Adelaide is known as “The City of Churches” but they must be empty this Sunday because the golf course known as The Grange is heaving. It’s the final round match-up of LIV Adelaide III between the standout two best players on LIV league - Bryson DeChambeau and Jon Rahm. And, like the country of Zaire, today the Democratic Republic of Congo, which hosted Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in 1974, the jungle is ready to rumble.

What nobody believed possible was that the story would feature another man, who began the day five shots back, and who would channel the demon spawn of Smokin’ Joe Frazier and Cindarella, and beat both men into near-submission.

Indeed he would beat up on everybody.

For three days, DeChambeau had emasculated The Grange. There appeared no stopping him. It was like they could've rolled back his clubs to hickory cleeks and made him play with feathery balls, and he’d still have owned The Grange like Scrooge McDuck owned a golden cane.

And then there was mighty Rahm – beard of Castro, eyes of Bruce Lee, belly of a bouncer that once wrapped a mate of mine in a bear hug and squeezed him until he went purple. Rahm is a powerful man, a presence, a force of mother nature.

The third man in the three-ball, the remarkable Anthony Kim, was considered borderline footnote. The day before the former drug addict and monkey-owner told LIV’s media man, Mike McCallister, that had McCallister told him three years ago that he’d be in the final group at LIV Adelaide in 2026, “I’d have said you were on drugs”.


And yet, here he is, walking through the tunnel and onto a first tee box ringed by people who hang from the trees. There are cheers from the people as the trio are heralded in by Eminem, AC/DC, and a raspy-throated announcer you could hear welcoming “The UNNnnderrrrtakerrrrr” into the ring at the World Wrestling Entertainment Performance Center in Orlando, Florida.

It is quite the scene.

The first fairway is lined five and six deep for the 404-metre duration, and the trio bombs away with driver. It’s surprising they don’t hit anyone. Rahm blocks it far right on the first. On the second he’s further left than Che Guavara. He’s so far left there’s nobody out there. He then smokes a brilliant 7-iron from downtown, blind, over trees, to eight feet. An awesome shot.

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Kim scrambles nicely for a par. And you think, Could the story be him? He’s five shots behind. It would take the big dogs eating each other, and the man from Koreatown to head off on a heater...

And that, friends, is what happens.

On the third, DeChambeau goes so far right he’s nearly in the caravan for Dagwood dogs. The man of the people is out among the people. It’s terrible shot, a massive block. It’s entertaining, of course, and fun. I swear he almost does it on purpose just to get out there. The man’s a kook. There's never been one like him. Weird Al Yankovic, maybe.

Kim makes a beautiful sand save, and there are shouts of “C’mon, Kimmy” in the Australian way.  Aussies love an underdog, a hard charger. Kim is both. He is coming. Could this be his time? He’s clearly got game. And he's got nothing to lose. Where he’s come back from, everything from here is winning for him in life and in this game of golf.

The fourth is a cracker of a par-4 – short, tricky, more sand than the Sahara. Kim lays up, stiffs a wedge, makes a brilliant curling downhill putt. He makes a strong par on five and a near-birdie on the short par-3 sixth. He birdies seven, taps his cap, acknowledges the sports fans. He’s enjoying it. Looks cool, like he's channelling the 23-year-old kid who once ran third in the Masters.

Kim hooks his long-iron on eight but makes a brilliant par from a sandy lie, the ball flying under the boughs of a mighty eucalypt and up onto the green to pin-high. It is ridiculous golf.

When he makes birdie on the ninth, there’s another air punch and he’s gone out in four-under to be one off the pace. You want to know the people’s champion here in Adelaide? Anthony Kim, baby. 

The previous people’s champion, DeChambeau, meanwhile, is chopping it around like a drunk. Chunks and thin ones. Blocks and hooks. Three-putts. It's terrible stuff. Is he hungover or something? Is he drunk? He bogies seven with a three-putt, the easiest hole on the course, and tosses his ball into the crowd, a peace offering to the gods. Doesn't help.

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Rahm, too, isn’t eating it up. He’s playing par golf. He hooks one so far left on the seventh that there are audible gasps from the gallery. Some people laugh. He's out among the tundra and chopping it back in. Par follows. Par-golf won't win this baby.

They’d billed it as a battle between competitive animals. They forgot about the animal in A.Kim. He is not here for a haircut. Look out, Rahmbo, Bison, and all the dwarfs, Cindarella is coming with a few hours to kill.

On 12, the party hole, Kim makes birdie and fairly smashes an imaginary dwarf in the face. Cop that, Grumpy. He’s into equal lead. This is massive. When he birdies 13 to lead the tournament, Grumpy cops another hammering.

When he rolls in a 20-footer for his third birdie on the trot, poor old Grumpy gets double-tapped, bang-bang, and the adrenaline coursing through Kim’s veins takes him to the 15th tee as if he’s walking on a magic mat.

It’s massive stuff. Cracking theatre. Stunning. What a story. C’mon Kimmy. When he birdies 15 he's not just leading, he's dominating. When he birdies 17, Ali and Foreman are against the ropes, and Cindarella is punching the living shit out of them. The towel's being primed. No mas, no mas.

He would shoot 63. C'mon Kimmy.

What a story. The once cocaine-addled nowhere man who battled mental health and multiple surgeries, who was thrown a lifeline after a decade in the wilderness, who was a wildcard on the LIV Golf League, who ran near-last for two seasons, who lost his card, who fought his way back in, and, who, now, has somehow channelled the boy prodigy from 2008, has won LIV Adelaide at the Grange.

What a story. Go him.