It almost went the other way. Hannibal's own cavalry commander, Maharbal, urged him to take the horsemen and ride through the night, swearing they'd dine in the enemy capital within five days. Hannibal said he needed time to think. The reply Maharbal threw back has echoed for twenty-two centuries: you know how to win a victory, but you don't know how to use one.

What if he'd listened, and turned the horses north at dawn?

This week we hit Control Z on the victory Hannibal couldn't use, follow the march to the gates of Rome, and the very different world it leaves behind.

It almost went the other way. Seven of the nine justices agreed the count was broken. They split on the fix. Five voted to stop. Four voted to send it back, set one standard, and finish. The man in the middle was Anthony Kennedy, who agreed the recount was broken and then voted to end it instead of fixing it.

What if he'd changed his mind on that one question, and said count it instead of stop it?

This week we hit Control Z on the vote that didn't switch, follow the recount to its finish, and the very different country it leaves behind.

He almost didn't. Years earlier, Charles had schemed to keep it whole, to put every crown on his son's head and make Philip both King of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor. The plan died in a family fight. The empire stayed divided.

What if it hadn't? What if one devout, distant, Spanish king had inherited the whole thing, and then tried to rule German princes who'd never accept him?

This week we hit Control Z on the division, and follow the unbroken empire as it breaks everything it touches.

Howard Hughes walked through it in the wrong direction. He volunteered to split RKO's studio from its theaters before the lower court even ruled. Every other studio watched him do it and followed.

The system that had controlled American moviemaking since the 1920s collapsed in under a decade. What grew in its place changed everything.

This week we hit Control Z on Hughes's signature, and follow what happens when the first domino refuses to fall.

Ten months into his presidency, 11,400 controllers walked off the job. Reagan gave them forty-eight hours to come back. When the deadline passed, he fired every single one of them, broke the union, and dared the FAA to keep the planes flying with less than a third of its workforce.

The planes kept flying. The consequences took longer to arrive.

This week we hit Control Z on the forty-eight-hour deadline, and follow what happens when the president who promised to fix the system decides not to destroy it.

What if you could press control Z on some of the biggest decisions in history?

Fourteen months after that, Disney bought 21st Century Fox instead, and Disney+ followed.

This week we hit Control Z on the Sunday morning phone call, and follow what happens when the man who runs Disney decides to own the platform that hosts the president.

They asked for soldiers. He gave them a holy war.

This week we hit Control Z on the speech that launched the Crusades, and follow what happens when one man writes the smaller answer.

He almost said yes.

This week we hit Control Z on the deal that would have killed Netflix in the crib, and follow what happens when one man writes the check.

He almost called tails.

This week we hit Control Z on the coin flip that built the modern NBA, and follow what happens when one man trusts his gut. Showtime, the Bulls dynasty, Phil Jackson, all of it changes.

He almost didn't sign.

This week we hit Control Z on one of the closest-run constitutional crises in British history, and follow what happens when a king who wants something more than the crown decides to keep both. The ripples reach further than you'd think.

But what if he doesn't? What if Ludwin lets the pilot die the way everyone at NBC expected? What happens to Larry David? What happens to the next 35 years of American comedy? And does the last great shared audience in American television history ever exist at all?