipped and the price of one winner became 5-2 rather than 5-1.
Now, many bookmakers were confused, and started to investigate Trodmore a little more closely. At which point, of course, the truth emerged, and the pay-outs stopped. Yet the true identity of G Martin and his fellow confidence tricksters remains a mystery, and the fact that it took a printing error to expose them can only make you wonder if - or even how often - an identical plan might previously have succeeded.
Can not find anything on the internet, but what about the tractor driver at Brough Park greyhound stadium, and the first four trap sixes going in
Some of the poker money was immediately re invested into the sports markets 
I was actually playing at the time it happened, I was informed of what was going on
sadly the poker was shut down shortly after
sadly the poker was shut down shortly after
Spanish radio 30 seconds head of Sky la liga pictures..... Those were the days!.
I'm pretty certain that was Sunderland Huggy and not Brough Park. The tractor was sabotaged and it was 6&5 all day, the inside traps needed Wellington boots it was so flooded and the forecast double merchants on the wide runners got the lot.
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