The Barking Dog, a bustling pub in Urmston, Greater Manchester, has recently found itself at the center of an unlikely international scandal. What began as a friendly weekly trivia night—drawing crowds of 70 to 80 locals eager to win a £30 bar tab—has transformed into what the landlord jokingly dubbed "the crime of the century." The intrigue? A high-stakes whodunnit involving a team of middle-aged women, a string of improbable victories, and a clever scheme involving smartwatches and song-identifying apps.
For about a year and a half leading up to November 2025, this particular team became the stuff of legend—and, for some regulars, frustration. According to RNZ, quizmaster Bobby Bruen noticed that the newcomers, at first, seemed simply brilliant. They breezed through rounds, consistently answering even the most obscure questions and racking up win after win. Their dominance was so profound that it began to drive other teams away, with suspicions of foul play mounting, though no evidence surfaced at first.
"We started getting a bit fishy because we had complaints about them cheating, but we never saw anything," Bruen told RNZ’s Morning Report. The doubts reached a boiling point during the quiz’s music round, where contestants are challenged to identify ten song titles and artists from just the intros, and then discern the secret connection—a feat that often stumps even the savviest music aficionados. Bruen recounted how the team managed to nail every round, from '80s hip hop to '50s rock to 2010s pop, even identifying obscure producer credits not listed on Spotify. "I didn’t have no clue of the connection—that’s when I thought 'right, you really are cheating now'," he admitted.
To level the playing field, the pub imposed a phone ban about six weeks before the scandal broke, hoping to curb any digital assistance. Yet, the winning streak continued unabated. The staff, now more suspicious than ever, decided to step up their sleuthing. One employee started peering over the team's shoulders, while another slipped outside to spy through the window. That’s when they caught the team whispering into their smartwatches and using an app—later identified as Shazam—to guess the songs. "They just stayed silent, they didn’t even deny it. They just sat in silence and turned away," Bruen told RNZ.
The fallout was swift. The cheating team was banned from the quiz, though their identities remain a closely guarded secret—"for our sake and their sake," Bruen explained. The landlord, Mark Rackham, took to Facebook to share the story, sparking what he called a "massive whodunnit" in the local community. "Everyone's desperate to know who's done it. I was at a council meeting the next day and people were coming over and asking me about the quiz," Rackham told the BBC, adding a touch of humor by labeling it "the crime of the century."
As news of the scandal spread, not just across Greater Manchester but as far as New Zealand and Canada, the Barking Dog’s weekly trivia night became a media sensation. The BBC reported that the first quiz after the exposé saw a surge in participation, with 17 teams turning up and a palpable sense of excitement in the air. Regulars who had stayed away in protest began to return, and new faces joined in, all eager to be part of the now-famous event.
Grace, a member of one of the returning teams, told the BBC she was pleased the cheating team had finally been caught, as their repeated wins had driven others away. "It's brought people back and it's nice to see familiar faces back in the pub," she said. Her teammate Beth described the "drama" as "insane", while Olivia noted the "electric atmosphere" that now filled the pub. The cheating, it turns out, had become an open secret. "It was so obvious," Grace said, recalling how the team would know all the answers, including obscure details about every genre. "We just thought at first they were incredibly intelligent," she admitted, but eventually, "they weren't quite the eggheads we thought they were."
Other quizgoers shared similar sentiments. Nia, another participant, described the recent media attention as "crazy" and admitted she’d seen people "on their phones and smartphones" but wasn’t sure if they were cheating. For Callum, the scandal was almost comical. "We never do well enough to come in the top three to be mad enough," he told the BBC. The drama even lured in first-timers like John and Carole Kelly, who confessed, "I won't even get my phone out of my bag," out of fear of being suspected.
Rob Hardie, co-director of the Barking Dog, revealed to the BBC that the telltale sign was the team’s near-perfect scores—"pretty much 100% correct, which no one really does so it was a tell-tale sign that something was amiss." The investigation was sparked by an anonymous tip-off, and the final proof came when Hardie saw the team using their smartwatches through a window. The staff then replaced the banned team’s table with new players, and the quiz resumed its friendly, competitive spirit.
Quizmaster Bobby Bruen, now something of a local celebrity, has been interviewed by radio stations as far away as New Zealand and Canada. He told RNZ there’s no need to change the rules: "Because of how much media frenzy that this story has got that no one would dare to cheat in this pub again, because you’ll end up in the news in New Zealand." The Barking Dog’s quiz night has become a symbol of community resilience, with regulars refusing to disclose the identity of the miscreants and choosing instead to focus on the fun of the game.
As the night wound down after the first post-scandal quiz, the losers—cheerfully dubbed "Short, Bark and Sides"—walked away with a pack of Jammie Dodgers biscuits, while the winners, fittingly named "Agatha Quiztie", claimed the coveted £30 bar tab. Order restored, the Barking Dog’s trivia nights are once again the talk of the town, now with a story that’s sure to be retold for years to come.
Sometimes, it takes a little drama to remind everyone what makes a local pub—and its quirky traditions—so special.
