So, You’ve Decided to be a Streaker?

Ever since organised sport began, humankind has felt the need to bolt across the grass like a New Zealander getting chased out of a shearing shed.

When done right, you may just live on in hall of larrikin fame. If done wrong all you’ll be left with is a hangover the size of a bankruptcy application. So how does one navigate the perilous seas of public opinion?

Firstly, one must understand the difference between a streaker and a pitch invader. A proper streaker has their entire kit off. Not only is it in the name but it’s the bargain the streaker strikes with society – you get to ridicule my naked body in exchange for my moment of glory. A pitch invader seeks to get the juice without the squeeze. Sorry, no dice.

Secondly, a pure streak is a spontaneous decision fuelled by several hours of over refreshment. Nothing sucks the fun out of a good streak like hijacking the game with some political or social message you have. Save your grandstanding for Instagram you walking hashtag. Streaking is about living La Vida Loca.

Thirdly, allow one of the athletes on the field to smash you. We’re all waiting for it. We all crave it. Andrew Symonds perhaps set the standard in 2008 when hung out a streaker with the force of a spinning Hills Hoist. Your debt to society will be half paid already if you provide us with such entertaining gold.

Fourthly, copping the punishment on the chin is part & parcel of a good streak. Lengthy bans and obscene fines are all part of the shitshow. Nothing puts the general public off like launching a GoFundMe to help pay the fine. We are not shareholders in your bucket list moment.

Finally and perhaps most importantly, a good streaker knows how to read the room. People who breach COVID-19 protocols are the new villains of society. Just ask the people fleeing their hotel quarantines – the masses would probably opt to have them tarred & feathered in front of a live audience.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?