a bet’s a bet

I lost a high stakes bet after picking the wrong team in a World Cup football match & had to get nude in front of a football stadium full of almost 30,000 fans.

I completed the bet, ended up on the front page of the newspaper, lost my job, went to court & paid a big fine.

A bet’s a bet!

the bet

The bet originated in South America. I met a fellow Aussie backpacker named Rimba, on a loose night out in Buenos Aires, Argentina. At the last minute, Rimba changed his plans of flying to Peru to work at a party hostel & joined me to travel Brazil for the 2014 World Cup.

Before the first game took place, we made a bet of which country would win the grand final. Only if one of the chosen teams won the whole tournament, did the other person have to complete the bet. The bet was for the loser to get their belly button pierced & keep it pierced for a whole month. I chose Germany & Rimba chose Argentina. Both teams went on to make it into the grand final & Germany got the win.

The next day – Rimba, a man of his word video-called me from a tattoo parlour as the piercing was going in. He kept it in for the month, while working shirtless at a pool bar in a party hostel. After a week, he was allowed to upgrade his belly bar to the dangly rhinestone piece we had agreed on. This caused a small drama one night, when he had snuck a girl into his staff bunk room for some action. Midway through, they were both screaming, after getting both of their belly button rings tangled. I don’t think I will ever meet a man that can say that he has been in this position..

The next World Cup comes around in 2018. Over the past four years we have been hyping each other up as to what the next bet will be. I suggested continuing on from the previous bet & having to get your dick pierced, Rimba suggested getting a tattoo. I don’t have tattoos & wanted to avoid that option. Rimba said there is no way you are putting metal through his old fella.

Then the idea of the streak came up. We were both screaming down the phone at each other. No way could we actually go through with that. It’s crazy!! But, at the end of the day, it wasn’t very likely that either of us would actually pick the team. The first year round was just a crazy coincidence.

So we agreed on the streak, with a caveat + a couple of rules. Rimba got a year to do the streak or else his punishment was to head back to a tattoo parlour to get his cock pierced.

If I lost, I had a year to do the streak or else I had to get a tattoo of Rimba’s choosing (He had chosen a portrait of the owner of a marijuana farm in Northern California, which Rimba & I lived & worked on. This guy was an ex gun-runner from Brooklyn & looked like the big black bald guy in “The Green Mile” movie.

The other rules were mostly around the prestige & popularity of which sport would count for the streak. In Australia, it had to be done at one of the “big 4” football codes (NRL, AFL, Rugby Union, A-League) & had to be broadcast on national TV. The only other exceptions were a big cricket test match or the Melbourne Cup. Rimba was going to be away in Europe & agreed on streaking at an EPL football match, if he lost.

We agree on the bet over the phone (yep, we didn’t even shake on it..) and I choose Germany again, Rimba chooses France. Germany get eliminated in the group stages and France just keeps on winning. I was shitting myself!! (I’m not much of a gambler, but knowing the $10k fine & other potential consequences, every match felt like I had a high stakes bet on it).

On the 16th July 2018, France beat Croatia 4 – 2 in the grand final & I officially lose the bet.

For the next 300 + days I am getting constant messages from Rimba & other mates. I think I have seen videos of every single streaker of all time, every photo angle of the French team holding up the world cup & could almost sing the whole French national anthem. I mostly just replied to each msg with a big photo of a roulette wheel & the words “NO MORE BETS!!!”. I’m not one to go back on my word and I tried to come up with a plan to get the job done. If I bailed on the bet, Rimba would never let me live it down. It was either complete the bet or never talk to Rimba again. The second option was definitely considered on many occasions.

THE STREAK

Sporting events & opportunities kept flying by & the different sporting seasons would keep coming to an end. Before I knew it, I woke up hungover on Sunday 14th July, with only 2 days left of the 12 month bet. There was only a couple of Sunday afternoon fixtures left, where I could get the job done.

I met a group of mates in Parramatta for beers before the Eels/Tigers game. It was Benji Marshall’s 300^th game for the tigers & they had estimated a packed out stadium of almost 30,000 fans. Mates joked with me about the bet and at this point I think I was only about 5-10% of actually going through with it. As the game went on, the beers were flowing & I kept thinking about having to go to a tattoo parlour the next day to get my new artwork. Imagine having to explain why you have a grown man’s face tattooed on you. And, the background story behind it. I didn’t want an ex gun-runner/weed farmer on my body for life.

Then as I sipped a beer, I look at the score board and there’s 5 mins left in the game. I looked down to a gap on the field. If I timed it right & got lucky, I reckon I could jump over the barricade & onto the field. “What if I just got this over & done with right now?”. I skull my beer, take off my pants & put back on my shoes. At this point some of my mates are in disbelief, others are trying to talk me out of it. A couple of them know it’s already too late.

It all happens in seconds. I walk down to the barricade with my shirt & undies still on. I’m positioned right behind the cameraman & rip off my undies before scaling over the barricade. A couple of security guards start chasing behind and I am legging it up the sideline butt naked. I rip off my shirt & wave it above my head. The crowd erupts as I run over the 90m line, the 80m line, the 60m. The cheers & chants sounds like I’m about to score a runaway try at a state of origin match. The grass feels good under foot & those few seconds of getting the monkey off my back did feel pretty good. I’m tackled on the 40m line by a few security guards & dragged off the field to a holding cell at the stadium. I’m sitting naked on the concrete floor getting questioned by a confused cop. He asked for my statement & the best way that I could put it to him was in four simple words – “A bet’s a bet”

THE BACKLASH

The streak was broadcast on national TV so the bet was 100% complete. Rabs Warren & Joey Johns commentated the whole thing. “And we got a streaker on the field. Where are those binoculars?” laughs Johns. “You don’t need binoculars, I can assure you. Andrew, I tell you what, you’d have to have big magnification on them” joked Warren.
Only a few people that new about the bet phoned me & sent messages that night. Luckily, not many friends/family had noticed. It was only on TV for 5-10 secs & I was happy with getting away with limited publicity. That was until the middle of the next day when a journalist got wind of my job working for Triple M radio. He plastered my naked photo (alongside my LinkedIn profile pic) across an online newspaper. My phone blew up from friends, family & work colleagues.

I was booked into a meeting with HR at work the next morning. I woke up early after little sleep, made myself a coffee & was trying to linger up some form of optimism. I mean it is Triple M, maybe they can understand the larrikin act, they could use it for publicity, I could offer to make up for it however they see fit. Then, all of my optimism went out the window. I looked at my phone & multiple messages are flooding in from all of my tradie mates. They are all early on site or at cafes, sending me selfie pics of them next to the daily national newspaper. Yep, my naked body in all it’s glory was on the front page of the Daily Telegraph. I went into work and got sacked.

The next morning, I’m woken up with more calls & messages from journalists & TV news crews.
My favourite goes to Kyle Sandilands & his producer who are calling me at 6am to interview me for their morning radio show. I dodge all of these interviews & decide to focus on finding a lawyer. Fair play to Sandilands. He doesn’t get the interview, but he still sticks up for me on air & even offers me a job.

“He thought ‘I’m gonna get fully nude and run out onto to the oval’…  a brave man.
There’s not enough streaking! I find it hilarious,” said Kyle, to which Jackie agreed.
“I believe the guy’s been fired for getting his dick out! Around here at KIIS FM… we reward you, we lift you up like Simba the baby lion, we cheer you through the building. I would like to offer & I’ve checked this with no one except the CEO this morning. Put on your little suit, pants or no pants, front up here to the radio station and we will organise something for you. No interview required”

While things settled down, I found myself a top notch lawyer & got through the court case.
I ended up with a big fine & lost my job, but I kept my word & I still don’t have any tattoos..

A bet’s a bet.