“They called us drug-fucked-loser-degenerates. And you know what? We fucken beat ‘em. And you know what? We fucken were, ‘cos that’s what surfing was,” fumes Matt Ellks, the eccentric, world-weary godfather of inner-city Sydney surfing.
We’re in his Balinese lair on the island’s forgotten north coast as he tells the story. He’s on his feet, shirtless in a pair of green cargo shots, with his trusty vaporiser (full of a mysterious local serum) in one hand and the other extended threateningly at his would-be antagonist, former Channel Nine CEO and Bondi surfer, David Gyngell.
“He had all the names - fucken (Richard) Crammy, Bill Powers, all the money and the sponsors. And we were the mongrels, the punks, the fucken roots of the suburb,” he continues.
The story regards the…