Dateline, July 16, 1800 hours: At the Australian Football Federation, the lines of communication have been in meltdown ever since the Aussies’ crock and bore tactics against an Iraq insurgency led to a lot of collateral damage.

Commander-in-Chief Frank Lowy is bunkered down with a steel helmet and flak jacket, when the army surplus World War II wind-up field radio operator receives an urgent dispatch from Bangkok.

“Sir, I have Acting Field Commander Graham Arnold on the line. Sir – he sounds in trouble.”

Lowy snarls: “Graham, what the hell’s going on over there – I send you on a simple mission to take Asia and it blows up in our faces! Graham?”

“Incoming! Retreat!” shrieks Arnold.

“Commander, don’t tell me, you’re being overrun by Thailand! I had a bad Oman about this half-witted campaign and then came that 3-1 Iraq rout! I armed you with a crack Soccer Assault Squad and the SAS turned out to be a bunch of over-paid, pampered sissies. Now I want the first to break ranks shot on the spot!”

“You’ll have to get in line, Sir. The friendly fire is murder around here! I’ve already had to repel three bayonet charges from our own midfield!”

“Godammit, Graham! Hold the line or all our 2006 gains from Germany will be lost! I’m sending in the cavalry.”

“Sir, I think you’ve done enough for us already. You didn’t tell me our own troops would be booby-trapped.”

“Shut up, Graham, and show some guts! I’m parachuting in our secret weapon. Gen O’Neill – he loves nothing better than a hot insertion.”

“Sir, Gen Neill is already here, but I’m afraid he’s leading the mutiny.”

“Not Lucas Neill, you idiot! I’m talking the Big Bertha of rearguard actions himself … John O’Neill – if any man knows how to cut a swathe through his own lines, it’s Old Iron Undies.”

“Sir, but didn’t you have him court-martialled and exiled back to rugby? Can he be trusted?”

“No, but his ego can. If he can turn this debacle into a triumph he’ll be able to name his own price at the Pentagon. What’s that? Our glorious boys have just knocked in four goals to nothing! Well that’s more like it! Trouble is, O’Neill is on his way.”

A day later, Gen O’Neill arrives. “Commander Arnold, your conduct and that of your men – up until that 4-0 glitch – has been a total disgrace. You are hereby relieved of your command!” the general barks.

Arnold pitches forward with 11 bayonets in the back.

Gen O’Neill: “Men, I wish to introduce your new field commander….Guus Hiddink.”

The troops stop sniping at each other and begin cheering.

“I was about to say Guus Hiddink is too busy on the Russian front to come to our aid. So we have turned to a man who thrives on civil wars largely of his own making. I give you, straight from his defection from rugby league, Generalissimo Gus Gould.”

One by one the Socceroos fall on their swords.