I'm going to show you how a data-driven selection process, built and tested over years, can turn your results on the horses around.
A betting bot so patient and so particular about price that it lets most races go by without a second look.
That patience has already turned ten everyday punters into winners over the last 30 days.
Not one of these people had any real history of taking money off the bookmakers before now.
Among them are a retired postman, a bus driver from Croydon, a couple of office workers, a self-employed electrician and a dental receptionist.
Two of them had never placed a bet online until the end of September.
Not every morning brings a winner, and I'll never pretend otherwise.
But the weeks keep adding up in one direction, and October has been the strongest stretch of the year so far.
Yet each of them arrived carrying the same private resentment.
It's the feeling you get when someone at work flashes a winning slip on his phone and you've got nothing to show back.
They were fed up watching other people cash in while they stood on the outside looking in.
This time, they wanted to be holding the winning ticket for a change.
And now, after 29 winners in 30 days, that's where they find themselves.
The last week alone added more than a grand to most of their balances.
They're already looking past today's card and into November with real confidence.
Some mornings there are two winners tucked inside three or four selections.
So what separates these ten people from you, sat there reading this?
They said yes while the door was open, rather than talking themselves out of it.
They backed themselves, followed my bets and let the results speak for them.
In a moment I'll show you what a few of them had to say, in their own words.
But first, let me be upfront with you about what this is, and just as importantly, what it isn't.
"I'd tried to follow form for years and could never tell a horse that was badly placed in a race from one that was just plain slow. Rick's emails have done that sorting for me, and after 30 days I'm £4,410 better off."
Ian Stainforth, Harrogate
"£5,120 in a single month, and I still have to read that figure twice. I'm 63, I've backed horses since Shergar won the Derby, and I've never once been able to write a sentence like that."
Brenda Lowther, Workington
"Do you know what surprised me most? It wasn't the £3,960, it was how little time it took, because I place the bets during the adverts on breakfast telly and that's me done for the day."
Joanne Ackroyd, Halifax
"Rick, I owe you a pint for telling me to keep my stakes small for the first fortnight. I did as I was told, and now I'm £6,035 up and staking twice what I started with."
Mervyn Hosking, Truro
I'm not interested in wild promises, because wild promises are what burned you before.
What I'm offering is less dramatic and a lot more useful, a repeatable advantage you can lean on.
The kind of thing that changes your month, then your year, without ever feeling like a gamble.
Let's start with who's really to blame.
It isn't entirely the bookmakers' fault that you're not winning right now.
Yes, the odds are built to favour them, but a fair number of ordinary people still win, and win regularly.
They're nowhere near as untouchable as the average punter assumes.
There's a real living to be carved out of their multi-billion pound industry, provided you go about it the right way.
You won't get there by dusting off the same tired systems that have been doing the rounds for twenty years.
You won't get there chasing whichever red-hot tipster the big racing sites are pushing this week.
And you won't get there grinding away on your own, however good you think your eye for form is.
That's how unforgiving this game has become, and I refuse to pretend otherwise.
The bookmakers now sit behind pricing technology that private punters could only dream of not so long ago.
If the other side of the counter is working from numbers, the only sensible reply is numbers of your own.
You're reading this because you want a real advantage
Something that puts you ahead of the huge majority who are running on hope alone.
You're sick of hearing about everyone else's big weekend.
The good news is that the door is open right now, this month.
You have a real chance to take a small bank and turn it into something that matters over the next 30 days.
Most people are convinced they lose because luck never falls their way.
The truth is a good deal harder to swallow than that.
The maths is working against you from the second you open an account.
Every price on the board carries an overround, which means the bookmaker's own numbers across a race add up to well beyond 100%.
That extra slice is their built-in margin, and it means that even picking winners at random you'd still bleed money over time.
On a big-field handicap that slice can run to 20% or more, which is a heavy tax to pay before a horse has even left the stalls.
Most punters then dig the hole deeper with decisions driven by emotion rather than price.
A horse bolts up two starts running and suddenly it feels like it can't possibly lose.
That feeling has a name, recency bias, and the layers have been charging you for it for decades.
So they shave the price and pad the margin, and the money leaves your pocket while you're still feeling clever.
Hardly anyone has a settled plan for how much goes on each bet.
They pile in when they feel sure, then pile in harder still when they're trying to win back a bad run.
Neither move is grounded in anything sensible, and a handful of losers in an afternoon can swallow three weeks of patient progress whole.
And finally there's the information gap, and it's a canyon.
The big firms crunch millions of data points a day to build the prices you see.
You're sat there with the form page, a feeling in your stomach and somebody's tip in the paper.
Bridging that distance without a serious analytical engine behind you is close to impossible.
That engine is what Sterling Bet App puts in your corner.
Before we go any further, let me tell you how I actually got here.
My name's Rick Davidson, I'm 47, and I've lived in London my whole life.
I grew up in a terraced house in Plaistow, and on a Saturday afternoon the racing was always on the radio in the background.
My first bet was 50p each way on a grey at Sandown when I was 18, picked purely because I liked the colour of the jockey's silks.
It finished nowhere, and I've been trying to win that 50p back ever since.
I've been betting on horses for the best part of thirty years, long enough to know how cruel it can be.
It started the way it starts for nearly everyone, a small bet at the weekend to make the racing worth watching.
For years I earned my living as an estimator in the building trade, pricing up jobs down to the last bag of sand.
An estimator spends all day working out what a job will really cost, and a firm lives or dies on how close those figures come.
Price too high and you lose the contract, price too low and you win it and lose money on every brick.
I learned early that the tender which wins is very often the one somebody got wrong.
That lesson sat at the back of my mind for twenty years before I realised it described a betting shop almost perfectly.
The horse the whole country piles into is the cheap tender, and the bookmaker is delighted to accept it.
That work drummed one habit into me above all others, which was to trust the numbers and never the feeling in my gut.
At first it was a bit of fun, then it slowly turned into a low, nagging frustration.
Some weeks I'd win nicely and swagger about as though I had it all worked out.
Other weeks I'd hand it all straight back and feel like the biggest mug going.
I spent years trapped in that loop, forever close and never once reliable.
I studied form, watched the replays, followed the trainers and tracked the markets
I knew more than the man in the street, and that only made it worse.
There were nights I told my wife I was packing it in for good, and I meant it each time.
Then a decent Saturday would come along and drag me straight back in again.
The worst part was never the money on its own.
It was standing at the bar at Kempton on a Wednesday evening, explaining to a mate why the horse I'd been sure of had run like a cart horse.
I had a reason for every loser and no idea why any of my winners had won.
When you price a job wrong on site, the loss is right there in black and white at the end, and there's nobody to blame but yourself.
I brought that same unforgiving attitude to my betting records, even when the numbers made grim reading.
There was one stretch, a bad autumn a few years back, where I dropped the best part of two grand chasing a system that had long since stopped working.
It was a laying system I'd paid £97 for, and it worked beautifully on paper for precisely as long as it took me to start using it.
That was the lowest I got with it, and strangely it was also the most useful thing that ever happened to me.
It forced me to stop guessing and start proving, which is when the real work began.
Little systems, angles, filters and rules scribbled on the back of an envelope on a Friday night.
The one thing I never stopped doing was writing everything down
Every bet went into a running log on the computer, even the daft ones I was embarrassed about.
And that log, boring as it sounds, was where it all slowly began to turn.
Patterns only start showing themselves once you stop kidding yourself about your own results.
I stopped asking which horses had won and started asking why the losers had lost.
One wet Tuesday night I was scrolling back through a couple of years of old bets with nothing particular in mind.
I wasn't hunting for winners, I was just reading, the way you might flick through old photographs.
And that's when something odd climbed off the screen at me.
A certain kind of horse I'd confidently written off kept turning up again and again.
Not winning each time, nothing as neat as that, but running a lot better than the result on paper suggested.
Slowly at first, purely against old data, then with a run of small real bets so I had skin in the game.
I set myself a hard rule that nothing counted until I'd seen it hold up over a long stretch, not a lucky fortnight.
The outcome was stronger and more stubborn than it had any right to be.
The real breakthrough arrived the day I stopped caring where a horse crossed the line and started studying how it got there.
Most punters watch a horse fade in the last two furlongs, tut, and file it under non-stayer forever.
I began to spot a very particular type of horse that had actually been flying through the middle section of the race.
The sort that had run one of the fastest middle sections in the field, then been beaten by a finish that didn't suit it.
Picture a natural sprinter asked to run a furlong further than it wants, then judged only on how it looked crawling past the post.
The finishing position lies about that horse, and the market takes the finishing position at face value
Move that same horse to a track with a shorter run-in, or a different surface, or a truer gallop, and the speed it showed last time suddenly has somewhere to go.
I was chasing the horse whose real ability had been masked by the wrong race the time before.
That was the first filter that made a difference I could actually measure and repeat.
And it became the cornerstone that everything else was later built on top of.
Certain horses were being backed in small, persistent amounts in the day or two before a race, with no tip and no headline to explain it.
That kind of silent money tends to know something, and I learned to treat it as a whisper worth listening to.
I'd never back a horse for that reason alone, but alongside the first pattern it settled a lot of close calls.
The third piece was the one that turned a decent idea into a real advantage.
It wasn't enough to find a horse that could win, I had to be sure the price on offer was bigger than the horse's true chance deserved.
That one rule, only betting when the odds are too big, is what separates a hobby from a living.
Weeks rolled into months at my desk long after the rest of the house had gone to bed.
Each change was tested against real data, never assumed to be an improvement.
I gave the idea a full year of patient testing before I trusted it with any serious money.
I wanted to see the approach survive a lean month and a long run of near misses, and still come out in front.
Only once it had been kicked around like that and refused to break did I let myself believe in it.
I'd gone three weeks running to the process, no deviations, no clever overrides, and the bank had climbed the whole time.
For the first time in nearly thirty years of betting, I hadn't once felt that sick lurch of chasing a loss.
That sense of control, more than any single big win, was what told me I'd turned a corner.
There came a point where my own method outgrew me.
The data set had swollen to the stage where doing it all by hand each morning was no longer possible.
I was juggling five full years of race data across every UK track, plus going conditions, trainer and jockey cycles, in-running timing records, stall positions and the history of how each market had moved.
Stitching all of that together by hand was swallowing up to four hours a morning, and I was still letting things slip through the net.
I'm not a trained programmer, so I signed up for two evenings a week of Python classes at a college in Holborn, sat among students half my age.
The tutor set exercises about sorting shopping lists and stock levels, and I'd go home and rewrite them to sort race cards instead.
By the spring of 2024 I could write a script that read a day's declarations and spat out a clean table, and I was ridiculously proud of it.
Most of 2024 disappeared into learning, testing and binning early versions that weren't good enough.
The first working prototype could chew through my entire data set in about six minutes and hand me a shortlist that matched my core rules.
It threw up too many runners and couldn't yet tell a horse that merely fitted the profile from one that was worth backing at its price.
Not whether a horse could win, but whether the odds in front of me made the bet worth having over hundreds of races.
The first step was stripping the bookmaker's margin out of the market, so the model was comparing like with like.
If the prices in a race add up to 125%, each horse's chance has to be scaled back down until the field adds up to 100% again.
Only then can you see what the market really thinks of each runner, and only then does a comparison with the model's own figure mean anything.
The hardest part of all of it, funnily enough, wasn't the clever maths, it was cleaning the data.
Racing data is a mess, full of gaps, wrong going descriptions and races logged at two different distances after a course was remeasured, and the model is only ever as good as the numbers it's fed.
I spent months building the plumbing to catch and fix those errors before a selection was ever made.
That's the point where the software started doing things I could never do by hand, no matter how many hours I put in.
It pulls in live prices, the latest going reports, overnight declarations, trainer form cycles and jockey bookings, then cross-checks all of it against my historical database before I'm even out of bed.
By the time I sit down at half past five with my first coffee, the shortlist is already sat there waiting for me to sanity-check.
Here's how a morning runs, step by step.
It starts around four in the morning, when the software wakes itself up and hoovers in the fresh overnight data.
Every runner is then broken down into dozens of separate factors, and each of those factors is scored on its own merits.
Recent runs count for more than old ones, with a run from six months ago carrying roughly half the weight of last week's.
Small samples are treated with suspicion too, so a jockey with three rides and two winners at a track isn't mistaken for a genius.
Those individual scores are weighted and pulled together into a single probability for every horse in every race
The probabilities in each race are then balanced so they add up to exactly 100%, because one horse's chance can only rise if another's falls.
That figure is then held up against the cleaned-up market price, and this is where the ruthless part happens.
If the price isn't clearly bigger than the horse's true chance, the selection goes straight in the bin, however nice it looks.
Only the runners that clear that bar by a healthy margin ever reach the final shortlist.
And the machine running all of this isn't some bank of servers humming away in a data centre
It's an ordinary desktop computer on a desk in the corner of my front room, no different to the one you might be reading this on.
Say a horse is priced at 6/1, which, once the margin is stripped out, gives it roughly a one in seven chance of winning.
If my model has looked at that same horse and reckons its true chance is closer to one in four, then the price is far too big, and that's a mistake worth taking advantage of.
That's a bet worth having, not because the horse is a certainty, but because the odds are wrong in our favour.
Do that over and over, hundreds of times across a season, and the maths grinds round in your direction.
It won't win every time, because a one in four shot still loses three times out of four.
The profit comes from being paid 6/1 for something that should be 3/1, again and again, until the sums take care of themselves.
At the end of each month, every probability the model produced is checked against what actually happened.
If it said a group of horses each had a one in five chance, roughly one in five of them should have won, and if they didn't, I want to know why.
I call it the calibration check, and it's the most boring hour of my month and easily the most valuable.
Where the figures drift apart, it shows me where a factor was a touch too loose or weighted slightly too heavily.
By the start of the next month the model is a fraction better tuned than it was before, and that never stops.
It isn't a system I built once and left to gather dust, it's one that keeps improving month after month.
That patient fine-tuning is the biggest reason the results have held up rather than fading away like everything else does.
The 6/1 example from above: once the margin is stripped out, the market implies about one in seven, while the model reckons closer to one in four.
That figure is then set against the live market price to work out whether the bet is worth having.
Only where the model's own probability comfortably beats the chance implied by the odds does a runner make the cut.
In plain terms, that lands at somewhere between two and four bets on most days.
Some mornings it produces nothing, and those blank mornings are part of the design.
A system that sends a bet every day come what may isn't choosing, it's just filling space.
And filling space without a real advantage underneath it is how punters go broke slowly
Now here's the part that matters once you understand who you're up against.
The bookmakers have been running their own version of all this for years.
The major firms have leaned on machine learning and algorithm-driven pricing since the early 2010s.
They employ whole teams of analysts whose job is setting prices that protect the firm's margin.
It's the output of a pricing model, updated by the second as money flows through the market.
But a pricing team only has so many hours, and it spends them where the firm's money is most at risk.
That means the favourites, the televised races and the horses the public loves get looked at from every angle.
Sterling Bet App doesn't have their money or their scale, and I'd never claim otherwise.
What it does have is a laser focus on the one place their models are weakest, the mid-priced runner that never draws enough public money to be priced with care.
The firms are frighteningly good at pricing the favourites and the popular horses everyone piles onto.
Where they leave the door ajar, again and again, is in that awkward middle range where fewer eyes are looking and the pricing gets sloppy.
That's the space Sterling Bet App was built to live in, and month after month it's proven the point.
Getting there took longer than I'd hoped, and the first few months of 2025 were humbling.
The software was finding winners, but too many of them were short-priced, and the profit on those barely covered the losers.
I worked out that it was still leaning too hard on the last run or two, the very habit I'd spent years trying to beat in myself.
Fixing that meant rebuilding how it weighted older form, which took most of the spring and two false starts.
By early summer the shortlist looked completely different, with fewer bets at bigger prices and far less chasing.
Some time in the middle of 2025, the model started producing something I'd never once managed in all my years of betting: winning months that repeated, without the wild swings.
This year it's climbed another level entirely.
The losing runs grew shorter and easier to sit through
For the first time in my life, betting actually felt like it was under control.
I'd bank £350 on a Tuesday, then follow it with another £300 before lunch on the Wednesday.
That was the moment I finally knew I'd built something that worked.
Not a magic trick or a get-rich-quick fairytale
Just a working selection process forged out of years of graft.
What started life as a way to earn a few hundred extra quid a week had become something else entirely.
Let me walk you through how the last stretch has actually played out, month by month, because the numbers tell the story better than I can.
Through the back end of 2025 the model settled into its rhythm and started stacking one profitable month on another.
Then 2026 arrived, and this is really where it all came together.
January 2026 opened the year with £5,965.30 banked and drawn out across my accounts.
I spent most of that month pinching myself, checking the balance each night as though it might vanish overnight.
That was the month I handed in my notice at the building firm, after 22 years of pricing up other people's extensions and loft conversions.
My boss asked if I'd been poached by a rival, and I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd been poached by a computer in my front room.
March 2026 turned into my best month to that point, a shade over £7,120 across the various accounts.
I added that total up three times before I let myself believe it.
April 2026 held that level beautifully at £6,580.70, which told me March had been no fluke.
May 2026 was the softest month of the year so far at £5,438.80, a run of seconds and short-head defeats that would once have had me throwing in the towel.
The rules stayed the same throughout, the stakes never changed, and the month still finished well in profit.
June 2026 bounced back with £6,939.20, as the bigger summer handicap fields threw up the kind of mid-priced runners the model was built to find.
August 2026 came in at £6,958.70, and by then the pattern had stopped surprising me.
September carried straight on in the same vein, landing in the same comfortable range as the summer, and it's the month that finally made up my mind to open the doors.
October has picked up where September left off, with the members' trial running right through the first three weeks of it.
With the clocks going back this weekend and the winter jumps season taking hold, the model is already finding its first cold-weather selections.
I didn't do anything flash with the money either: I paid off the last of the car, sorted a few jobs around the flat and built the bank up further.
But I've finally reached the point where I'm confident enough to open the curtains and let a small group of other people see what I do.
To be clear, doing this on my own for years got lonely.
So the idea of helping a small, decent group of ordinary punters appealed to me more than the money did.
Which is why, towards the end of September, I took on a tight little group as a controlled test.
Ten punters, with wildly different levels of experience between them, from complete beginners to a couple of grizzled old hands.
The only question I wanted answered was a simple one: how much could I make them in thirty days?
I handed them nothing more than the daily emails, the same ones I act on myself, and told them to keep their stakes sensible.
The second week was where the doubters went silent, as the wins kept arriving and the bank kept nudging upward without any drama.
The third week ran into October, and that's when the members started sending me screenshots without being asked.
By the end of the 30 days the average punter in that group was sitting on £4,840.20, and the thank-you messages were arriving daily.
Not one of them has asked to leave, and each of them wants to know how long they can keep this going.
Most tipsters have no actual system.
What they have is knowledge, experience, and no shortage of confidence.
That mix can carry you a fair distance in the short term.
But raw knowledge is no match for a bookmaker running a pricing model built on years of results across every track in the country.
One human tipster can study fifteen, maybe twenty races a day in depth before the well runs dry.
The rest gets filled in with instinct and feel, which isn't a criticism, it's the ceiling of what one person can do.
A bot works through every race and every runner on the card, and its standards on the last race are the same as on the first.
Nearly every tipping service starts hot, because those first selections are the most closely chosen of all.
Then the subscriber numbers grow, and suddenly there's pressure to fire out more bets to justify the fee people are paying.
The quality drains away and the service slowly dies, usually blaming a bad run of luck on the way down.
Most tipsters treat a losing bet as a rotten day and move on to the next one.
They never check whether the chances they were quoting matched what happened.
Sterling Bet App treats every result, winner or loser, as information worth having.
When a well-known tipster puts up a horse and thousands of members dive on all at once, that wall of money slams into the market and crushes the price.
The tipster proudly advertises a 5/2 winner, but half their members were scrambling on at 9/4 by the time the money had moved.
At any real scale, that difference alone eats whatever advantage the tipster started with.
Because Sterling Bet App targets mid-priced runners and the membership is kept small, the problem barely lays a glove on us.
So how does the day to day of this actually work for you?
Each morning I'm up long before the rest of London, usually before six.
I fire up Sterling Bet App and let it run its full analysis end to end.
Then I go over everything by eye, double-checking the shortlist and hunting for anything the model might have brushed over.
That's mostly checking for things a database can't know, like a late jockey change or a course inspection called for first thing.
By eight o'clock I've got the day's bets in hand, most often between two and four horses.
I place my own bets first, then email the selections straight out to my members
My members get the same horses, and the email goes out while those prices are still on the board.
Each selection lands with the horse's name, the course, and the race time, and not a scrap more to work out.
If it's an each-way bet rather than a win bet, the email says so in plain words on the same line.
There's nothing to decode and no homework waiting for you at the other end.
You place the bet, get on with your day, and check back when the racing is done.
You don't need to read form or watch a minute of racing if you'd rather not.
The best part of my day now is reading the messages that come in of an evening.
The trend keeps pointing the same way, upward, and my members' banks climb right alongside mine
I'm not going to sit here and tell you every day is a party, because that'd be a lie and you'd see straight through it.
There are quiet days, and there are the odd days where a couple of results go against us, that's the nature of betting.
And because the losing days are short and the rules never bend, the bank keeps finding new ground.
"The thing nobody tells you about winning is how odd it feels to check your balance without wincing. After a month of Rick's emails I'm £4,780 up, and I've stopped dreading the question when my brother asks how the horses went."
Russell Pennington, Stoke-on-Trent
"Week one brought me £610 and week four brought £1,390. That's £3,540 in total, which is more than I'd taken off the bookies in the previous two years put together."
Carole Spedding, Barrow-in-Furness
"My advice is to start smaller than you think, because I did and I still finished the month £5,610 ahead. Follow the emails to the letter, resist the urge to add your own picks, and let the month play out."
Stuart Fenwick, Hexham
"Last October I was £400 down on the month and swearing I'd give it up for good. This October I'm £4,295 up, and the only thing I've changed is whose bets I follow."
Hazel Pritchard, Shrewsbury
Now, before I lay my offer on the table.
I imagine you have a fair few questions rattling around.
Not at all, because the email tells you the horse, the course and the time, and you find it on your bookmaker's site the same way you'd search for anything else.
As a rough guide, 9/2 means you win £9 for every £2 you stake, plus your stake back, and the bet slip shows your potential return before you confirm.
A couple of the ten in the trial group had never placed an online bet before, and they were up and running inside a morning.
You can, and a few members do, but remember the exchange takes a commission from your winnings, usually somewhere between 2% and 5%.
On mid-priced horses the exchange will often match or beat the bookmaker's price, so it's worth comparing the two before you commit.
Yes, wherever you can get it, because if the starting price ends up bigger than the price you took, you're paid at the bigger one.
It costs you nothing, and over a season those little top-ups add up to a decent sum on their own.
The email always tells you, and the large majority are straight win bets.
Each-way only comes up when the model reckons a horse's chance of placing is underpriced as well as its chance of winning, which tends to happen in the bigger handicap fields.
Members pick their own stakes, and the ones who did best in the trial kept them level from one bet to the next rather than chopping and changing.
The rule I'd give anyone is never to stake more than you'd happily lose on a Saturday afternoon's racing, and to leave the stake alone for the first month while you get a feel for the rhythm.
Payment is handled by ClickBank, a long-established online retailer of digital products, so your card details never come anywhere near me.
Your statement will show the charge from CLICKBANK or CLKBANK*COM, which is worth knowing so it doesn't catch you off guard.
Give it the full 30 days covered by the guarantee, because a single week in racing can tell you almost anything.
The trial group were all in profit inside seven days, but I'd still judge it on the month rather than the first morning.
Right, let me get down to brass tacks.
I'm sure the big question on your mind is how much all this is going to set you back.
You're probably bracing yourself for some eye-watering monthly subscription.
Let me put your mind at rest, because times are hard across the country heading into the winter of 2026.
For a strictly limited window, I'm opening the doors to Sterling Bet App.
Just about enough to cover my costs, and not much more.
I'm doing it this way to build my numbers and help more ordinary people win on the horses.
While keeping the circle small enough that I can answer each member's emails myself.
I'm only releasing 100 memberships to the most serious punters who move today.
I fully expect every last slot to be gone by the end of the day, or tomorrow morning at the very outside.
And once those places are taken, that really is that.
The doors close, and it'll be a good while before I even think about opening them again.
Now is your chance to follow my daily bets, grow your bank, and...
Aim to bank up to £4,840.20 over the next 30 days.
I'll do everything in my power to send you at least 29 winners in your first month.
Very possibly more, because that's the target and I fully intend to hit it.
Picture where you could be a month from today if that target lands the way it has for the current group.
Not rich beyond your dreams, I'm not going to insult you with that, but comfortably in profit and finally on the right side of the bookies.
That's a very different feeling to the one that probably brought you to this page
Nothing further to pay ever, no hidden charges, and no monthly subscription lurking around the corner.
Just a lifetime of my winning bets dropping straight into your inbox.
Let me put that £20 into a bit of perspective for you.
It's less than most people happily lose on a single Saturday accumulator that never had a prayer.
It's a one-off, it's the entire cost, and there's nothing further to pay for as long as you stay a member.
Set that tiny figure against an average of £4,840.20 landing for the members in the last month, and I think the sum does itself.
And if you're still sat there on the fence, let me take the last bit of risk off the table.
Your payment is wrapped in a full 30-day money-back guarantee.
Join today and put the selections through their paces for a full month.
Keep a record, note the winners as they land, and stick to modest stakes while your confidence builds.
If you're not entirely happy at any point in those 30 days, I'll refund your £20 in full, no argument.
You're backing yourself for the price of a couple of pints, with a full month to see the selections in action and your money guaranteed the whole way.
I've taken every ounce of risk off your shoulders and placed it squarely on mine, which is how I think it should be.
All that's left for you to do is decide whether you want to be one of the hundred, or read about it happening to other people all over again.
If you're ready to have today's tips sent straight to you.
And to start your winning run right now for just £20.
Click the order button below and complete my fully secure checkout.
By this evening, you could well be sat in clear profit and looking forward to tomorrow's selections.
Just click the button above to complete your registration.
Remember, these 100 places go on a first-come, first-served basis and will be gone today.
Don't let this one pass you by.
Yours faithfully,
Rick Davidson