There is no peace for Wayne Bennett. His side has just beaten the Bunnies 8-4 in the ugliest sight at Lang Park since Manly prop Don McKinnon let it all hang out to help fertilise the turf way back in 1988.

Wayne has driven through the night into the Darling Downs desert to his clapped-out farm. At 3am, he begins crabbily ploughing up burnt earth that lies before him, as barren as the Broncos’ attacking plays.

Suddenly, standing in front of him is a see-through Willie Carne in a faded Broncos jumper. “Jeez, Willie what are you doing so far from Rom?” asks Benny. “You’re obviously not getting any prime beef in this drou… dry spell…. because you’re fading away.”

“Wayne Bennett, I am the ghost of Broncos past,” says Willie.

“Knock if off Willie, you’re a flying winger…unless you fancy having a go at being first receiver. You wouldn’t be our worst option.”

“Give me a break, coach, I’ve been sent here to open your eyes to how lame the Broncs are playing.Now Wayne, look back to the beginning.”

And there it is laid out before him…a pulsating match….Brisbane versus Manly, Lang Park, March 6, 1988. There is magic in the air, with Brisbane about to host Expo, and razzle dazzle on the field – Smoking Joe Kilroy, Geno and Colin Scott running riot.

Wally is calling the audacious plays, and little Alfie is keeping everyone guessing. And there is Broncos forward Terry Materson, who can off-load and run angles…not to mention a kid called Michael Hancock tearing around in circles like a headless chook. He possibly runs 800 metres with the ball … 60 metres of that actually going forward.

End result 44-10 and the Broncs are in business. As he watches all the big plays, Wayne’s brow wrinkles deeper than the lifeless sand he has just furrowed: “So what? I hate reruns.” Willie shrugs: “Okay, I’m outta here…Dell’s invited me to go nightclubbing. Some things never change!”

Wayne is about to recrank the Massey Ferguson when a horribly transparent Darren Lockyer, dressed in a tacky teal Broncos jersey, stands before him. “I am the ghost of Broncos present … and …”

“And what, Darren?” “I dunno, coach. I’m fresh out of ideas … other than to have the forwards ruck it one out, boot it down field and, when we get close to the line, turn it inside to Tunza Carroll. Oh yeah, and always take the two instead of a dash for the line.”

“Darren, remember the good times when you were attacking at will from fullback and Kevie had the opposition at sixes and sevens putting Pearl away for 60-metre specials?”

“Can’t say that I do coach … I’ve had a few knocks … sounds like it could be fun though. See ya at training.”

Wayne steps down from the tractor and sighs deeply. Suddenly his pants are reefed down and he is flattened by a copybook tackle. A couple of under-11 grinning imps announce: “We’re the Broncos’ ghost of a chance for the future.”

And with that, Brooke Walters – son of Kerrod – and Harrison Langer, or Alfie junior, cheekily hand Wayne a wooden spoon and a pension cheque. Even Wayne can’t help but break into a crooked grin. “Bruno Cullen put you up this, didn’t he?”