Streakerama! a study conducted by the British Medical Journal indicated that many of us don’t see streaking as an act of a sexual deviant because the streaker is essentially moving and doing it for giggles as opposed to bailing up an individual in order to elicit a response. I would have to concur. That is unless the bloke in question was doing the bolt with a stiffy whilst holding hands with ten of his best bum-boys...err mates. Like most Australian children, I was first introduced to the streaker via cricket telecasts back in the 70s. Those long and humid summer afternoons were just that little bit more special when our family would be roused from our cricket stupor to point and laugh at some Wally doing the pantless-Matt-Shirvington dash across the MCG. However I do remember with some clarity, that if the streaker in question was a big breasted woman with a full bush the reaction would be slightly different. The finger pointing and laughing would be replaced with sly sniggering and uncomfortable chair squirming. But I digress. Whilst teaching at Springwood High I clearly remember being on bush duty. Now before you start your own sly little sniggers, the school was situated near a large parcel of bushland and the kids used it as a short cut to the main road. It was so far away from the administration of the school that teachers on duty there had to carry a walkie-talkie to report infractions to the big-wigs. Reports started to filter through that there was a flasher in the area. A bunch of startled year eight girls described him as a skinny little ginger runt with a goatee in a long spray jacket and not much else. Apparently he was waggling his tongue whilst grappling his bits and laughing maniacally not more than fifty metres up the track. These girls were petrified and he was eventually caught and charged. When you imagine this situation it’s kind of clear why we tolerate infantile attention-seeking tricks like streaking and not the former. The streaker just wants to be laughed at. The flasher actually thinks of his penis as the resentful, uninvited guest at every party and seeks to rectify that.
Anyways, the fact remains that both flashing and streaking defy logical explanation. I don't know what compels a flasher but when asked in court why they streak, many respond with an answer that could rival Sir Edmund Hilary for equal amounts of stupidity and existentialism: ‘Dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Well not anymore sadly because pitch invasions carry heavy fines these days. The last incident I recall was during the second one-day final between Australia and India in 2008. Brisbane man, Robert Ogilvy, invaded the pitch during the 10th over and copped a shoulder barge from Andrew Symonds. The poor bugger dropped like a dead Clydesdale. It was all over the news. He was fined $1500...though Dr Yobbo once informed me that Mr Ogilvy considered the experience a privilege.
All this talk of gleeful exhibitionism also reminds me: back in 1984 I saw my first flasher penis; but it wasn’t a pariah in a trench coat. It was a professional sportsman. Back in the day when you could run onto the oval at the Gabba at the end of the game, my girlfriends and I found ourselves outside the Australian cricket team’s dressing room. A man already notorious for slapping streakers on the arse with the broad end of his Willow suddenly appeared entirely naked in the doorway. It was Greg Chappell. He spotted us and scratched his nuts. Even from that distance I could see he was mighty pleased with himself...and that it was rather wrinkly and rather old, not to mention in desperate need of grooming. I wish we’d been savvy enough to take a few photographs and extort the bastard. Little did I realize our world would become so sanitised. Today’s technology would have been perfectly suited to the task and I’m fairly certain I could have found backers in New Zealand.