HISTORIC SCANDALThe father-in-law of a PREMIER LEAGUE star was the ‘mastermind’ of a match-fixing case that resulted in a rider he deliberately ‘prepared’ being banned for NINE YEARS in a historic case CAUSING much controversy in the most scandalous case in history that caused the BHA to lose all its reputation
In the annals of British horse racing, few events have cast as dark a shadow as the deliberate sabotaging of a horse named Hillsin on a humid summer afternoon at Worcester Racecourse.
On July 5, 2023, what should have been a routine Class 5 handicap hurdle descended into infamy when 21-year-old jockey Dylan Kitts, astride the 2-1 favorite, inexplicably eased up in the final furlong.
Hillsin, a promising five-year-old gelding owned by Alan Clegg and trained by Chris Honour, had cruised effortlessly to the last flight, a length clear with momentum to spare.
Yet Kitts remained motionless, allowing the horse to drift back to a hollow third place, beaten by just a neck and a quarter-length.
The betting markets had already whispered suspicions: Hillsin, once a solid favorite, had “drifted” to 11-1 in a flurry of late money against him, leaving punters friendless and furious.
Behind this betrayal lurked John Higgins, a 79-year-old racing enthusiast and the father-in-law of Burnley Football Club striker Ashley Barnes.
Described by an independent judicial panel as the “puppet master” and “leading light in the conspiracy,” Higgins orchestrated a scheme that has since been branded the most egregious corruption case in the sport’s modern history.
At 77 years old during the plot’s execution, Higgins methodically groomed the impressionable Kitts over months, dangling promises of lucrative future rides and financial incentives. His goal? To nobble Hillsin deliberately, preserving the horse’s form for a lucrative comeback at inflated odds in a subsequent race.
To cover tracks, Higgins even plotted to scapegoat Honour, the innocent trainer, as the fall guy—a chilling layer of deceit that underscored the operation’s cold calculation.
The plot unraveled slowly, like a detective novel spanning two grueling years. Post-race stewards, sensing foul play, grilled Kitts, who stammered that Hillsin had suddenly “made a noise” mid-stride, spooking him into inaction. It was a flimsy excuse, quickly dismantled by video replays showing the horse traveling with verve.
Kitts’ license was suspended on the spot, plunging the young rider—then on the cusp of stardom—into limbo. The British Horseracing Authority (BHA) launched what it later called a “complex fraud-level” probe, employing groundbreaking telephone data extraction for the first time in racing’s disciplinary annals.
This forensic dive into call logs, texts, and metadata painted a damning portrait: Higgins’ persistent overtures to Kitts, laced with veiled threats of professional ruin if the jockey balked.
Kitts, in a tearful admission during hearings, confessed to perceiving a “threat” from the elder man, though the panel ruled no direct violence was implied—merely the suffocating pressure of a mentor turned manipulator.
Higgins, a fixture on the racing circuit and Clegg’s longtime associate, stonewalled the investigation from the outset. He ignored summonses, citing ill health, and even enlisted his son-in-law Barnes in a bid for non-cooperation—earning both exclusion orders from the BHA as early as March 2024.
Barnes, the burly Premier League forward whose goals have lit up Turf Moor, maintained a dignified silence, insisting his family ties bore no influence on the track. Yet the optics were toxic: a high-profile footballer dragged into racing’s underbelly, amplifying the scandal’s reach from sleepy county fairs to national headlines.
The hammer fell on November 24, 2025, when the judicial panel delivered its sanctions in a verdict that echoed through stables and boardrooms alike. Kitts, now 24 and adrift from the sport he once idolized, copped a nine-year ban—the severest ever meted to a British jockey for corruption.
“He was beginning to make a name for himself,” the panel intoned, “but for all the wrong reasons.
Resurrecting his career will take considerable time.” In a bizarre footnote, Kitts had inked a “Hillsin” tattoo on his backside during his suspension—a misguided emblem, he claimed, of consigning the fiasco “behind him.” Higgins fared worse: a 12-year disqualification, backdated to his exclusion order, effectively a lifetime exile for a man of his vintage.
Hillsin himself drew a 40-day ban, an ironic punishment for a victim of human frailty, while Honour escaped with a £750 fine for initially misleading stewards in Kitts’ defense.
The fallout has been seismic, igniting a firestorm of controversy that has singed the BHA’s once-unassailable authority. Critics, from punters’ forums to parliamentary whispers, decry the investigation’s glacial pace—over two years to nail a single race—as evidence of bureaucratic inertia in an era demanding swift digital justice.
“This isn’t just a rogue plot; it’s a systemic failure,” thundered Racing Post columnist Andrew Scutts, echoing a chorus questioning how a 77-year-old outsider could puppeteer insiders undetected.
The BHA’s vaunted integrity unit, bolstered by £2 million in annual funding, stands accused of complacency, with whispers of overlooked red flags in betting patterns and groomer-jockey dynamics.
One insider, speaking anonymously to The Guardian, likened the affair to “a cancer exposed too late,” eroding trust among the 500,000 annual racegoers who wager billions.
BHA chief executive Julie Harrington defended the verdict as a “clear message” of zero tolerance, emphasizing that “running and riding to best ability is the sport’s bedrock.” Yet her words rang hollow amid boycotts at select meetings and a 15% dip in levy collections this quarter, per industry leaks.
Sponsors, including betting giants like Bet365, have quietly distanced themselves, while MPs on the Culture, Media and Sport select committee mull an inquiry into regulatory lapses.
The panel itself pulled no punches on Higgins’ remorse-free defiance—”protesting innocence via the press” rather than facing facts—fueling debates on whether bans alone deter the desperate or the devious.
For Kitts, the human cost is starkest. A prodigy from Kent’s flatlands, he rode 47 winners in his debut season, eyes on Cheltenham glory. Now, tattoo and all, he’s a pariah, his dreams deferred to 2034—if the sport forgives.
Barnes, unscathed legally, navigates the glare, his Burnley teammates reportedly rallying in private. Clegg, the unwitting owner, mourns a horse’s tainted legacy, vowing to rebuild sans Higgins’ shadow.
This saga transcends Worcester’s turf; it’s a requiem for racing’s romantic veneer. In an age of algorithms and apps, where every stride is scrutinized, the Hillsin heist reminds us corruption thrives not in shadows but in trusted bonds—father-in-laws to sons-in-law, mentors to mentees.
The BHA, once racing’s unyielding sentinel, now licks wounds from a self-inflicted scandal, its reputation in tatters. As winter gallops toward Cheltenham, one question lingers: Can British racing reclaim its soul, or will Higgins’ ghost haunt the winners’ enclosure forever? The answer, like a drifted favorite, remains perilously uncertain.
