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MediaSeptember 6, 2021

Inside Viva La Dirt League’s YouTube empire

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Viva La Dirt League have been making YouTube videos for nearly a decade, and they’ve just launched their biggest series yet. Sam Brooks talks to the creators about what makes this channel so special – and successful.

If you watch the first video that Viva La Dirt League uploaded to their YouTube channel nine years ago – a Starcraft parody set to Blue’s ‘All Rise’ – the overwhelming feeling is that of goofy, earnest joy. In it, Viva La Dirt League founders Adam King, Alan Morrison and Rowan Bettjeman (along with two co-stars) sing along to the 2001 hit in an Auckland warehouse, swapping out the lyrics with references to an inexplicably popular game from 1999. It’s funny, and holds up a lot better than a decade-old music video parody has any right to.

The video has the hallmarks of a certain era of internet video (as does the group’s name, a reference to Starcraft with two words chucked on the start because “Dirt League” was taken). The production values aren’t especially high and it’s shot in the omnipresent, barely-furnished warehouse that seems to feature in every comedy video of the late 2000s. The costume design is best described as “already purchased”. There are only men on camera, so you can comfortably assume there’s no makeup team. 

You get the feeling that it came about after someone asked a question starting with, “Wouldn’t it be cool if…?”. 

Eleven years after that charming, low-budget video was uploaded to YouTube, Viva La Dirt League are continuing to follow that whim, just in front of a much larger audience. Their channel has 3.43 million subscribers on YouTube, and has amassed 860 million views in the past decade. The first episode of their latest series has been watched, as of this writing, almost 570,000 times. 

With the exception of Rekt, a 2017 series funded by NZ on Air and YouTube’s Skip Ahead scheme, their success has been achieved outside the confines and structures of traditional media, which is currently in slow-mo freefall. Instead, they rely on their audience to keep them afloat. On Patreon, they have over 4,000 subscribers, contributing over $27,000 to the channel a month in exchange for exclusives and the warm feeling of supporting creators they like.

The original VLDL trio. From left to right: Adam King, Rowan Bettjeman, Alan Morrison. (Photo: Supplied)

Adam King, a founder alongside Bettjeman and Morrison, describes the group as “online content creators”, perhaps one of the least descriptive word groupings in modern English, but it’s not inaccurate. “We make skit comedy, based primarily on nerd culture. It’s primarily video games, but also movies and TV.” When he describes the channel to anyone over the age of 40, he says the easiest comparison is Monty Python. 

Viva La Dirt League started off with music video parodies and such, but their bread and butter for the past few years has been what King calls “logic parodies” – essentially looking at video games and deconstructing the logic. “For example, in fantasy games, if you get struck by an arrow or some magical spell hurts you and you’ve got half a limb missing, then you eat a piece of bread and that restores your health. What does that look like in real life?”

These logic parodies began with PUBG (PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds, the game that kicked off the battle royale craze) and have since included popular franchises like Apex Legends (peppier battle royale game), Red Dead Redemption (sad cowboy game) and Dark Souls (mean monster game).

D&D Logic is their latest series, and it’s their biggest yet. In “backstories”, several Dungeons and Dragons characters, in full costume and makeup, tell their increasingly ludicrous histories to each other. It’s a spot-on parody of overly eager tabletop players who craft backstories for their character that make no sense, especially given that characters tend to start these campaigns at level one. 

The production values are nothing like that very first video, ‘Eight Pool (8 Pool) Music Video’, which now sits at nearly 800,000 views. The visuals in this new series are sharp as hell: the costumes look like they could’ve been pilfered from Amazon’s Lord of the Rings wardrobe before the show ran off to England, the makeup looks like it’s the kind you spend hours in a chair for, and the set looks closer to The Witcher than Medieval Times.

The group has also started another series on another channel (Viva La Dirt League D&D, 213K subscribers, 10 million views) where they will stream their own tabletop gaming sessions. Says King: “D&D has a lot of the similar kind of game logic that video games have. So we definitely saw the possibilities there, but then also Rob had been dropping a whole load of hints that we should do it as well.”

Rob is Robert Hartley, a full-time Dungeon Master. He both writes and stars in D&D Logic, but this isn’t his first appearance on the channel. “We played D&D together two years ago, and it went well,” he says of how the collaboration came about. “During that series, there were a couple of times when we were doing green screen cutaways of what their characters are experiencing in the real world, and because they were taking on the role of those characters, it meant that we could also take the mick out of the logic of the world.”

While the original trio are involved in D&D Logic, working with collaborators like Hartley allows them to take their foot off the pedal a little, says King. “We’ve seen the people that we’ve been collecting around us and going, ‘Holy crap! We’ve got an awesome, talented bunch of people!’ And they’ve got stories that they want to tell as well. We want to embody the ‘as the seas rises, all boats rises’ mentality, and foster lots of other voices in New Zealand to tell those stories.”

This series is their biggest yet, with a main cast of 10. The makeup and costume effects are as impressive as any broadcast (or streaming) fantasy show you might watch, and in some cases more impressive. The scale of the production impressed Hartley, who was writing and showrunning for the first time. “Because they’re successful, I already had an established costume and props department that I could talk to,” says Hartley. “I could tell them what I wanted, just put it out there, and they’d come back to me with images. It was my imagination literally coming to life.”

King is keen for that experience to continue as Viva La Dirt League continue to branch out. “We would love Viva to be a platform for creators to make awesome stuff in the future, and so at the moment we’re experimenting with getting some of our close key collaborators to make shows for us.” One of their next plans is for frequent collaborators Britt Scott-Clark and Ellie Harwood to make a logic series based on The Sims.

Especially notable about Viva La Dirt League, particularly within the niche they inhabit (nerds, video game and otherwise), is the immense audience support they enjoy. There’s the financial support, of course – those Patreon numbers don’t lie – but the genuine enthusiasm that floods through their YouTube comments is what makes you briefly believe the internet isn’t the cesspool it’s often made out to be.

King puts their good-natured fandom down to the global appetite for New Zealand comedy, but also to the specific relationships that a medium like YouTube creates. “One of the beauties of online content is that the creator-audience is so intertwined compared to TV or movies. You’re really creating an audience. We’re so happy that we’ve managed to create an audience that is very, very nice compared to some gaming audiences out there.”

Good vibes beget more good vibes, Hartley says. “It’s self-serving in a sense, because the people who do come in new might have this aggressive attitude, and the people in the community will call them out. I mean, it’s on YouTube. You can watch it for free! You don’t have to stay here and watch. If it’s not your thing, just leave. So the community keeps itself nice and friendly and encouraging.”

Content creation, as nebulous a term as that may be, has changed since Viva La Dirt League launched back in 2011. A content creator can be anything from a social media influencer, to an illustrator putting out artworks, to someone like yours truly, writing articles for an online magazine. While YouTube isn’t exactly traditional media yet, it’s not far off – “YouTuber” is a respectable job now, after all.

While King can see VLDL expanding into TikTok in the future – the channel has an account, but doesn’t yet make content specifically for the platform – he says they’re not looking to make a move into TV any time soon. “Traditional media to me is still something that has been either funded by a studio or funded by advertising, and that’s not how YouTube works. It’s funded by the audience, it’s funded by views, so that middleman doesn’t exist.”

While a potential pivot to TV is something they’ve discussed, the group is adamant they’re not interested. “I always say to people who want us to do that stuff” ‘I can see the love in your comment that you want us to do it, but deep in your soul, you don’t want us to do a Netflix show,’” says King. “We’re making what we want, getting paid for it, and you guys are getting it for free. Why would we make a show on Netflix when we’re doing exactly what we want here now?”

It’s a fair point. Their latest video has had over half a million streams in less than a week. Any local comedian, give or take Matafeo or Darby, would kill for those numbers. Hell, any of our networks would kill for those numbers for one of their shows. Why would Viva La Dirt League jump through the hoops of traditional media only to be met with more restrictions, a smaller audience, and ultimately, fewer chances to do the stuff they actually want to do?

Beyond the impressive numbers, the real achievement of Viva La Dirt League is the uplifting enthusiasm that runs through everything they do. That first video, which I maintain still holds up, has the kind of infectious joy that you only really get when people want to do something cool together. It’s been nine years, 869 videos and nearly a billion views, but the most remarkable thing about Viva La Dirt League isn’t that they’re so successful – it’s that they’re still having a shit-ton of fun doing exactly what they want to do.

Keep going!
The Bounce logo, created by The Spinoff’s Toby Morris
The Bounce logo, created by The Spinoff’s Toby Morris

MediaSeptember 6, 2021

Why I left traditional sports journalism behind to start a newsletter about sports

The Bounce logo, created by The Spinoff’s Toby Morris
The Bounce logo, created by The Spinoff’s Toby Morris

After more than two decades as one of New Zealand’s foremost sports journalists, Dylan Cleaver is striking out on his own with The Bounce, a newsletter ‘on sport, the business of sport and other things loosely related to sport’ that launches today. Here he explains what prompted the move, and what readers can expect from The Bounce.

Subscribe to The Bounce here.

Why am I doing this?

For a long time the working title for this project was called “The Rebound”. I might still regret not calling it that. It’s got a certain ring to it and comes with immediate sporting connotations, but it also describes a misguided dalliance following a long-term relationship.

My marriage to traditional media lasted 25 years. It was a decent run. I’m proud of a lot of what I produced in that time. If you’ll momentarily excuse the sound of me beating my own drum, over that quarter century I have had my work acknowledged by judges for uncovering an multi-pronged investigation into match-fixing by New Zealand cricketers; for exposing outsized occurrences of dementia among our rugby legends; for examining a worrying trend of high-performance athletes seeking help for acute mental health issues, a story that feels even more urgent now; and for narrating the lives of ordinary people with extraordinary stories.

More cheerfully, I have covered three Olympics, two Commonwealth Games, two Rugby World Cups, a Cricket World Cup, countless tests in various sports and even a Rugby League World Cup final, though it might have been better for everybody if I’d stayed away. These were my opening paragraphs for the Herald on Sunday, filed on the shrill of the final whistle, from that glorious night at Suncorp Stadium (for context, a huge tropical storm had been forecast to hit Brisbane that evening):

All day locals waited for the big one to hit. The perfect storm never arrived but the Kiwis did, shaking Suncorp Stadium and the rugby league world to its foundations.

The Kiwis are the world champions.

That is not a misprint. Say it again: THE KIWIS ARE THE WORLD CHAMPIONS. THE KIWIS ARE THE WORLD CHAMPIONS. THE KIWIS ARE THE WORLD CHAMPIONS!

Hail Stephen Kearney, hail Wayne Bennett, hail Nathan Cayless. If you’re Australian, hail a cab because you’re going home with nothing.

Good grief, it makes me wince to read that even 13 years later but what it also does is transport me straight back there, to that feeling you get when you’re expecting one thing to happen and the opposite does. That feeling is not unique to sport but it happens often enough to keep us hooked to lost causes and foregone conclusions.

Yes, mistakes were made (just look at that screeching final paragraph as Exhibit A). I no doubt taxed the patience of several editors, just as my faith in the industry was occasionally tested, but on the whole it was a blast.

In the end, I didn’t go with “The Rebound” because it implied that this project could be a meaningless fling; a fly-by-night exploration of the value of my “brand”. That is not what I’m after. False modesty aside, I couldn’t even describe what my brand is, if indeed I have one.

Sports journalist. Since my 20s, that’s really the only thing I’ve called myself. There have been brief forays into hard news, feature writing, editing and even, as grandiose as it sounds, investigative journalism, but at heart I’ve always been a sports journalist. That, if you can call it such, is my “brand”.

In recent times, it has become a difficult badge to wear.

Lions rugby captain Brian O’Driscoll talks to media at Auckland’s Hilton Hotel on July 3 2005 (Photo: David Rogers/Getty Images)

I seriously started thinking about a separation from the job I loved about five years ago. It wasn’t the pace of change that was frightening so much as the pace of disintegration. For the past 10 years New Zealand sports journalism, and I’m talking more about publishing as opposed to the broadcast genre, has been hollowed out to a point where it is barely recognisable as the industry I joined full of misplaced self-importance in 1996.

To the reader it might look much the same: there are headlines, photos and words, some put together better than others, but the process of news gathering has all but disappeared. Sports reporters have instead become clearinghouses for scraps of information disseminated through media releases, press conferences, the dreaded media scrum and, increasingly, social media posts.

There is still some great stuff that sneaks through. There is still great talent in the ranks, but most of it is misused.

The reasons are the same that have blighted the media the world over and don’t need rehashing here other than to say that decreasing traditional revenues mean each vertical is under pressure to pay its way. Some, like business, have found it easier to market to a paying audience. Other verticals are glorified commercial partnerships dressed up as editorial.

Sport, however, looked increasingly like a cost centre – a luxury that could no longer be justified. At least, that’s what sports journalists were made to feel.

Like slowly boiled frogs, we didn’t recognise our peril at first. Perhaps we should have. It was hardly subtle. Parts of the job we took for granted, like travelling to matches involving high-profile national teams, had to be cleared through management. “No” was a word we started hearing a lot more.

Don’t let anybody tell you it doesn’t make a difference if you’re on the ground or not. The biggest misconception young and trainee reporters bring to the job is that sports knowledge = sports journalism. To steal a line from Danny Ormondroyd, does it bollocks. Sports reporting should tell you about the things you can’t see on the screen. We can all watch the race; the best sports journalists can get you to the start line, into the sheds and inside the lives of athletes.

(When you have the time, read this, arguably the greatest piece of sports reportage ever filed, certainly among the most harrowing, and tell me it could have been “done off the telly”.)

The New Zealand Herald and its weekly titles, the biggest-selling mastheads in the country and the newspapers I spent the bulk of my career proudly working for, did not send a single reporter to the past two Olympic Games, the most successful in this country’s history. In 2019, for the first time in living memory, the Herald did not have a reporter at a home cricket test, despite this being widely regarded as a golden era for the Black Caps.

They were no means alone in tamping down their sports costs.

Then Covid hit. As a rule, conspiracies are not my thing – OK, I admit to being sceptical about JFK and the single-shooter theory – but there was something deeply troubling about the way so many sports journalists lost their jobs as the coronavirus surged, then were brought back almost immediately on casual contracts.

It was almost as if it was the grand plan after all.

I kept my job. It was a good job and I should have been grateful, but it irritated the hell out of me. Something felt broken. A friend told me it was me. It was meant as a joke but on reflection he was right.

So in some respects The Bounce is a repair job. I can’t reset the stopwatch and take sports journalism back to the place it was when I started. I can’t “fix” anything but I can mend my relationship with the craft. That’s my giant conceit, but if that was all I thought it was going to be, I wouldn’t ask you to come along.

I’m going to try to bring back the best traditions of a craft I love and, if you feel passionately about sports journalism and all that it could be, I invite you to help by subscribing.

I’m asking you to join me because I reckon it could be a lot of fun. Sometimes it might even be enlightening. That’s why I stuck with “The Bounce”. The name wasn’t my idea, or even my first choice, but it grew on me. As most followers of rugby know, if you put the ball in the air and let it bounce, it could go anywhere.


Follow The Fold on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or your favourite podcast provider.


So where might it go?

That’s a two-fold question. The first part is practical, the second more whimsical.

If you subscribe, you will get a free weekly edition of The Bounce. If you’re a paying subscriber, you get every edition – at least two per week, usually three – delivered straight to your inbox.

If you don’t subscribe, you’ll still have the opportunity to read The Bounce periodically here on The Spinoff. The big reads, the ones that take hours of interviewing, research and writing, they’ll be free too. I don’t want to blow smoke up anybody’s URL but The Spinoff feels like a hand-in-glove partner. They’ve broken the mould: their journalists are encouraged to write skilfully, irreverently and bravely – and occasionally indulgently (if there’s one thing I cannot be accused of, it’s lacking the indulgence gene). They have also been critical in giving advice and support after I started down this path. Maybe even the name was their idea.

That’s the practical element, the more nebulous idea is where the concept might head. At its most basic, The Bounce will be me writing about the thing I love most: sport. I don’t want to put any hard-and-fast rules around the style of stories and posts you will see because I’m attracted to the idea that The Bounce is no one thing. There will be opinion, there will be critical analysis both fervent and sober, there will be narratives and features, profiles and oral histories. There will be reviews, listicles and links to some of the best sports journalism from around the globe.

There will be reportage from on the ground. I will get to cricket tests, to rugby tests, and to a bunch of other stuff.

It will be fiercely independent. The arm might hover over the handbrake but it will mostly stay off. I know for a fact there will be posts that I’ll re-read later and think ‘Why the hell did I push publish on that?’

In the future I’d love to explore The Bounce: Podcast; I see live chats and panel discussions. What I’d really love, however, would be for The Bounce to evolve into a platform for emerging voices and some of my favourite sports thinkers and writers. If you join as a Founding Subscriber, you will be helping to make that happen.

A little bit more about me, my career and why you should subscribe

I have been a sports journalist for the bulk of the past 25 years, writing mostly for the New Zealand Herald and associated titles, but also for the Sunday News, Sunday Star-Times, ESPNCricinfo, Cricket Monthly, The Nightwatchman, Irish Examiner and various magazine mastheads including the excellent but sadly discontinued Sky Sport: The Magazine. I have ghost written three books and would need a very good reason (or subject) to do a fourth!

I have entered plenty of awards and won some. If I had to pick one for a skite reel, it’d be Best Investigation at the 2015 national media awards for my work on the Chris Cairns saga involving allegations of match-fixing and charges of perjury, for which the legendary allrounder was eventually acquitted. Taken as a whole, though, my work linking dementia and rugby as featured in The Longest Goodbye promises to have a more profound impact.

So that’s the what, the why, the where and the who. Even the seemingly simple task of writing a “welcome note” has been an energising exercise. Also a slightly discomfiting one – as a salaried man for so long, it’s a little weird asking for your money, your private equity if you will.

Which brings me inelegantly to a subject I know you’ll want to hear more about: New Zealand Rugby, Silver Lake, a dubious media strategy and where it all went wrong. Stay tuned.

The Bounce launches today. You can subscribe here.