The Billionaire Athletes of Ancient Rome: Charioteers Who Out-Earned Modern Sports Stars
- Cassy Morgan
- Aug 27, 2025
- 7 min read
When we talk about rich athletes today, the numbers can seem dizzying. Cristiano Ronaldo signs a contract for hundreds of millions. LeBron James earns more off endorsements than he does on the basketball court. Lionel Messi’s lifetime earnings top a billion dollars. Sports and money have never been more tightly intertwined.
But here’s the twist: these modern icons, with their billion-dollar paydays and global fame, don’t actually hold the crown for the best-compensated athletes in history. That title belongs to a man most people have never heard of, who raced not in stadiums with cameras and endorsements, but in an ancient arena packed with dust, danger, and the roar of 250,000 Romans.
His name was Gaius Appuleius Diocles, and by the time he retired from chariot racing in 146 CE, he had amassed a fortune that, adjusted for modern standards, would rival the likes of Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk.
To understand how that was even possible, we need to step back into the world of Roman sport, where the Circus Maximus was the beating heart of the empire and where ordinary men could become legends, or die trying.
Rome’s Appetite for Spectacle
The Roman Empire thrived on spectacle. Emperors and magistrates understood that keeping the populace entertained was as important as keeping them fed. Hence the famous phrase panem et circenses—bread and circuses.
Yes, gladiators thrilled the crowds with blood and steel. Yes, exotic animals were paraded and slaughtered in the Colosseum. And yes, emperors occasionally flooded artificial lakes to stage naval battles, complete with real warships and thousands of men fighting to the death.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, rivalled the popularity of the chariot races.
The Circus Maximus, Rome’s oldest and largest racing stadium, was the site of weekly contests that drew crowds of up to 250,000 spectators. To put that in perspective, that’s nearly three times the capacity of the largest modern football stadium. This wasn’t just entertainment. It was obsession.
Spectators often camped overnight to secure the best seats. Ancient sources describe fans bringing food and wine, feasting until they were in a state of furor circensis, a frenzy of circus madness. It wasn’t uncommon for brawls to break out before the races even began.
The poet Ovid famously treated the circus as a great social marketplace. In Ars Amatoria, his cheeky manual on love, he suggested the races were the perfect venue for flirting, recommending that men take advantage of the crowded seating:
“Why do you linger? The Circus is a convenient place to make your first approaches.”
It was part sporting event, part carnival, part singles’ mixer, and wholly central to Roman public life.
The Factions: Reds, Blues, Whites, and Greens
At the heart of the spectacle were the factions, the racing teams. Known simply by their colours, Reds, Blues, Whites, and Greens, these organisations were professionally run, financially powerful, and culturally dominant.
Each faction was backed by wealthy patrons and businesses who poured money into breeding horses, maintaining equipment, and training drivers. Much like today’s Formula One teams or Premier League clubs, the factions weren’t just sports outfits; they were institutions.
Fans pledged fierce loyalty to their chosen colours. Entire families identified with a team, and the rivalry wasn’t just good-natured, it could turn violent. Supporters exchanged insults in the stands, fought in the streets, and cursed rival teams with magical amulets inscribed on thin sheets of lead. Archaeologists have found many of these tablets, pierced with nails, containing invocations to the gods asking that a rival driver or his horses suffer misfortune.
One fragment reads:
“Bind the horses of the Blues, and the charioteer’s hands, so they may not finish the race.”
It’s the ancient equivalent of football hooligan chants mixed with witchcraft.
By the later empire, allegiance to the factions carried political weight. In Constantinople, centuries after Rome’s heyday, riots between the Blues and Greens grew so violent they threatened imperial control. But even in the first and second centuries, the colours mattered deeply, fandom was identity.
Life and Death on the Track
The races themselves were a spectacle of speed, skill, and danger.
Each race consisted of seven laps around the track, a distance of roughly five miles. Drivers had to navigate the tight turns around the metae, the turning posts, where collisions were most common. A single miscalculation could send a chariot smashing into the barrier or another team.
The Romans had a word for these crashes: naufragia, or “shipwrecks.” It conveys the chaos of a tangled mass of men, horses, and wood splintering across the track. Survival was never guaranteed.
Drivers wore basic protection: a leather helmet, shin guards, a chest protector, and a tunic in their team colours. They carried whips for their horses and a curved knife for emergencies—useful for slashing reins or, in the more vicious moments, sabotaging a rival.
Charioteers tied the reins around their waist for better control, but this also meant that if they fell, they risked being dragged to death. The knife was their only chance to cut themselves free.
Despite the risk, the allure was irresistible. Winning meant glory, adoration, and, most importantly, staggering sums of money.
Celebrity and Scandal
Charioteers weren’t drawn from Rome’s aristocracy. Many began as slaves or men from humble provincial backgrounds. Yet the circus allowed them to leap into fame and fortune in a way few other professions could.
Fans adored them. Graffiti from Pompeii immortalises drivers like Crescens and Scorpus as heroes. Poets celebrated their victories. Statues were erected in their honour.
And with fame came scandal. Like modern athletes, charioteers were tabloid material. They were accused of affairs with aristocratic women, courted by politicians seeking favour, and sometimes vilified for their arrogance or excess.
The satirist Juvenal complained bitterly about the fanaticism of the crowds, writing in one of his Satires:
“The whole population of Rome is in the Circus today, and cares only for the colour of the tunic.”
In other words: politics, philosophy, and governance all took a backseat to racing fever.
Gaius Appuleius Diocles: The Champion of Champions
Among all the names of the circus, none shines brighter than Gaius Appuleius Diocles.
Born in Lusitania (modern Portugal/Spain), Diocles likely came from modest origins. He began racing young and quickly distinguished himself with a bold, calculated style. After short stints with the White and Green factions, he joined the Reds, where he would achieve lasting fame.
Diocles’ trademark was his final dash. He often held back during the early laps, conserving strength and waiting for the moment to strike. Then, with a burst of speed in the closing moments, he would surge ahead to claim victory.
The strategy worked. Over a 24-year career, Diocles became the most successful charioteer in Roman history. His victories were so numerous and lucrative that his fellow drivers and admirers erected a monumental inscription in Rome detailing his achievements. It records his career earnings at a jaw-dropping 35,863,120 sesterces.
To put that into perspective:
It was five times more than the highest-paid provincial governors could make in their careers.
It could feed the entire city of Rome on grain for a year.
It was enough to cover the wages of the Roman army for several months.
Historians estimate that in today’s terms, Diocles’ fortune equates to about $15 billion.
This wasn’t inherited wealth or political graft. It was earned, lap after lap, race after race, under conditions where one misstep meant death.
When he retired at the precise age of 42 years, 7 months, and 23 days, the inscription hailed him as “Champion of all charioteers.”
Politics, Propaganda, and the Circus
The chariot races weren’t just about sport—they were tools of politics. Emperors knew that the people’s loyalty could be swayed from the imperial throne to the racing factions. Supporting a faction, funding games, or even appearing at the circus was a way to win public favour.
Augustus used the games to consolidate his image as the bringer of peace. Nero, obsessed with performance, fancied himself a charioteer and sometimes took to the track himself. Later emperors, like Constantine, were careful to manage the powerful factions, which could incite riots and challenge authority.
The circus was, in essence, a stage where emperors performed their legitimacy. By sponsoring lavish games and siding with popular factions, they gave the people their bread and circuses—and in return, they secured stability.
A Comparison to Modern Sport
It’s tempting to see the Circus Maximus as ancient history with little in common with today’s world. But the parallels are striking.
Teams and Colours: Romans had Reds, Blues, Greens, and Whites. We have Barcelona, Real Madrid, Manchester United, and Liverpool.
Fan Loyalty: Roman families passed down allegiances like heirlooms. Modern fans do the same.
Celebrity Culture: Charioteers were scrawled on walls and sung in poems. Today’s athletes trend on Twitter and fill magazine covers.
Wealth: Diocles’ billions echo the staggering contracts of Messi, Ronaldo, or Mahomes.
The difference, of course, is the risk. Modern athletes face injuries, yes, but few risk instant death every time they step onto the field. For Diocles and his peers, each race was a gamble with mortality.
The Long Shadow of the Circus
The circus never truly died. Even after the fall of Rome, chariot racing endured in Byzantium for centuries. In Constantinople, the Blues and Greens dominated politics, sparking riots that left tens of thousands dead.
The echoes of that passion still resonate today in the way we rally around teams, exalt athletes, and pour billions into sport.
Diocles’ story stands as a reminder that sport has always been more than play. It is identity, spectacle, and sometimes even survival. Long before corporate sponsorships and billion-dollar contracts, there was a charioteer from Spain who became the richest athlete in history.
Conclusion
Modern athletes may dominate headlines with their record-breaking salaries, but when compared with ancient Rome’s charioteers, they are outpaced. The Circus Maximus wasn’t just sport—it was politics, religion, community, and obsession bound together in seven frantic laps.
Gaius Appuleius Diocles remains the greatest testament to that world. A man of humble origins who, by daring to drive at the edge of life and death, earned a fortune that has never truly been surpassed.
Sport, wealth, and spectacle, these aren’t inventions of the modern age. They are as old as civilisation, and the roar of the Circus still echoes in the stadiums of today.
Sources
Futrell, Alison. The Roman Games: A Sourcebook. Blackwell Publishing, 2006.
Kyle, Donald. Spectacles of Death in Ancient Rome. Routledge, 1998.
Beard, Mary. The Roman Triumph. Harvard University Press, 2007.
Coleman, Kathleen. “Spectacle in Roman Society.” The Journal of Roman Studies, Vol. 76 (1986).
Inscription of Gaius Appuleius Diocles (CIL VI 10048).
retired at 42 with the equivelent of 15 billion quid unbelieveable some dough that in that age, in any age