Big Jack Gibson arrives at the turnstiles of rugby league Heaven wondering what sort of reception he’ll get.

The Little Master, Clive Churchill, one of rugby league’s Immortals, bars the way – all 5ft 4 of him.

“I might have lost my marbles towards the end there of my 80 minutes of game-time back on earth, but I don’t recall that St Peter came in economy size,” Jack drawls.

Clive: “He’s in the Sin Bin – 10 minute Purgatory we call it up here. We caught him sneaking off to a Celestial Super 14s match with Dally Messenger. I think St Pete’s finally losing it.”

Jack: “Yeah, been there, done that. Played hard, done me no good. Al Zheimer is someone I’d rather forget…if you get my drift.”

C: “Jack, I have to tell you straight…we’re undecided about you. We’re not sure if you’re a saint or a sinner.”

J: “Good! That’s the only way to be. Keep ’em guessing. Is there anyone worth watching inside?”

C: “Kenny Irvine has still got a far turn of pace. But I’m afraid I don’t know what to make of that Peter Jackson fellow – he keeps pulling my footy shorts down when I’m trying to kick. Jack, I’m afraid I haven’t been to too many modern games of late, what’s a bomb?”

J: “It’s something a talent scout brings to a club…usually wearing the no. 7 jumper.”

C: “Why that’s terrible!”

J: “It only gets worse. I’m all for advancing the game, but they’ve got player managers today who are interested mostly in increasing their percentage cut.”

C: “Jack, I’ve been told by some of our later players through Heaven’s gates, that they’d done away with the afternoon grand final!”

J: “They did, but it’s back ... the league bosses finally saw the blindingly obvious. You wouldn’t have seen to television of late. Well they have a thing called Channel 9 where everything goes to Hell. I love new things in the game, but what were they thinking when they introduced the video referee? Don’t get me wrong, it was the right idea, but they forgot to issue the refs up in the box with their most valuable piece of equipment – their seeing eye dogs.”

C: “What’s Channel 9 got to do with night grand finals?”

J: “Everything! They decided it pays a lot better if you ignore the wishes of 99% of the people – the other 1% were the sponsors who wanted it prime time, even if the kiddies fell asleep before the kick-off.”

C: “Will they ever change it back to nights?”

J: “Over my dead body...which somehow has made it here to Changa Langland’s waiting room.”

C: “Yes, apparently God did run the ball back more than me. Look, Jack, enjoy the rest of your eternity…that will last until Newtown wins its next grand final, when Hell freezes over. I must make a call. Hello, is this the Forward Planning Department? Yes, cancel the David Gallop rotting in Hell order for the moment, while we see how things pan out – yes, downgrade him to perpetual torment for being a right Wally. No, he’s not the Emperor of Lang Park … Heaven forbid!”