“RPs Senior writer Mottershead’s Swift Solution: Out with the Over-50s, In with the Instagrammers”

According to Lee Mottershead, Senior and I mean senior writer for the Racing Post, the future of racing lies not in the hands of the over-50s—the steadfast, tweed-clad backbone of the sport—but in the manicured grip of Gen Z, preferably with a TikTok-ready smile and an obsession with Taylor Swift’s Midnights. Those of us who’ve spent decades loyally turning up at Wolverhampton, Epsom, or a damp Thirsk apparently no longer cut it. We’re racing’s dead weight, inching ever closer to shuffling off this mortal coil. And in Mottershead’s view, our replacements better be photogenic, under 30, and more “Lavender Haze” than “Gimme Shelter.”

But here’s a thought, Lee: what if the real problem isn’t the audience at all? What if the sport’s waning appeal has less to do with the age of its attendees and more to do with the product itself? When the horses and the races aren’t enough to hold attention, maybe it’s time to fix the core product rather than slapping glitter and Calvin Harris remixes around it.

The Over-50s: Racing’s Last Reliable Wallets

Mottershead’s subtle ageism has now crept into racing’s most dependable demographic: the over-50s. We’re the ones who’ve kept the betting ring turning and the syndicates afloat, enduring everything from winter sleet to laughable prize money, all in the name of the sport. Yet, in his vision of the future, we’re simply liabilities who, by some cosmic tragedy, have the audacity to age.

But here’s a quick reality check. The over-50s don’t just fill the stands—they fund the sport. We buy the annual memberships, place the bets, and in some cases, even own the horses. Meanwhile, the Swiftie generation Mottershead is so desperate to court are still working out how to split a round of drinks on Monzo. Will the under-30s bring racing to the masses via social media? Possibly. Will they also keep the Tote alive? Doubtful.

From Wolverhampton to Wonderland (Good Luck With That)

Mottershead’s obsession with Melbourne, where sun-kissed crowds sip cocktails amid rose gardens and live music, ignores one simple truth: Melbourne isn’t Wolverhampton. It’s not even Lingfield.

Picture the Melbourne Carnival formula air-dropped into Wolverhampton on a midweek all-weather card. The crowd of seasoned punters, already cursing their luck on a 10-1 shot that pulled up lame, is suddenly joined by hordes of under-30s in pastel suits and big hats. A DJ tries valiantly to get the crowd dancing, but all that’s moving is the queue for the pie stand. Meanwhile, the horses—the ostensible reason everyone’s there—become an afterthought as influencers scramble for the best light to photograph their Aperol Spritz.

The glamour of Melbourne works because it’s Melbourne: a wealthy, sunny city with a racing culture woven into its fabric. Wolverhampton, while charming in its own rain-soaked way, is not about to transform into a rose-filled wonderland, no matter how many Instagrammable flower walls you plant by the paddock.

The Core Product: Racing Itself

Mottershead seems fixated on the distractions: the music, the roses, the cocktails, and the shiny Instagram aesthetic. But what if the problem isn’t the sideshow? What if the real issue is that the core product—the races themselves—no longer satisfy the audience?

For decades, the over-50s have stuck with racing because they love the sport: the thrill of a close finish, the artistry of the jockeys, the endless calculations of form and odds. But racing has done little to modernise its actual product. Prize money has stagnated, small trainers are folding under financial strain, and the sport’s public image is too often tarnished by welfare scandals. You can slap a Calvin Harris remix over it all you like, but until these issues are addressed, the distractions will always outshine the product itself.

If the horses and the races aren’t enough to engage new fans, perhaps it’s time to rethink how racing is presented, rather than betting everything on festival gimmicks. After all, no one goes to Wimbledon for the strawberries—they go for the tennis.

Swifties and Short Attention Spans

Mottershead’s ideal audience seems to be a legion of under-30s who’ll trade in their Friday night clubbing for a day at the races. And while the occasional Swiftie might find the novelty appealing, let’s not pretend they’re going to stick around once the Insta-worthy sparkle fades.

The younger crowd Mottershead craves might flock to Flemington for the “vibes,” but will they turn up at Catterick on a rainy Tuesday to watch a maiden handicap? Unlikely. Racing is a sport that requires patience, knowledge, and, frankly, a willingness to lose money—a combination that doesn’t exactly scream Gen Z.

The Swifties might bring energy and glamour for a season, but the over-50s—the Rolling Stones crowd—have brought stability and loyalty for decades. You can’t swap one for the other without risking the entire foundation of the sport.

Melbourne as a Mirage

It’s easy to get swept up in the success of the Melbourne model, but it’s worth remembering that the VRC isn’t just selling horse racing—it’s selling a lifestyle. The Melbourne Cup Carnival isn’t just about the races; it’s about the glamour, the fashion, and the relentless marketing machine behind it.

In Britain, where the weather is miserable and the funding is worse, trying to copy-paste Melbourne onto Ascot or Aintree feels like a recipe for disappointment. You can’t sell a festival atmosphere without the infrastructure to support it, and you certainly can’t attract a new audience without addressing the deeper issues in the sport itself.

A Tale of Two Audiences

The reality is that racing needs both the over-50s and the under-30s to thrive. The Stones crowd brings knowledge, loyalty, and spending power, while the Swifties bring energy, glamour, and social media reach. But treating one as a liability while pinning all your hopes on the other is a strategy doomed to fail.

Instead of alienating the over-50s with thinly veiled ageism, why not focus on creating an experience that appeals to both? Let the youth have their cocktails and photo booths, but don’t forget the old guard who’ve kept the sport alive for decades. After all, when the novelty wears off and the Swifties move on to the next trendy event, it’s the over-50s who’ll still be there, rain or shine, cheering for their fiver each-way.

Racing’s Real Fix

Mottershead’s vision of racing’s future is shiny, seductive, and utterly impractical. The Melbourne model might work for Melbourne, but the UK racing scene needs its own solutions—solutions that address the real issues at the heart of the sport. That means better prize money, more support for small trainers, and a concerted effort to modernise racing without losing what makes it special.

Until then, Mottershead can keep dreaming of a world where Taylor Swifties replace the Rolling Stones. Just don’t expect Wolverhampton to turn into Flemington any time soon.