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Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of Business wars ad free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. It's October 16, 1997 at 10 Downing Street, London. RAIN TAPS softly against the windows of a drawing room. Inside, a small group huddles around a polished table. Prime Minister Tony Blair leans back in his armchair, sleeves rolled slightly above the cuffs. He's only five months into the job, but he already looks comfortable in the role. Opposite him sit two men who in their own world wield as much influence as any Prime Minister. Motorsport power brokers Bernie Eccleston and Max Mosley. 66 year old Eccleston is small, quiet and almost motionless, but the intensity in his eyes suggests a man accustomed to getting what he wants. Still, it's his ally Mosley who does most of the talking. The problem is the European Union. Prime Minister Blair smiles faintly. You won't believe how often I hear that. Mosley doesn't return the smile. The European Commission's draft directive would completely ban tobacco advertising in sport. If it goes through as written, Formula One will lose the majority of its sponsorship income overnight. Well, how much are we talking here? £150 million every season. Eccleston cuts in Prime Minister F1 contributes £900 million a year to British exports. If the tobacco money goes, those exports could be lost. Well why can't the teams just find other sponsors? They could, just not at the same price. Mosley nods in agreement. F1 is one of the last truly global platforms the cigarette companies still have. That's why they pay a premium. But if Europe pulls the plug, we'll be forced to go where the money is. Meaning we'll have to race in markets without those restrictions. East, Asia, the Middle East. Oh, you're saying you'd leave Europe? Well, we'd have no choice and that will hurt the British economy. Most of the teams are based here in Britain and they provide 50,000 high skill jobs plus thousands more part time jobs. If the sport does move east, those jobs will go with it. The room falls quiet. Blair taps a finger lightly against the arm of his chair, then turns to Eccleston. So what exactly are you asking? Mosley answers before Eccleston can speak. We're asking you to recognize the economic reality. Eccleston remains silent. He doesn't need to say anything because everyone in the room understands the deeper context. Months earlier, Eccleston donated one million pounds to Blair's re election campaign. Now he seems to expect something in return. Blair stands, bringing the meeting to a close. Well, thank you for coming in we recognize the problems and we'll think about what you've said. The following day, the prime Minister quietly instructs his ministers to find a way to exempt Formula One from the proposed ban on tobacco advertising. Two months later, the European directive passes, with one exception, Formula One. In the media, questions swirl about whether Eccleston bought influence with Britain's new government. But whatever the politics, looks like Eccleston got the outcome he wanted. Tobacco money continues to flow into Formula One. Once again, Eccleston has stitched together a solution, but the business of Formula One is becoming increasingly tangled, held together mostly by his personal deal making. It works for now, but the entire empire depends on one man, and all that could unravel the moment. Eccleston is no longer there to hold it together. And that moment may come sooner than he thinks. From audible originals I'm david brown and this is business wars. You know that moment when you order food and suddenly everyone around you gets very interested in your dinner? Yeah, that's what GrubHub does. Gives you deals so good you'll have to guard them. Gold Days of grubhub plus is here. Four weeks of grubhub's best offers all month long in May, only for grubhub plus members. And if you're not a member, you can sign up now for just 99 cents a month for six. That's 90% off Grubhub plus membership, auto renews and terms apply. Sign up now on the app or@grubhub.com plus gold. Don't miss it. This message comes from Betterment. Dan Egan, VP of Behavioral Finance and Investing, explains how Betterment takes the time consuming work out of smart investing. I grew up learning about finance and investing myself and realizing that I needed to reinvest dividends and rebalance my portfolio and and if there was an opportunity
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Learn more@betterment.com investing involves risk performance, not guaranteed. Betterment does not offer tax advice. TOH may not be suitable for all customers. Learn more@betterment.com Toh terms. In the last episode, two motorsport empires emerged on opposite sides of the Atlantic in the United States. NASCAR grew out of Southern bootleggers outrunning the law with trunks full of illegal alcohol. That soon became the nation's biggest motorsport. But in Europe, another iconic championship was taking shape. And at the center of it was Bernie Eccleston, a former used car salesman who rose from team owner to the undisputed power broker of Formula One. He transformed the sport from a loose collection of European races into a global spectacle that tours the world. Now, as the 21st century approaches, the paths of NASCAR and Formula One are about to diverge. Racing is more global than ever. The media landscape is changing, and the tobacco money that fueled motorsports for decades is under threat. To survive these challenges, the two sports will pursue very different strategies. This is episode two, Pedal to the Metal. It's the late 1990s. In a quiet, wood paneled office in London, Bernie Eccleston sinks into a deep leather armchair, his small frame almost swallowed by it. Across from him, his lawyer's desk is buried beneath papers. It's a familiar setting. Over the past few years, Eccleston has kept his legal advisors busy. But today feels different. He's now in his mid-60s, and the strain of running Formula One is beginning to show. Doctors warned that the relentless pace of travel negotiations and race weekends is taking a toll on his health and in particular, on his heart. Surgeons have told him he needs major surgery. And that started Eccleston thinking about something he's rarely had to confront before his own mortality. Across the room, the lawyer flips through a document, then clears his throat. He has more bad news to deliver. If Eccleston were to die suddenly, his fortune would be subject to British inheritance taxes. The bill could be enormous, forcing his family to sell the business he spent decades building. With his lawyer's warning ringing in his ears and the clock ticking, Eccleston starts looking for a way to ensure that his fortune goes to his family, not the government. His solution is to float his Formula one assets on the stock market. Over the years, Eccleston has constructed a web of companies collectively known as the Formula One Group. Together, they control the sport's commercial rights, television deals, race contracts, sponsorship arrangements. Eccleston believes the whole operation could be worth as much as $4 billion. To unlock that value, he partners with investment bank Salomon Brothers to prepare an initial public offering. But almost immediately, he runs into a problem. The stock market doesn't operate like Formula One. Eccleston shuns detailed contracts. He prefers quick negotiations and verbal understandings. And this vagueness is a deliberate strategy. By leaving deals slightly undefined, teams, race promoters and broadcasters can never quite Pin him down. No one is ever entirely sure where they stand. And that uncertainty usually gives Eccleston the upper hand. But now that ambiguity is working against him. The Formula One group is a sprawling web of entities across multiple jurisdictions, built on fuzzy deals. Solomon Brothers can't even fully map the business. And without clear ownership, the bankers struggle to put a price on what investors might actually be buying. With the IPO stalling and Eccleston wanting a quicker solution, he pivots. Instead of selling shares to the public, he looks for another way to unlock the value of the business and get cash in hand. Now, before he dies and the tax bill comes due, he turns to Robin Saunders, an American financier based in London. Together, they pursue a different strategy. A massive debt deal. The plan is to sell bonds to banks using Formula One's future earnings as collateral. Investors lend money now and get repaid with interest over time. When negotiations conclude, the banks are willing to lend $1.4 billion. But they add a crucial condition. The entire deal depends on Eccleston continuing to run Formula One. The trouble is, he hasn't been entirely honest about how long that might be. It's late May 1999 in London, England. Morning light spills through the tall windows of a high rise office. On the desk sits a half empty champagne bottle, a smattering of glasses and a thick binder labeled Formula One Group Bond offering financier Robin Saunders stands by the window, rubbing her temples. After nearly two years of negotiations, several banks have now agreed to lend $1.4 billion against the future revenues of Formula One. The bonds are sold, the paperwork is signed. But Eccleston didn't show up to the celebration last night, which is strange. He never misses the chance to take a victory lap. Saunders reaches across her desk and picks up the phone. Robin. Saunders. A familiar voice answers. Good morning, Robin. Bernie. I was wondering where you disappeared to last night. I was busy. You see, Robin, I've been really naughty. What do you mean naughty? I. I didn't quite tell the whole truth about my health. Saunders feels a chill creep down her spine.
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What do you mean you didn't tell the whole truth?
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I have to have a triple heart bypass. You what? I'm having heart surgery. When? Two o' clock today. The. The day after the bond sale. And you didn't think to mention this before? Saunders stares at the floor, her mind racing. The bank's bought more than a billion dollars of bonds on one key assumption that Eccleston would still be around to run Formula One if he dies on the Operating table. The entire deal could unravel. The banks will want answers, lawsuits will rain down, and her career will be shredded. Bernie, you assured me you were in good health. I am. Mostly. I just thought it might complicate things if I mentioned it earlier. Saunders closes her eyes. Of course he did. For Eccleston, information is power. But he's Keeping silent on this could destroy everything. SHE INHALES deeply, forcing herself to stay calm. Bernie. Yes? I hope the surgery goes well. But know this. If you make it out alive, I'm gonna kill you myself. To Saunders, relief. The surgery goes off without a hitch. Eccleston wastes little time getting back to work. And with his heart and tax troubles behind him, he sets out to make Formula One even bigger. By the turn of the 21st century, the F1 championship calendar has 17 races that are mostly concentrated in Europe. For many observers, this already feels like a full schedule. But Eccleston disagrees. More races means more revenue. And with the United States proving resistant to Formula One, he starts looking for growth elsewhere. Like the rapidly growing economies in Asia and the oil rich nations of the Middle east, the governments of these regions are eager to raise their international profile. Hosting a Grand Prix would do exactly that. And for autocratic regimes facing criticism over their human rights records, a Formula one race would also serve as a powerful public relations opportunity. Eccleston understands this dynamic and intends to profit from it. Because, unlike Formula One's historic European circuits, which are often run by cash strapped local promoters, the new hosts are willing to pay enormous fees for the privilege of staging a race. It's the early 2000s, and Eccleston is not, for the first time in his life, meeting with royalty. Across from him is a tall man in a white robe and red checkered headdress, Salman bin Hamad Al Khalifa, the Crown Prince of Bahrain. The prince leans forward, eyes fixed on Eccleston.
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Bernie, I want Formula One in Bahrain.
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Eccleston gives a polite smile. Well, that's wonderful, your highness, of course. But I'm sure you're not the only one. Lebanon, Dubai and Egypt are interested, too. I know, but Bahrain will do it properly. It's an expensive proposition.
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We're prepared to pay more than $30 million a year. And we will cover the costs of flying in the teams and all the technical equipment.
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Eccleston raises an eyebrow. That's serious money. Still. He shakes his head slightly. I don't doubt you have the financial resources, but you don't have a track.
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Then we will build one.
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Where, exactly? In the desert. You're talking more than a hundred million dollars there. The prince nods, as if discussing the price of lunch. That's acceptable. Eccleston strokes his chin thoughtfully. You do understand that if Bahrain joins the calendar, others in the regions will want the same.
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That's exactly why we must move first.
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Eccleston studies him for a moment, weighing the numbers and the implications of the deal. Finally, he extends his hand. Alright, it's a deal. Bahrain is only the beginning of Formula One's advance east. Across Asia, more governments line up with offers that are hard for Eccleston to refuse. Among them is China, which wants the prestige of hosting a Grand prix in Shanghai. China's proposal closely matches Bahrain's a hosting fee of around $30 million per race, plus the full cost of constructing a brand new circuit and staging the event. In 2004, both Bahrain and China joined the championship calendar. No expense is spared. At the newly built Bahrain International Circuit, there's an enormous permanent paddock, eliminating the need for teams to ship their motorhomes halfway around the world. The High Grip racing surface is meticulously engineered from stone imported from England. The Bahrainis even spray the surrounding dunes with a sticky adhesive to prevent sand from blowing onto the track. When the races finally begin, though, the grandstands aren't packed in both Bahrain and Shanghai, thousands of seats sit empty. But Eccleston isn't worried. He believes these countries represent the future of the global economy. Their middle classes are growing and their cities are expanding. By bringing Formula One to these markets early, Ecclestone is planting the sports flag there before its rivals. This is a very different strategy from the one being used by another giant racing series across the pond. Because while Formula One is charging ahead internationally, in the United States, NASCAR is beginning to wobble. After decades of booming popularity, stock car racing is barreling toward a crisis.
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Foreign.
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It's February 2001, just over three years before Formula One's debut race in Bahrain, and the crowds watching the Daytona 500 are in shock. For years, Dale Earnhardt sr. Has been NASCAR's defining figure, a seven time champion with 76 NASCAR cup race wins across four decades. To millions of fans, Dale Earnhardt Sr. Is NASCAR tough, fearless and deeply connected to the sport's blue collar roots. But while battling for the podium, Earnhardt was caught in a three car crash on the final turn. Now his car sits surrounded by safety crews as ambulances race towards the scene, and it's clear something is terribly wrong. A short time later, NASCAR announces that Earnhardt is dead. His death leaves a hole that's impossible to fill. Earnhardt wasn't just any driver. He was NASCAR's biggest star. Two years later, Earnhardt's son, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Finishes third in the standings, offering fans a familiar name at the top of the leaderboard. But the championship itself feels anticlimactic. Matt Kenseth cruises to the title despite only winning one race out of 36. His steady run of top 10 finishes built a lead so commanding that the last few races barely mattered. Fans lose interest and television viewership drops by 22%. You know the points system is becoming a problem for nascar, but it didn't fail overnight. This is what happens when a business confuses a star for a system. NASCAR's growth had been fueled in large part by a single larger than life figure. Dale Earnhardt gave NASCAR its identity and its edge. But with Earnhardt gone, The weakness in NASCAR's point system is completely exposed. Sponsors soon noticed the drop in viewership after 30 years. Tobacco giant RJ Reynolds ends its deal to name the championship after its cigarette brand, Winston. After a hurried search, wireless operator Nextel steps in as the new title sponsor. But with ratings sliding and corporate partners growing nervous, NASCAR needs something more dramatic than a new championship sponsor. The task falls to newly installed CEO Brian France, grandson of NASCAR founder Bill France Sr. Within weeks of taking the top job, he implements the biggest change to the sport in decades. The Chase. For the cup, the new format moves the sport toward an end of season playoff system similar to the NFL or the NBA. Drivers spend the first part of the season battling to qualify for the Chase. Then the championship is decided over the final 10 races. Suddenly, every race matters again. The Chase promises drama right through to the final lap. And that should keep fans watching until the end of the season. The impact of the Chase is immediate. In its first year, five drivers head into the final race with a chance to win the championship. Millions tune in to see who takes the title, producing a 47% increase in viewership. With the Chase restoring excitement to NASCAR's core product, France turns to a second challenge. Growth. For decades, NASCAR has been an all American sport. Drivers have traveled abroad for occasional exhibition races, but the NASCAR cup has been a strictly U.S. affair. Still, France can't ignore what's happening elsewhere. Across the globe, Formula One is pushing aggressively into new markets. France begins to wonder whether stock car racing should follow, which creates a dilemma. NASCAR is deeply tied to US Culture. Taking it abroad risks shattering that carefully constructed image. So France finds a middle ground. He partners with a Mexican entertainment giant to launch NASCAR Mexico. Although the series bears NASCAR branding, it's run independently from the US Competition with almost exclusively Mexican drivers and teams. Three years later, NASCAR purchases a Canadian stock car series and also rebrands it with the NASCAR name. Once again, the move expands NASCAR's footprint without diluting its core product. You know, until now, NASCAR and Formula One have followed roughly similar paths. But now those strategies are beginning to diverge. Even though it's expanding to neighboring countries, NASCAR isn't trying to make itself global. Unlike Formula One, NASCAR was never conceived as a worldwide sport. But Brian France doesn't want to ignore the international business opportunities. And giving Mexico and Canada their own versions of NASCAR kind of solves that problem. France isn't scaling nascar. He's cloning it. Scaling stretches your core product into new markets, often diluting what made it special. Cloning, on the other hand, builds parallel versions tailored to different markets. You can move more slowly. You can make Tweaks and adjust for local conditions. When your brand is as tightly tied to culture as nascar, trying to export it wholesale risks breaking the very thing that made it successful. But cloning, well, that lets you grow without losing your identity. But across the Atlantic, Formula One is heading in a very different direction. Instead of adapting to local markets, Eccleston is pushing the sport outward, turning it into a truly global spectacle. But behind the scenes, the business of Formula One is becoming increasingly complicated. It's 2005 at a private club in London. In a quiet corner of the dining room, private Equity investor Donald McKenzie pours himself a glass of wine. Across the table is Formula One 75 year old boss Bernie Eccleston. They met for the first time a few months ago and hit it off. Since then, they've had a few dinners together and Mackenzie has joined Eccleston's network of informal advisors. But today, Eccleston is barely touching his plate of grilled fish. Instead, he gestures with his fork, stabbing the air as he vents his frustrations. Selling those bonds was a bloody disaster. The grid's falling apart. Teams are coming and going like buses. Jaguar pulled out. Honda threatens to do the same every other week. Everyone says it's too expensive. And the racing? Same story every Sunday. Michael Schumacher wins again. Fans are bored stiff. Mackenzie nods, but can't get a word in. Eccleston's on a roll. The EU still after us over a tobacco sponsorship. If they manage to ban that, half the money disappears overnight and America's a lost cause. You saw the mass at Indianapolis, right? Only six cars started the recent United States Grand Prix after tire problems forced the rest of the field to withdraw. It was yet another embarrassing setback for Formula One in the United States. And for Eccleston, it's the final straw. That's when I realized we're never cracking, America. I'm not even going to try anymore. Eccleston leans forward. But the worst part? Those bloody banks. I spend my life answering to them. They don't even understand the sport, but they don't trust me to run it either. So that's Formula One today. A total mess. Mackenzie sits back thoughtfully. This kind of downbeat talk doesn't scare him. His private equity firm, CVC Capital, specializes in distressed assets. You know, Bernie, I'm hearing something else. I think what I'm hearing is that you've got a global sport watched in hundreds of countries, massive television reach, incredible brand, but it's a business that's not being managed properly. You're hamstrung by the people above you. Exactly. Mackenzie folds his napkin, leaving a neat crease. Why don't I buy it? You? Yeah. Take it off the bank's hands, stay out of your hair. Give you a chance to fix the business, add value. For the first time. All lunch, Eccleston's mood lifts. No interference? None. Oh, well, how do I know I can trust you? Mackenzie reaches into his jacket pocket and slides a card across the table. Why don't you call the people at MotoGP? We've owned it since 1998. If you like what they tell you, give me a call the first chance he gets. Eccleston makes that call and he likes what he hears. CVC Capital has taken a hands off approach with MotoGP. They retained the Motorcycle Racing Championship's pre acquisition leadership while funding new initiatives to help it grow. This is exactly the kind of owner Eccleston wants for Formula One. Soon a deal is struck. CVC buys the Formula One group from the banks for $2 billion. Eccleston remains as CEO, but even with a more accommodating owner, one troublesome group remains the teams. One year later June 2007 in Surrey, England. It's a quiet afternoon inside a small copy shop. The kind that smells faintly of warm plastic and crisp white paper. Behind the counter, the store owner works through a stack of documents, feeding pages one by one into a humming machine. A woman steps inside carrying a thick bundle of papers held together with binder clips. She sets the pile on the counter with a dull, heavy thud. Her request is simple. She needs these documents scanned and transferred onto a CD rom. The employee glances down at the pile. It's enormous. Nearly 800 pages. It'll take a while, but it's good for business. He removes the clips and begins straightening the pages for the scanner. But as he flips through the first few sheets, something catches his eye. A logo. Ferrari's prancing horse. The copy shop's owner is a devoted Formula One fan. Curiosity gets the better of him. He flicks forward a few more pages and sees technical drawings, schematics, detailed measurements, the inner workings of a Formula One car. Trying to sound casual, he asks the customer whether she works for Ferrari. She hesitates for a moment before explaining that her husband does. Then she leaves, promising to return in a few hours to pick up the papers and the CD rom. But something about the exchange lingers. Once she's gone, the store owner sits down at his computer and types her name into Google. Within seconds, he finds her and his jaw drops. Her husband doesn't work for Ferrari. He's the chief engineer at Ferrari's biggest rival in F1. McLaren. The shop owner searches for a contact address for Ferrari's Formula one team. Then he opens a blank email and begins typing. The discovery that McLaren has obtained confidential Ferrari blueprints triggers one of the biggest scandals in the history of Formula One. Subsequent investigations reveal what happened. McLaren's chief engineer received nearly 800 pages of technical data on Ferrari's car from a disgruntled Ferrari mechanic. The fallout is enormous. After months of hearings, McLaren is handed a record breaking fine and stripped of its team points for the season. Spygate is only the first in a series of controversies that dominate headlines over the next year. During the 2008 Singapore Grand Prix, the Renault F1 team instructs driver Nelson Piquet Jr to deliberately crash his car. The resulting safety car bunches up the field, allowing Piquet's teammate Fernando Alonso, who had already pitted for fresh tires, to pull ahead of rivals who now face a losing choice. Pit and lose their position or stay out on worn rubber. When racing resumes, Alonso surges to victory. The crash had been perfectly timed. When the scheme comes to light, it becomes known as Crash Gate, and it further undermines confidence in Formula One's integrity. The scandals aren't limited to the teams either. In 2008, a British tabloid newspaper publishes a sensational article about Max Mosley under the headline F1 boss has sick Nazi orgy with five hookers. The story carries particular weight because Mosley's father led the British Union of fascists in the 1930s. Mosley later sues the newspaper for invading his privacy and for libel and wins a partial victory in court. Eccleston only adds fuel to the controversy. In a newspaper interview, he argues that democracy hasn't achieved much. He then goes on to praise Adolf Hitler as an example of a leader who was able to, quote, get things done. Unsurprisingly, the remarks trigger widespread outrageous, further tarnishing the sports image. Eccleston seems powerless to stop the scandals, and increasingly he's making headlines himself. As the negative stories pile up, an uncomfortable question begins circulating. Inside. Formula One's owner, CVC Capital, is Bernie Eccleston, the man who built Formula One, now the person holding it back? And across the Atlantic, NASCAR faces its own uncomfortable questions because the boost it got from the Chase for the cup is already running out of gas.
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I'm Leon Nayfak, best known as the host and co creator of podcasts Slow Burn, Fiasco and Think Twice Michael Jackson. I'm here to tell you about my show Final Jerry Springer, whose name is synonymous with outrageous guests, taboo confessions and vicious onstage fights. But before the Jerry Springer show became a symbol of cultural decline, its namesake was a popular Midwestern politician and a serious minded idealist with lofty ambitions. Through dozens of intimate and revealing interviews with those who knew Springer best, I examined Springer's lifelong struggle to reconcile his TV Persona, his political dreams and aspirations. Named one of the best podcasts of the year by the New Yorker and Rolling Stone. Final Thoughts Jerry Springer is a story about choices, how we make them, how we justify them to ourselves, and how we transcend them. Or don't Listen Wherever you get your podcasts or binge the whole series ad free right now on Audible Start your Audible subscription in the Audible app.
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Whether you're exploring your current fascinations or discovering new ones, Audible has all the stories that'll introduce you to your most fascinating self. Tap into a whole new world of heated conversations with a saucy romantasy series, become your friend group sci fi expert on the latest blockbuster book to screen adaptation, or find unexpected reveals through the exclusive episodes of a viral true crime podcast. However you choose to listen, Audible keeps you fascinated so you can be just as fascinating all in one easy app with plans now starting at £5.99, you'll get access to over 900,000 audiobooks and podcasts, including trending bestsellers, the hottest new releases and exclusive podcasts you won't find anywhere else. Sign up now to become a member and get any audiobook every month, plus exclusive podcasts. Plans now start at £5.99. Audible be fascinated. Be fascinating.
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It's 2006, and NASCAR has slipped back into reverse. The momentum created by the Chase for the cup didn't last long. Just two years after its introduction, the novelty wears off, leaving NASCAR's bosses facing a troubling reality. Fans are drifting away again. The Chase isn't enough to fix the underlying problem, which is that NASCAR isn't capturing the imagination of the next generation of race fans. Attendance at tracks is down sharply for the first time in years, many races fail to sell out. Fewer than half the events on the calendar fill the bleachers. Television ratings are also sliding, dropping by 6.5% in 2006 compared with the previous year. For a sport heavily dependent on TV money and corporate sponsorship, the trend is alarming. Worried about the Sport's direction, NASCAR CEO Brian France attempts another reset. In 2007, the organization introduces a radically redesigned race car. It's called the Car of Tomorrow. The new machine is largely a response to the death of Dale Earnhardt Sr. Whose fatal crash in 2001 exposed the dangers drivers face on the track. The Car of Tomorrow is wider and taller than its predecessor. Its roll cage is moved farther back while the driver's seat shifts toward the center to create a larger, protective crumpled zone during side impacts. Energy absorbing materials are used throughout the chassis. From a safety perspective, the design works. Drivers are able to walk away from crashes that might previously have caused serious injuries. But fans hate how the car looks. The boxy design earns it an unflattering nickname, the Flying Brick. Worse still, the standardized chassis means the Chevrolet, Ford and Dodge entries look almost identical. For many longtime supporters, the visual identity of the competing brands is part of NASCAR's appeal. Now that's gone. Even the first Car of Tomorrow race winner Kyle Busch calls the new cars terrible and says they suck. The Car of Tomorrow, eh? Well, here's the problem. NASCAR's core appeal is baked into its name. Stock car. The machines in Victory Lane are supposed to look like something sitting in your driveway. That's the magic Racing as brand identity. Detroit used to have a phrase for it win on Sunday, sell on Monday. But if this is supposed to be the Car of Tomorrow, then to a lot of fans, Monday suddenly looks a whole lot more depressing. With Americans falling out of love with the sport, NASCAR launches a new advertising campaign featuring drivers speaking directly to the camera.
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Maybe you know who we are, but
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do you know who we really are? We're ladies and not so gentlemen. We are mad scientists. We're outlaws, turn heroes.
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We're part athlete, part astronaut and all show off.
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The message targets younger people who aren't already fans, and it's a necessary shift in focus, too. NASCAR's largely white and Southern fan base is aging. Just 14% of NASCAR's fans are under 35, compared to 44% of the audience watching F1. If the sport doesn't bring in younger fans, and soon its audience will literally start dying off. It's a problem Formula One doesn't face to the same extent, thanks in no small part to its most famous driver. It's May 2015 in New York City, and the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art have been transformed into the world's most glamorous red carpet. It's the Met Gala, one of fashion's biggest nights. Camera flashes light up the streets as celebrities file past the photographers. Kanye west and Kim Kardashian pose together as photographers shout their names. A few steps away, Beyonce glides up the carpet and among the movie stars, music icons and fashion royalty, a new celebrity appears. Two time Formula One world champion, Lewis Hamilton. Dressed in a stylish blue waistcoat and jacket, Hamilton pauses halfway up the famous staircase as cameras fire from every direction. It's a sign of just how far the beginning British driver's fame now stretches. Formula One finally has an A lister that registers in the U.S. but while Hamilton is Formula One's most recognizable star, he's also clashing with the very organization he represents. Hamilton loves sharing his life online. Millions follow his posts on Instagram, where he uploads behind the scenes and in car footage from race weekends. But almost every time he posts, Formula One's lawyers send him cease and desist letters demanding his posts be taken down to Formula One's longtime boss, Bernie Eccleston. Social media is an alien concept. Now in his 80s, he sees little point in chasing younger fans online. In one interview, he dismisses the idea outright, arguing that young audiences aren't worthy of effort because they don't buy Rolex. Wow. Here's a classic case of optimizing for your current customer at the expense of your future ones. High end sponsors may value older, wealthier audiences. Everyone gets that. But growth depends on who's coming next, not who's already there. There are a lot of brands that get this wrong. Harley Davidson, you listening? Ignoring younger consumers doesn't protect a business. It caps it. And Eccleston's outdated beliefs are about to collide with the new realities. After seven years of ownership, CVC Capital has dramatically increased Formula One's value. Eccleston has continued expanding the championship. There are now 19 races every year, including new Grand Prix in Abu Dhabi, Singapore and Russia. And more races mean bigger broadcast deals and sponsorship contracts. Now CBC believes the time has come to cash out. The firm's executives quietly open discussions with Liberty Media, a US Entertainment giant controlled by cable TV billionaire John Malone. The negotiations move quickly. Liberty agrees to buy Formula One in a deal that values the sport at roughly $8 billion. As the final phase of the acquisition approaches In January of 2017, Liberty begins sketching out its plan for the future of Formula One. And the first question sits right at the top. Should they keep Eccleston in the driver's seat? It's January 2017 at Formula One headquarters in London. In a corner office overlooking Hyde Park, Liberty Media executive Chase Carey sits behind a desk covered in neatly arranged papers. The door opens and Eccleston steps inside. At 86, he still moves in a brisk and businesslike manner. But as he walks across the room, he already senses what this meeting is about. Carrie gestures to the chair opposite and Eccleston sits. Neither man offers a greeting. After a moment, Carrie leans forward slightly. Bernie, I want your job. Eccleston doesn't react. His face remains expressionless as another Liberty executive enters, carrying a thick stack of documents. He places them carefully on the desk, splitting them into two piles. Carrie slides the papers across. These are your resignation documents. I need you to sign them both. Eccleston looks down at the two stacks. For nearly four decades, he's had such a grip on this sport that he's simply known as the Supremo. He built its television empire, negotiated its race contracts, decided where the circus traveled and who got paid. But now Formula One belongs to Liberty Media. Its new American owners have their own plans, and those plans don't include him. Eccleston glances once more at the documents. He could stall, demand an explanation, but there's no point. The decision has already been made. Instead, he looks up. I need a pen. Kerry reaches into his jacket pocket and hands him one. Eccleston doesn't even bother reading the paperwork. He simply flips to the signature line of each and signs his name. 40 years of control ends with a few strokes of ink. He sets the pen down and pushes the papers back back across the desk. Then he looks at Cary and gives a small shrug. Well, you bought the car, you might as well drive it. Eccleston stands, straightens his jacket, and walks out the door. Just like that, the era of Bernie Eccleston is over. Formula One has new owners and they aren't here just to run the sport they want to reinvent. The only question is whether the sport is ready for them. Follow Business wars on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes of Business wars ad free by joining Audible from Audible Originals. This is episode two of F1 versus NASCAR for business Wars. A quick note about the recreations you've been hearing. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said. Those scenes are dramatizations, but they're based on research and if you would like to read more, we recommend the Formula by Joshua Robinson and Jonathan Clegg, no Angel by Tom Bower, and the 200 mph billboard by Mark Yost. If you'd like to hear more about the high stakes drama of F1, I would highly encourage you to check out the audiobook version of the Formula right now on Audible. I'm your host, David Brown. Scott Reeves of Yellowant wrote this story. Voice acting by Fajr, Al Casey and Chloe Elmore. Our senior producers are Jenny Bloom and Emily Frost. Our producer is Tristan Donovan of Yellow Ant. Karen Lowe is our producer Emeritus. Our managing producer is Desi Blalott. Research by Marine Lena Watson Fact checking by Gabrielle Joliet Sound design by Ryan Potesta Kyle Randall is our lead sound designer, Executive Producer for Audible Jenny Lauer Beckman, Head of Creative Development at Audible Kate Navin, Head of Audible Originals North America Marshall Louie, Chief Content Officer Rachel Giazza Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals, LLC Sound Recording Copyright 2026 by Audible Original Originals, LLC.
Host: David Brown
Release Date: May 20, 2026
This episode dives deep into the pivotal decades of the 1990s and 2000s, examining the diverging business strategies and existential challenges that defined Formula One and NASCAR. As tobacco sponsorships face government crackdowns and the media landscape rapidly changes, both racing empires must adapt or risk decline. Power brokers, iconic drivers, scandal, and grand business maneuvers drive a narrative replete with drama, from secretive boardrooms in London to the sun-baked tracks of Bahrain and Daytona.
Quote:
"If the sport does move east, those jobs will go with it."
— Max Mosley (02:35)
Memorable Moment:
"If you make it out alive, I’m gonna kill you myself."
— Robin Saunders to Bernie Eccleston (13:43)
Quotes:
"We’re prepared to pay more than $30 million a year...and we will cover the costs..."
— Crown Prince Salman bin Hamad Al Khalifa (16:28)
Insight:
"Scaling stretches your core product into new markets, often diluting what made it special. Cloning...lets you grow without losing your identity."
— David Brown (27:37)
Memorable Moment:
"If they manage to ban [tobacco money], half the money disappears overnight and America’s a lost cause."
— Bernie Eccleston (32:16)
Quote:
“Even the first Car of Tomorrow race winner Kyle Busch calls the new cars terrible and says they suck.” (41:42)
"You bought the car, you might as well drive it."
Max Mosley on jobs and tobacco ban:
"If the sport does move east, those jobs will go with it." (02:35)
Robin Saunders warns Eccleston after his health revelation:
"If you make it out alive, I’m gonna kill you myself." (13:43)
Bahrain’s Crown Prince making an aggressive bid:
"We're prepared to pay more than $30 million a year..." (16:28)
Host on NASCAR’s international expansion:
"Cloning...lets you grow without losing your identity." (27:37)
Bernie Eccleston laments F1's American misadventures:
“America’s a lost cause. You saw the mass at Indianapolis, right?” (32:16)
Kyle Busch on the Car of Tomorrow:
"The new cars are terrible and...they suck." (41:42)
Eccleston upon being ousted:
"You bought the car, you might as well drive it." (47:54)
This episode highlights the growing pains and deep contrasts between F1 and NASCAR as they move into the 21st century. F1’s precarious empire, propped up by personal deals and expansionist ambition, comes apart under the weight of scandal and the aging Eccleston’s failure to adapt. NASCAR’s reactionary changes—playoffs and new cars—provide only fleeting solutions to deeper issues of relevance and fan loyalty. Both sports face the inescapable challenge of appealing to new generations without losing the essence that once made them essential. The business of speed proves as cutthroat and unpredictable as any photo finish.