Greg Bird wakes up dressed in only his undies. The room has been stripped bare.

“Bloody hell”, he thinks, “what have Willie and the boys done to the hotel!”

Then he feels the handcuffs cutting into his wrists.

And it suddenly hits him what last night was – Origin II – the the night they were supposed to stroll into Suncorp Stadium and make all of Queensland miserable for the rest of the year.

But he had run into a pile driver that looked like Karmichael Hunt and cyclonic force called Dallas Johnson. Suddenly he gets a whack on the soles of his feet as a giant copper looms large.

“Get up, Sunshine – time to face the music.”

“Oh yeah, that muzak’s been driving me crazy … what is that horrible song that keeps playing over and over?”

“The Funeral March.”

“Look, this must be some sort of joke. The last thing I know I was waiting for a taxi and then I felt like I got hit by a bus.”

“You all were ... all 17.”

“Did anyone get its number?”

“That was the Number 3 from Lang Park ... the Inglis Express. Look we’ve got all your co-accused locked up as well ... Steve Turner, Big Willie, Hoffman, Gallen … all the usual suspects.”

“What the hell have we supposed to have done?”

“Here’s your rap sheet – let’s start with false pretences, ie, taking to a football field masquerading as an Origin team. We also got you for unlawful impersonation of a five-eight, loitering on Suncorp Stadium without intent … the whole Blues team has been charged with criminal neglect of your try line.

"We would have liked to have charged you with obstruction – but with a score line like last night it would never stick. Willie’s been charged with making a false complaint – there were only 52,000 redneck nut bags at Origin and boy, did you guys make them go even crazier. So we’ve got you for inciting riotous behaviour. And then there is worst of all … treason.”

“Treason?”

“Giving comfort to the enemy is a capital offence.”

“You Queensland coppers really know how to stick the boot in.”

“Son, you just can’t get a thing right, can you. You’re in the Tweed Heads lock-up. Craig Bellamy asked us to bring all you guys in. He laid the charges and by hell he’s going to make them stick. You’ll get life for this … with a big stamp on your record NTBSA – never to be selected again.”

“What’s all that screaming and yelling? Is there a prison break?”

“My guess is word’s got out we’re keeping you guys in here. You can tell the sound of a lynch mob – it’s the only thing uglier than a 30-zip losing score-line.”