| THE PRODIGY |
| Golf. It's a gentleman's game. A
game of subtle and elusive skill. A game where a practised swing and a
good handicap denote not only sporting ability but a certain standing,
a social cachet. A game played by sophisticated men of leisure, men who
have arrived. A game about which The Prodigy's Keith Flint knows nothing
at all.
"This," he waves grandly in the direction of Melbourne's Putter's Crazy Golf (Bring the whole family for $20!), "is one of Australia's most challenging courses. He swaggers inside and greets the attendant with the conspiratorial wink of the acknowledged international celebrity and sportsman. The man gazes blankly back at him. "Don't you recognise me, then?" he asks expectantly. The attendant looks Keith up and down. He looks at the burgundy jumbo-cord Bermuda shorts; the lime green polo shirt; the Adidas sports sandals; the complex tattoo winding up the right calf. He looks at the baseball cap, from beneath which two strips of hair - one yellow, one electric orange - protrude at crazy angles. Nope. He's pretty damned certain he's never seen anything like this before. "In Europe," Keith offers, "I'm very, very big in crazy golf. Very, very big." His accomplice - the wiry black man in the sarong and baseball jacket - nods earnestly. "The biggest." Standing behind Tricky, Billy Bragg sniggers quietly. In Melbourne, itinerant pop stars must find amusement where they can. [...] |