I was gagging on the result of the Manly-Broncos 20th year re-run, thinking how times had changed.

If “busting” Sea Eagle Don McKinnon had fertilised Lang Park on Sunday, watering it using his body fluid like he did two decades ago, Water Commissioner Elizabeth Nosworthy would have given Desperate Don the keys to the a drought-stricken city. Instead, league officials back then fined him 1000 bucks and ordered him to do toilet training.

Which got me pondering into my post-match stubbie about the Rugby League Hall of Shame, and how it would be chock full of brain-exploding imbeciles rather than immortals.

The RLHOS is out there somewhere… its sign flashing luridly in some seedy parallel universe.

And I reckon we saw rabid Bullie Brad Morrin on Friday audition for a spot there after snacking on Timana “The Barbecue” Tahu mid-game.

Munching Morrin should get the Hannibal Lecter dishonourable mention for taking Canterbury’s reputation for sex, grudges and riots down a darker road – attempted cannibalism.

I reckon a virtual unreality tour of the RLHOS would go like this ...

A leering spruiker shouts: “Roll up, roll up, roll up. See the Seven Deadly Sin Bins of Rugby League.

“Here we have the first sin bin, vanity... or the Bill Harrigan Room. Look inside – it’s completely empty, except the walls are mirrors. It’s the only way we can get Hollywood here for the autograph signings he does for his best-of refereeing collection. Bill keeps every DVD he signs for himself and sleeps with them under his silk pillow – mindful not to snag them on his hair net.

“Next door we have the Gluttony Sin Bin, or, the Wayne Bennett Pleasure Palace set to Queen’s I Want It All. One premiership is too much and six premierships is never enough in there. This room comes with the optional Wendell Sailor coke dispensing machine – used for brain-heating purposes only. This dopamine den of self-gratification is dedicated to those who never know when to quit.

“Moving along we come to envy. Strap on your body armour as we re-enact the good old daze of Super League versus the ARL as you dress up as your Anti-Christ of choice, depending on whose side you were on – John Quayle’s or John Ribot’s. This is no-holds-barred, blindside bastardry, with the mandatory take every fan prisoner.

“Our next sin bin is lust. The Sonny Bill Williams Cubicle is dedicated to those who love to over-stimulate their testosterone glands. Inside is a simulated end-of-season football trip. We took an unstimulated Rev Fred Nile for a tour and it nearly killed him. As an off-shoot, we have the Hopoate Digital Display Room – but you don’t really want to go there.

“Which brings us to the Anger Sin Bin complete with the Les Boyd ‘They Can’t Run Without Their Heads’ tour. It’s retrofitted to resemble the 1970s and no one gets out without a broken jaw.

“Now we come to the Greed Sin Bin featuring the David Gallop Grand Final Farce. This room is as dark as a Billy Idol footie gig, where the hopes and wishes of 99% of the rugby league’s fans for a Sunday arvo grand final are strangled by faceless Channel 9 executives. These are the same evil types who ensure that some inane ad is playing every Friday night after a try, so you never see the kick restart

“And lastly, my favourite deadly sin bin – sloth…or the Fatty Vautin Footy Show. Why exercise your mind when you can watch decaying ex-football ‘grates’ dressing up as women, pretending they’re not irrelevant? These lame brains are so bad at wasting whatever talent they once had, their only possible use is as video referees.”