Now that the planet has finished going Potty over young Harry and JK Rowling has a superannuation fund superior to that of Heather Mills, it’s time to get back to some serious problems.

Something earth-shattering like the Broncos’ injury crisis.

But in the meantime, I intend to fill the publishing vacuum left by Harry Potter’s parting by penning a series of fantasy epics.

They will star a special young boy growing up in Roma with scar tissue on his larynx that gives him a voice like sandpaper.

On the eve of his 11th birthday, Darren Lockjaw, who was found on the footsteps of the Gladiators Rugby League Club with a football in his hand, is visited by the mysterious Cyril the Sage Talent Spotter.

Darren has been raised in an AFL-mad family, who try to stop the young boy’s natural league instincts blossoming by never teaching him to tackle.

Instead of milking the herd, he practises kicking the milk pail to the corners for the family’s prize cows, who never get it. They do not share his magical football brain.

Cyril tells the boy that he is the Chosen One, the most gifted of his kind – a race apart whose wizardry will be one day mega-famous.

“Your powers will be required to battle the forces of evil from beyond the Dark Border ... and score you a nice little earner doing NRMA ads that are mildly amusing,” Cyril intones.

Then an invitation to learn how to cast a spell over 50,000 Nevilles (non-gifted entities who just like to watch) suddenly appears.

Before Darren can say “Did I get a head knock on the weekend?” he is indoctrinated into the Hogwash Fullback to Five-Eighths School of Razzle Dazzle under wizened old head coach, Grumbleguts.

There at Hogwash, Darren befriends a charmed Alf, who does not have an invisibility cloak, but has the power to run rings around the opposition and squeeze through near impossible holes close to the line. And Darren is placed under the protection of a friendly, triple-chinned gargoyle called Tunza, who does all his tackling and takes the cheap shots from the many assassins sent from the Dark Border.

Under Grumbleguts' tutelage, Darren must try to ward off the manipulations of a corrosive, sanity-sucking, television-spawned entity who once almost succeeded in luring old Grumbleguts across to join the Dark Side.

Count Goatsvomit, also known and feared at Hogwash as Gasbag Gus, wants to have the last say on everything, and is horribly close to getting his way.

Darren and his Order of the Original Battlers take some horrible beatings at the hands of Count Goatsvomit, aided by some Terrible Toad Eaters like Chief Harragon the Horrid.

Even though the Order thought they had seen the end of Gasbag Gus in 1997, his nasty behind-the-scenes presence was enough in 2000 to inflict a 50-16 rout that nearly killed the Battlers stone dead.

In the final chapter, Darren, having taken almost every magician of the match award before him, falls into the Abyss of Unending Anterior Cruciate Ligament Pain.

As Darren clutches his dicky knee in agony, the Demon Press rant that Hogwash’s hopes for a successful title defence are as likely as Grumbleguts laughing out loud after being retired by that nice Mr Cullen chap, who really turns out to be … Black Hearted Bruno.

I could go on, but I need a spell.