AJ Lamarque: From Locker Room Joke to Basketball Pride Ambassador & Comedy Legend

AJ Lamarque isn’t just a nerd, he’s every high school bully’s wet dream. He’s an amateur Egyptologist, a stand-up comedian, a biomedicine graduate, and, well, a gay twink. And yet, despite not being particularly athletic, in 2025, AJ graduated from stand-up and ABC Radio fame to become Basketball NSW’s Pride in Sport Ambassador.

So how did AJ go from being his school’s resident punchline to king of punchlines? Or, even more surprising, what prompted him to become an official spokesperson for the sport that once rejected him?

According to AJ, becoming a public personality, much less a sports influencer (*gay shudder*), was never part of the plan. In fact, he’d intended to become a doctor. However, after moving to Australia, he noticed a strange commonality among entry-level research positions in biomedical science: they all actually started on the third floor.

“I ended up just getting regular day jobs in marketing,” AJ said, “just to have some sort of income. Then I started getting success on that side.”

AJ Lamarque on his unexpected pivot to comedy

At around the same time, AJ began his foray into comedy. Not as a means to a career, but as a means to friendship. Rather than try and worm his way into Sydney social circles established in high school, AJ joined an improv class.

“It worked very well and I got a lot of friends out of it,” AJ said. “Eventually we all started going to other people’s shows and gigs. From there I ended up getting dragged into a lot of improv comedy and then later to stand-up and general comedy.”

Since then, AJ’s stand-up has attained national acclaim. He’s opened for drag star Juno Birch and presented sold-out tours at Australia’s top fringe and comedy festivals. AJ’s recent edu-tainment specials, A Beginner’s Guide to Gay Cruising and A Beginner’s Guide to Ancient Egypt, have both boasted sparkling reviews. He’s even appeared as a guest on SBS‘ series Celebrity Letters and Numbers.

“So alas,” AJ mused, “I did not invent any cures to anything.”

While AJ did not go on to pursue biomedical science professionally, his undergraduate degree did not go unused.

“It’s definitely helped with comedy,” AJ said. “When you have that analytical background, you’re always optimising. You know, how are people entering the room? How is the space affecting their mood? What copy are they reading before the show, and how does that translate to their understanding of what the show is? Is that understanding representative?”

His secret to a successful comedy career

His science edge aside, AJ argues there is only one secret to a successful stand-up career: being unapologetically yourself.

“I believe anyone can write most jokes,” AJ said, “but the reason people have favourite comedians is because that person is bringing themselves to the stage.

“A lot of people go into stand-up being like ‘well you should be funny to everybody, and if you’re not, you’re not a good comedian’. I think the inverse is true.  If you’re funny to everybody, you really have nothing unique you’re offering. A set has to be so demure and appeasing to appeal to every kind of person, to the point where you aren’t really bringing anything of yourself.”

Accordingly, it is AJ’s recommendation that all aspiring comedians be totally – and perhaps outrageously – themselves, a sentiment that is fittingly rather queer.

“As soon as you are different, or have a distinct opinion on something, someone won’t like it. So you have to stick to your guns and be proud of who you are and what you put out. If you build up your own voice like that, you will find the people you’re supposed to find.”

“A Beginners Guide to Ancient Egypt”

For AJ, fostering his personal voice has meant leaning into his nerdiness. Including rocking up to Sydney Comedy Festival with an hour-long lecture on Ancient Egypt.

“There’s a story I tell within the show,” AJ said “specifically because you won’t learn about it in a classroom. It touches upon queer representation in Ancient Egypt, and it involves sex. You won’t see it in a textbook. And they definitely won’t be talking about this when you go on tour in Egypt. But it is a 100% authentic tale from Ancient Egypt.”

We won’t spoil the contents of this historical heated rivalry. But, suffice to say, it is now the official position of the Star Observer that all Hieroglyph101 courses henceforth be taught by sassy comedians whose academic rigor doesn’t stop at mummies, but includes daddies too.

Whether it’s a presentation on Ancient Egypt or an anthropological take on gay cruising, it is AJ’s hope that audiences walk out of his shows not just amused, but fascinated.

“Ultimately, I want to be interesting and funny,’ AJ said. “I want people to associate my work with having a fun night out, but also being like ‘that made me think’ or ‘I didn’t know that’. Making people smile, making them feel intrigued and engaged – I am so grateful for being able to do that as a performer.”

Comedy, sure – are you going to explain the basketball thing?

Oh yeah – the basketball thing!

Okay, so nerdy gay twink stands proud in his identity yada yada. Monetises his childhood obsession with “The Mommy”. National acclaim. Impressive, but how does that get us to basketball?

Well, much like AJ’s spontaneous leap into improv, this is another case of “yeah, turns out as an adult you can actually just, like, join things”.

“I joined Sydney Spectres, Sydney’s LGBTQIA+ basketball club, about a year and a half ago now, as a complete beginner,” AJ said.

“When you join something like this, you’re not going to be dunking in the NBL any time soon. But everyone is so supportive of your small wins and your growth as an individual player. You’ll be down by 30 points and your team will still be cheering at you like you’ve won the cup because you’ve done your first in-game layup.”

Growing up queer in sport

Of course, like many queer people, AJ’s high school experience with sport wasn’t so positive.

“Cue tiny violin,” AJ mused, before sobering up. “No, well, as a kid, I was very open to playing sport. I did track, I was very good at sprinting, I was good at badminton, and I played a bit of basketball. But the school PE system didn’t support me.

“As I went through high school, that kind of environment became quite hostile. The guys were aggressive. They would call me gay and bully me in the changerooms, until I stopped playing sports completely. Instead of intervening, the school threatened to expel me.

“Luckily by twelve, AJ was already a hard-core negotiator,” AJ grinned. “It was eventually decided that I would play sport with the girls just to have a safer environment.

“I learned from a young age that sports were an environment where people were actually praising your downfall and actively wanting harm for you. That was my high school experience, so I kind of just ruled it out as an adult.”

For me, AJ’s story really struck home. While many adult queer people identify as “not into sport”, many of us didn’t start out like that. Rather, it is often a sentiment we internalised. When you don’t feel at home in your own body, or when you’re cautious to fully use your body to express yourself, a space as gendered, physically competitive, and permissive of “banter” as high school sport will invariably become ground-zero for homophobia.

However, one fateful Mardi Gras, AJ took an opportunity to rewrite that story.

“One Fair Day,” AJ recalled, “I saw the basketball stall, and after three years of walking right by it, this time I thought ‘that looks fun’. And I quickly realised after joining how many of us didn’t fit the mold of ‘cool kid’, ‘popular kid’, or ‘sporty kid’. It occurred to me how many of us were robbed of rewarding sports experiences growing up. And I thought ‘how dare people rob us of this – this whole world.’”

Clearly, Basketball NSW took note of AJ’s fire. Since being appointed the organisation’s 2025 Pride in Basketball Ambassador, AJ has been working with Pride in Sport and the NBL to promote inclusivity in the sport. His work has even been recognised with a Positive Media Award.

AJ’s newly acquired sporting laurels aside, the comic’s message is simple:

“You don’t have to be six foot something, and a child prodigy in order to play sport as an adult. There is a space for you – whether you’re queer, regardless of your age – to play in a fun environment that’s encouraging. And no, it doesn’t matter if you can’t dribble it. You’re gonna learn, and you’re gonna have fun, and we’re gonna play at your skill level.”