Getting (virtually) real.

In the past year or so, an immense amount of attention has been focused on the concept of virtual reality. Virtual reality machines, hyped in the recent films "Disclosure" and "Virtuosity," are helmets equipped with computerized visors that enable the wearer to vicariously participate in athletic events, hand-to-hand combat, air battles, marriage, or some other death-defying feat.

To date, virtual reality machines mostly have been depicted as sophisticated toys; indeed, the average person's exposure to the technology thus far probably has occurred at amusement parks or sports bars, where these devices are now standard equipment. But do they have more serious applications?

One issue that has not been addressed is how virtual reality machines can be used by senior corporate management as portable simulation chambers that can be used in planning long-term corporate strategy. Here are a few suggestions:

* Virtual downsizing. A CEO wants to slash his bloated work force by 30 percent but can't get the board of directors and the rest of his management team to go along with the idea.

To give his subordinates and board of directors an idea of what the company will look like downsized, the CEO will ask all of them to strap on virtual reality helmets and trapeze through a graphically generated downsized version of the company. No one is standing around the water cooler. No one is playing Tetris. And employees going home early? Forget it. Reassured by what they see, top management will encourage the man at the top to go whole hog and slash the work force.

* Virtual annual meetings. What could be worse than sitting through another dreary annual meeting, where the resident corporate gadfly turns up every year and asks what the company is doing to protect the rain forest and has to be reminded every year that companies based in rural Tennessee that happen to be in the precision-tools business don't actually have all that much to do with the fate of the rain forest, but thanks for the thought?

Desperate to avoid another one of those interminable get-togethers, the board sends each shareholder a disposable virtual reality helmet with a Virtual Annual Meeting cued up inside. This way, shareholders won't have to go all the way to Tennessee to see the chucklehead who always complains about covert Satanic imagery in the annual report or the woman in the peasant dress who thinks the company ought to adopt a Statement of Social Mission and have its books audited by the Council on Economic Priorities.

* Virtual Bill Agee board of directors meetings. Every CEO worth his salt must wonder what it was like to be inside the boardroom when Bill Agee got his pals to rubberstamp his latest harebrained proposal as the company slowly sank into oblivion. Well, here's the chance of a lifetime! Armed with a virtual reality helmet, CEOs will be able to enter the world of Bill Agee and look on, spellbound, as he explains where all the money went. The simulated experience also will include a ride in one of the many jets that Bill Agee's company really doesn't need and a private viewing of the official Bill Agee portrait that shareholders paid for. All in all, an experience not to be missed.

* Virtual Lee Iacocca experience. If you're one of those CEOs who's always wondered how guys like Lee Iacocca get away with it as long as they do, here's your chance to get in on the secret. As soon as you've strapped on the virtual reality helmet, you'll have license to trot out the same old products year after year and pretend you're still on the cutting edge; spend money like a maharajah, yet act like a man of the people; and prance around giving speeches about things you know nothing about as if you really had a chance to be the next president of the U.S. The one scary part of the virtual Lee Iacocca experience is when you find out your Chrysler stock options can't be exercised this year, because you violated the terms of your exit from the company by launching a takeover bid with Kirk Kerkorian.

Clearly, virtual reality machines offer many possibilities for CEOs. Armed with a program for a virtual Carl Icahn experience, a neophyte CEO could learn how not to run an airline. And armed with one for a virtual Super Mario Gabelli experience, that same CEO could get a good idea of how mutual- and pension-fund managers will react if he decides to triple his own salary and give himself a $7 million bonus - the year his company lost $1.2 billion and saw its stock price slide from $62 to $17.

All in all, it's not going to be a very pretty picture.

Joe Queenan is a regular contributor on business issues, corporate culture, and financial follies to Barron's and The Wall Street Journal.