There’s this idea that if you’re successful — if you train winners, ride under pressure, or work in the public eye — then abuse is just “part of the job.” Like it’s baked into the contract. Like it’s acceptable.

Let’s be clear.
It’s not.

After a brutal week at Cheltenham with his first winner coming in the last race, Gordon Elliott said what many in racing feel but don’t always say out loud:

“I don’t pay attention to the abuse normally but that night my head was completely melted – I just couldn’t take any more.”
– Gordon Elliott, Racing Post

This is a man who’s rebuilt, delivered, and kept showing up. And even he hit the wall. Just because you have gotten to the top of your field does not mean you deserve abuse from fake accounts or, even worse, real profiles that if they met you in person, all they’d do is ask for a fu**ing photo.

But it’s not just trainers. It’s everywhere. Every weighing room. Every meet. Every day.

Top jockey Callum Shepherd opened up about the kind of messages he gets regularly:

“They range from calling you useless and using bad language to threats of violence and aggressive language. You can even receive messages about killing you and things about your family – it’s literally anything you can imagine.”
– Callum Shepherd, British Horseracing Authority submission to Parliament

That’s not banter. That’s not criticism. That’s a threat to someone’s life — and to their family. And the truth is, he’s not an exception.

Jonjo O’Neill Jr., another top-tier jockey, confirmed what most riders know but few say publicly:

“I would get it daily in the winter. It’s not just when you get beat in a tight finish – a horse could pull up and you’d be getting dog’s abuse and it’s nothing to do with you whatsoever.”
– Jonjo O’Neill Jr., BHA submission

So let’s put a line under this.

These people don’t work in offices with HR departments and wellness budgets. They work in pressure cookers, where split-second decisions and a bit of bad luck can change everything. They do it for the sport, for the horses, for the owners, for the fans.

And yet, the abuse comes fast — from people who’ve never held a whip, never walked a yard, never understood the risk, the fear, or the dedication it takes to show up and ride again the next day.

This is not part of the job.

This is cowardice masquerading as commentary. It’s entitlement with no skin in the game. It’s people on the outside, spitting venom at those brave enough to be on the inside.

And to them — the keyboard critics, the faceless abusers, the ones who think losing a bet gives them permission to dehumanise someone — we leave you with this:

“It is not the critic who counts… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood… who strives valiantly… who errs… but who does actually strive to do the deeds… and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.”
– Theodore Roosevelt

If you’re in the arena — we see you. The critic doesn’t count. Their opinions do not matter.
Not the one in the comments. Not the one hiding behind a fake profile.

This industry belongs to those who show up all day, every day, even when it’s hard. Who lose. Who rebuild. Who come again.

That’s who gets our respect.
That’s who earns their place.
And that’s who this sport stands behind.

Until Next Time,

Shane