The opening scene is in Japan, the protagonist finds themselves on the wrong end of a humiliation at the hands of the worst of all teams to lose to: England. The World Cup exit sets the narrative, although the fans are strangely muted in their response. Talk of maturity, talk of enjoying it while it lasted, talk of a new world where the ascendency will be regained. As concerning as it should have been, the Tokyo experience will be a mere footnote in the long and illustrious story of the most dominant team on Earth.
Just ignore the creaking from the basement.
That's the legions of the rugby world's undead stirring, but nothing to see here.
The appointment of a new coaching team sees the sun shine on the side, albeit through ominous clouds of concern which are brewing as NZ Rugby doggedly stick to a system of succession.
Media commentators warn of the rising damp, question the validity, the unresolved demons of a coaching past that still haunts the new coach. Others (me) dismiss these concerns, convinced that the good will win out, that history is not a predictor of the future, that people change, that the noise in the vault is nothing.
Sunny days await, the darkness will pass, will the barbarians at the gate be vanquished?
But before the forces of good could resist, the planet was plunged into a dystopian nightmare: The tyranny of Covid-19 was released. Rugby was struck down, the All Blacks' rise would play out in front of a foreboding backdrop.
In late-2020 the undead came back, clawing at the All Blacks, dragging them to their knees with consecutive defeats, the second to a malignant force that had yet to show its fangs: los Pumas.
Like a frog boiling to death in a pot of water, is the end is creeping? Have we even noticed?
The first round of the new threat abated. But a year down the track, still unsteady, still wounded, the ABs were attacked again, beaten by the zombie hoard from Africa.
Then swarmed by the undead from the northern wastelands, the All Blacks are dragged further into the mire by the Irish Banshee then mercilessly shredded by La Gargouille. Another back-to-back savaging from the reanimated ghouls of world rugby.
The terror is now very real. The team are not even safe in their own home, the Banshee returns and takes scalps in our backyard! Could the hero take another mauling? Will the shots continue to hit their target from all quarters, will every turn be met with barbarous savaging?
Every noise, every breathless gulp for air triggering cold sweats. Throat rasps. Breath quickens.
But the final scenes have yet to play out.
Will the All Blacks survive intact so they can rise triumphantly in the face of relentless assault?
It's a horror movie now, alright.
Will there be a triumphant hero, swinging the severed head of the beast by the hair? Or will our heroes' heads be swinging?
The denouement begins with the 2022 season; we'll have to wait til the 2023 Rugby World Cup for the final credits to roll.
Popcorn out, large coke primed, hiding behind the couch, how the hell is this horror show going to end?
