WASTED WITH DA DILLEWAARD'S
"Splitting the G"
FOX SPORTS IF YOUR'RE READING
Before you turn your brightness up on your phone and lick your dry lips, I spent the weekend running around filming random clips for a video I've been working on and then hitting the footy with BMX royalty Dave Dillewaard and his brother Ben Dillewaard. This really has nothing to do with BMX besides I'm out with the man himself self Dave Dillewaard, getting wasted.
Pulled up to a jam-packed pub on Roma Street—Transcontinental. Locals call it “The Trannys.” Classic. Broncos vs Warriors, sold-out Suncorp, 52K mad bastards ready to rip.
Dilsy’s already sweating over his Guinness, dead serious about not “splitting the G”... apparently there’s a whole bloody app for it? Burgers next—$27 for a chicken burger that’s average at best, but with the vibes, you just cop it. It’s not food, it’s an experience. Two Guinness deep, and I can see the cowboy hat swingin’—YEEEEHAAAW.
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Ben Dillawarrd goes for a tactical piss and then we’re off to the holy land—Suncorp. On the walk, the chat turns to the time Dave Hanlon (poker player) got nicked and ended up in the watch house for being a top-tier pest. Dilsy reckons he’s been “feeling static electricity lately”—whatever that means. But he’s got that high-energy glow. And when we step inside the stadium? The place is fizzing.
I’m off the drinks lately, but the energy drags me to the bar like a magnet. Bang—CC and cola in hand. I’m double-parked just in time to catch the Broncs running out. Kiss cam’s on, boys are fired up, FaceTime to Biz—quick “g’day”—we’re ready for footy.
Try time. Broncs up. Dave’s talking mad shit about his Mark Hughes beanie being too “Warriors-coloured” and not wanting to give them an ounce of support.
I’m thirsty again—another CC run. Every time I leave the seats, the crowd erupts, and I panic—did I miss a try? Of course, I bloody did.
3:28PM. 12-NIL, CUNTS. BRONCS
Dave’s yelling again: “BRONCS ARE PLAYING SOLID, BUT WE CAN MESS IT UP SO MUCH!” While slapping his knee like an old-timey preacher.
Word on the street—Joel Turner’s the halftime show. But with this crew, it could be complete bullshit. Dave’s ten drinks in, yelling “Hi I’m Dave and this is my 10th drink!” straight from TikTok. Warriors hit the line—video ref drama.
3:39PM. Still 12-NIL, CUNTS.
Suddenly, sheep jokes. Ben’s on one. Dave asks for his bank card to dodge the convo—classic sidestep. Security has a word with Dave for leaning on the rails. Halftime. Morgan bloody Wallen pops up (??), Bronco cheerleaders in full flight, and now the phone’s dying—here comes the existential dread.
Josh Irvine appears like a mythical beast to say happy birthday. Cheers, bruv. Second half kicks off and we’re all in.
4:07PM. 18-NIL, CUNTS.
Dave tells me his car key is in my drink (??), then sneezes uncontrollably and gets heckled for spraying the lot.
4:14PM. 18-6. Warriors hit back. “Blurr” starts blasting. We’re still winning, don’t stress.
Phone dies. Fast forward—it’s 10:45PM, I’m in the bloody casino. Playing poker. Stacked Dilsy. He’s fuming. Thought he stormed off, but nah—just got a selfie of him at the craps table. I’m cashed up, calling it. Back to the streets tomorrow.
Look, the phone died, I didn’t have a charger, and everything kicked off. If you’ve got a dodgy gut from drinking, eat a green apple. And yes, in case you’re wondering—we won the bloody footy too. GOOD NIGHT XOXO
