In a bizarre turn of events that underscores the unpredictable nature of late-night television memorabilia collecting, Russell Crowe’s athletic supporter from the 2005 boxing film Cinderella Man has once again found its way back into the possession of John Oliver. This latest development marks the third time the Last Week Tonight host has taken ownership of the cinematic undergarment, breathing new life into one of the most delightfully absurd running jokes in television history.
The peculiar saga dates back to 2018, when Crowe hosted a massive auction titled “The Art of the Divorce” following his separation from his former wife, Danielle Spencer. The Oscar-winning actor put more than 200 items from his personal life and professional career up for sale, clearing out a significant portion of his accumulated possessions. Among the eclectic mix of fine art, movie props, and personal memorabilia was the specific jockstrap Crowe wore while portraying heavyweight boxing champion James J. Braddock in Ron Howard’s critically acclaimed biographical drama Cinderella Man.
Ahead of the auction, Crowe expressed mild bewilderment regarding the immense traction the undergarment had received from the public and media outlets alike. Speaking in an interview with Good Morning Britain, the actor noted that the athletic supporter quickly transformed into one of the most heavily discussed and surprisingly popular items featured in the catalog. He explained that he had originally included the piece in the collection purely as a whimsical gag, never anticipating the tidal wave of attention it would ultimately garner from eager bidders and curious onlookers.
Seizing the comedic and philanthropic opportunity, John Oliver and his team on HBO’s Last Week Tonight entered the fray. The satirical news program ultimately purchased the jockstrap for $7,000, alongside several other curious items from the auction block. Rather than keeping the prop locked away in a private office, Oliver orchestrated a brilliant publicity stunt. He and his staff shipped the garment to the very last remaining Blockbuster Video store, located in Anchorage, Alaska, in a bid to drive foot traffic and boost local business for the struggling franchise.
The Anchorage Blockbuster proudly placed the unusual piece of Hollywood history on public display, where it drew crowds of curious visitors and local fans. However, the retail landscape proved too challenging, and the iconic video rental store was ultimately forced to close its doors permanently in the summer of 2018.
Amid these transactions, Crowe revealed a surprising and charitable twist regarding the financial windfall generated by the auction. He announced that all proceeds from the sale of the jockstrap—and select other high-profile items—were being donated directly to the Australia Zoo. The wildlife sanctuary subsequently announced that the funds would be utilized to establish and support the “John Oliver Koala Chlamydia Ward,” permanently linking the comedian’s name to wildlife conservation efforts down under.
Following the closure of the Anchorage Blockbuster, the well-traveled piece of athletic wear made its journey back to Oliver toward the end of 2018. The reunion was celebrated on television, with Crowe even making a surprise appearance in a pre-taped sketch alongside the infamous garment, playing directly into the self-referential absurdity of the ongoing bit.
For several years, the jockstrap remained part of the show’s lore until Last Week Tonight staffers decided to put it back on the auction block in early 2025. The goal was to raise vital funds to support public television and radio stations across the country. During this charity auction, the item successfully fetched an impressive $21,000 winning bid from an anonymous buyer, seemingly closing another chapter in the saga.
However, the story took yet another unexpected turn in August of this year. The jockstrap unexpectedly found its way back to an auction house once again, where an unknown buyer secured it for the reduced price of $10,000. It was only afterward that the identity of the mysterious bidder came to light, as the production team behind Last Week Tonight quietly reacquired the item.
Oliver chose to reveal this latest development to his audience during Sunday night’s broadcast of Last Week Tonight, weaving the revelation into a broader segment focused on the operations and history of the United States Secret Service. During the broadcast, Oliver examined the agency’s renowned “zero fail” mission, contrasting the immense, history-altering pressure faced by federal agents with the day-to-day realities of producing a satirical weekly news program.
Reflecting on the legacy of his own television show, Oliver offered a candid and humorous assessment. He noted that if Secret Service agents fail, the course of international history can be fundamentally altered—a level of professional pressure that he admitted he could truly never fathom. By contrast, Oliver quipped that he is reasonably confident the ultimate historical legacy of Last Week Tonight will boil down to a few hundred thousand dollars distributed to food banks, a dedicated koala chlamydia ward in Australia, and whatever inexplicable fate continues to befall Russell Crowe’s discarded movie prop.
Providing the punchline to his viewers, Oliver offered a quick update on the item’s recent whereabouts. He explained that after the show auctioned the jockstrap off at the conclusion of the previous year to benefit public media, it was mysteriously put back on the auction block in August. With visible amusement, Oliver confirmed to the studio audience that it sold for $10,000, and admitted that the only reason he knew the final destination of the sale was because his production team had aggressively bought it back yet again.
To the delight of the audience, Oliver reached beneath his desk and physically produced the legendary undergarment on air, holding it up for the studio cameras. Addressing the well-worn piece of fabric directly, Oliver delivered his final deadpan remark, expressing his eager anticipation to discover where the garment might travel next in its increasingly absurd and well-documented journey.