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Back in the 90s, when TV still employed actors, there was a program called Sliders, a middling prime-time, sci-fi romp based around the concept of coexisting alternate realities.
Each week the group of stereotypes would turn up in a universe where Russia had invaded England, penicillin had never been invented or people laughed at Beau Ryan’s jokes before overcoming some sort of minor conflict en route to returning to their own dimension.
While the execution of the show never lived up to the promise of its concept, at times the stilted acting and Super Nintendo level special effects would give way to an idea that could actually make you ponder the world in which we live and ask ‘what if?’
Casting an eye over the Rugby League World Cup quarter final match-ups, the 12-year-old kid in me, who still thinks Jerry O’Connell is cool, wants to ask ‘what if?’
What if one of the little guys, the second tier-ers, can play the perfect 80 minutes and knock off one of the big three?
And, what if it was Australia coming home early?
Mere milliseconds after full-time is blown, the rugby league world is tipped on its head when a lacklustre, sloppy Australian side is defeated by a spoiling and gritty Tomahawks team, roared on by the one-eyed Racecourse crowd.
While stunned rugby league scribes try to comprehend what they’ve just witnessed, the mainstream English press, already in an Ashes-induced frenzy, shifts into overdrive in an attempt to crank out as many ‘Kanga-poo!’ related headlines as possible.
In the camps where the English and New Zealand sides are staying, several holidaying Spanish schoolchildren are trampled by heavily tattooed players rushing to the hotel bar, while Fijian and Samoan players head to the local markets try to buy some knock off Manchester United strips for their potential visit to Old Trafford.
Disillusioned and embarrassed, the Australian squad scatters across the continent like a group of convicts from an overturned prison bus.
A couple are tracked down a few weeks later holed up in a dingy Amsterdam hostel, James Tamou is busted by Stephen Kearney trying to sneak on to the Kiwi team bus, while Tim Sheens is found by a French fishing trawler attempting to row a tackle bag across the English channel.
Back home things turn nasty, as an Australian public – already starved of success – turns on the team, calling for Sheens’ head.
Phil Gould calls for more money to combat the threat of the Arena Football League, Geoff Toovey calls for an investigation.
Ray Price goes onto morning TV and guarantees the public he can lead the Roos to glory in between bus shifts.
It’s not all bad though.
ESPN gets wind of the story and decides to do a documentary on Terry Matterson’s team, exposing them to millions of mainstream American sports fans.
The RLIF maps out an international schedule for the Americas, backed by a large cash injection, while Parramatta signs Tomahawks halfback Craig Priestley.
Best of all though, the ARL schedules a re-match at Suncorp stadium… to be played whenever the best Tomahawks players are unavailable most likely.
Look, I know it’s a bloody big if. We’re talking John Rhys-Davies’ butt big.
Betting agencies are giving the US a 52 point head start, and to expect a team of semi-pros from the Southampton Dragons to defeat the NRL machine is as absurd as anything Sliders dished out.
But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what we think, it’s not about us.
It’s about 17 blokes wearing the red, white and blue looking around their change room and wondering, ‘what if…’
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