missed tober posting the same

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

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?

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!”

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.

G martin goes by the name lampus

Trodmore always been my favourite. Well in tober.

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

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

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.