DANE ELDRIDGE: The Pacific Championships have become an uncomfortable must-do on the rugby league calendar

You’d be forgiven for thinking the NRL is the be-all and end-all of rugby league, and that’s because it is.

But if the game’s most powerful body is serious about supporting the international game like it claims, it needs to stop neglecting it like a redheaded stepchild.

Despite rugby league entering the deep molasses of its off-season, test footy is happening on our doorstep right now with the Pacific Championships entering its second week of competition.

And even with terrific turnouts in Port Moresby and Suva and a sellout for Sunday’s New Zealand vs Australia fixtures in Christchurch, the tournament is being dogged by questions of whether anyone gives a gee whiz about international footy anymore.

With dozens of players unavailable due to post-season surgery and unhelpful results like the Jillaroos’ embarrassing thrashing of the PNG Orchids, the competition is capturing the wider public’s imagination with as much fervour as a statutory obligation.

But what else can be expected when most of the population is engrossed in gardening or Sheffield Shield scores?

And how can the players collective genuinely buy-in against the allure of recharging their batteries after eight months of footy, even though this is usually spent on a hellacious six night knees-up in Bangkok?

Just look at the Kiwis, where their player shortage is so critical Stacey Jones has been forced to pluck Shaun Johnson from retirement just so he can field a halves combination that meets workplace safety laws.

International footy has become like that chat you have before buying a puppy.

Put simply, seeing international footy squirreled away in the off-season and buried under Ben Hunt’s contract saga and The Everest is a slap in the face for the format that has become all-too common.

Despite its rich history and the captivating emergence of women’s footy and the Pasifika nations, international footy has become like that chat you have before buying a puppy.

It’s an idea everyone vociferously supports but doesn’t want to put any effort towards, and that’s why it now lives outside on a diet of kibble and token acts of affection.

As a man desperate to restore its prestige, Roos coach Mal Meninga believes a reduced NRL season is the only avenue for dragging test footy back into the spotlight.

“The players’ welfare is in the front of everyone’s mind, maybe a shorter domestic season (would work),” Meninga proposed. “Going to 20 teams I think works with 19 rounds”.

Believing this would provide “a window” and an “opportunity to expand the game internationally”, Meninga’s idea of mid-season tests would also insure against players withdrawing for cartilage cleanouts and Stephen Crichton’s wedding.

After all, when was the last time a player dodged Origin on the orders of a doctor or spouse?

But while a prudent idea in theory, shortening the season requires addressing an elephant in the room so big it dwarfs the Tongan pack.

As rugby league’s major source of revenue outside of fining Ricky Stuart, the mere mention of a reduced season is enough to get the backsides clenching of every TV executive associated with the game. Reduced content means reduced coin for all, so whittling out a small international window with the broadcaster’s blessing is a pipe dream.

However, if we’re to restore the prestige of the Roos jersey, develop the women’s game and maintain an avenue for bashing up the Poms, TV needs to budge or accept responsibility for the global game’s slow death. Furthermore, the NRL needs to act on its lip service and pull the finger out too.

Yes, it is only the governing body for Australian domestic rugby league but it holds all the aces in this discussion, especially when the International Rugby League is an organisation that seems little more than an unmanned GPO box in London.

And most importantly, the NRL can’t chest-beat with one hand about clearing the calendar for test footy while using the other to book flights for eight teams to go to Vegas. In short, asking international footy to grow via a meagre four-week tournament in late spring feels like the range anxiety of driving an EV.

Sure, it’ll make inroads momentarily, but you can’t shake the fear the momentum will die at any moment- and then it’s stuck in limbo again.