For the vast majority of punters, gambling serves as a form of entertainment – a way to add a little excitement to a sporting event or unwind at the end of the day. For others, the activity presents an irresistible opportunity to cheat.
From the fixing of the World Series in 1919, through the exploits of “proposition bettor” Titanic Thompson, and on to horse racing scams such as the Gay Future incident, the history of gambling is peppered with skullduggery. While some swindles add dubious colour to betting’s heritage, others reside squarely in the realms of the bare-faced con. The subject of this article belongs in the latter camp.
For more than two decades, Jason Haddigan targeted betting shops up and down the country. Forming a conman double act with his father, Haddigan reportedly played on flaws in processes and the naivety of staff to swindle the bookmakers for vast sums.
Following a spate of criminal convictions, Haddigan later recounted the tale of his life and nefarious times in the self-authored “How and Why I Conned the Bookies: Lessons from a Loser for Gamblers the World Over.” Fast forward to 2026 and Haddigan is born again as a tipster, offering his selections on the racing action – for a fee, of course.
Like Father Like Son
Jason Haddigan was introduced to the gambling lifestyle by his father, Brian. Recalling his youth, Jason claims to have frequented poker dens and hustled pool by the age of nine. By 16, he had progressed to casinos, where he gained his first experience of the game which would plague much of his life – roulette.
Having left school, Jason briefly worked for his father’s roofing business. However, the duo reportedly fled to Cornwall in an effort to escape a £20,000 fraud charge heading in Brian Haddigan’s direction. And so, the scamming began.
How Haddigan Scammed the Bookies
Initially, the Haddigans’ method was no more complicated than placing a bet after the result of a race was known. If the betting shop staff noticed, the bet would be void, and they would receive their stake back. If the bet slipped through the net, they could happily collect their winnings. A method with minimal downside when detected, but a relatively low strike rate.
The advancement in the modus operandi centred around sleight of hand and distraction. In the days of the old two-part carbon copy betting slips, Haddigan would hand over a written-out slip. He would allow the cashier to process the slip, applying a slip number and time stamp.
It was at this point that Haddigan would claim to have made an error and ask to amend the slip before it was separated into two parts. However, the fraudster recounts that this was a ruse to replace the time-stamped slip with an identical slip written out in advance.
If all went to plan, Haddigan would now have in his possession the top and bottom copies of a time-stamped betting slip. The next step, according to Haddigan, was to erase the original writing from the slips, creating a blank betting slip dated in the past – or as Haddigan would refer to it, “the golden ticket”. From there, Haddigan could watch the racing and fill out the slip with a known result of his choosing.
Distracting the cashier one last time, the travelling conman would slip the top copy of his new “winning” slip to the other side of the counter. When spotted by the bookmaker, the slip would be added to the stack of bets and settled as normal. With the time stamp suggesting the bet was placed before the event started, Haddigan could hand over the bottom copy, pocket the winnings, and complete the con. Most often using his “golden ticket” to select winning forecasts and tricasts, Haddigan could collect hundreds to thousands of pounds each time this was successful.
The replacement of the two-part betting slip with scanned image-based betting slips forced a change in strategy. Details of Haddigan’s new system are unclear, but reports suggest they centred on poorly written or ambiguous bets that he would later seek to amend. These methods relied more on staff goodwill or procedural failure to succeed, but appear to have worked often enough to keep the conman in business – until the law stepped in.
Caught in the Act
The Haddigans’ British scamming tour was sure to catch up with them eventually, and has done so on several occasions. Brian and Jason Haddigan, and accomplice Neil Cole, have all spent time in prison as a result of their activities.
In 2014, Haddigan received a 14-month sentence for conspiracy to defraud bookmakers. He also received a five-year ban from entering any betting shop in England and Wales.
No sooner had his ban expired than Haddigan sprang back into action. Hitting a string of bookmakers in West Wales in 2019, he added thousands to his haul before fleeing the country. Upon his return to the UK, Jason made it no further than Gatwick Airport before being arrested by the authorities. Back in court to answer for his latest crimes in 2021, he was handed a second custodial sentence of 21 weeks.
Why Did He Do It?
Simple greed and an addiction to life in the fast lane may have played a role in Haddigan’s decades-spanning portfolio of cons. However, his own issues with gambling added fuel to the fire.
When recounting his conman years, Haddigan describes a pattern of hitting the bookmakers, booking a hotel, partying, and blowing whatever remained on roulette – not a recipe for financial stability, and so Haddigan conned again.
The advent of the Fixed Odds Betting Terminals (FOBTs) and their rapid-fire games exacerbated Haddigan’s roulette affliction and the con/gamble cycle. Haddigan states that he lost £4 million over the years and continues to refer to FOBT roulette games as “evil”.
Enter the Moosh
Banned from every betting shop in the land and with the conning game not as easy as it used to be, Jason Haddigan has reinvented himself as “Moosh”, the horse racing tipster. Running under the name George White, moosh-tips007 had over 300k followers on Instagram in January 2026, while @moosh_tips_007 had approximately 39k followers on X.
Heading to the Moosh Tips website in early 2026 revealed several pricing options, ranging from a few pounds per month to several hundred pounds for a lifetime membership. For those not interested in the tips, there is also the unexpected option to enquire about owning your very own Moosh Supa Scooter…
Detailed records confirming the profitability of this tipping service – brought to you by a convicted conman – are difficult to find. Negative reports from users are significantly easier.