Except, of course, the NRL which has locked in May 28 for a return to competition.

The AFL has been slightly more cautious. But at least it has been decisive.

According to latest information from AFL House, games will resume in June, probably; in regional hubs, of which there will be one, or maybe six; only in Victoria, or maybe Western Australia, South Australia, Tasmania and Queensland; but definitely only around the MCG, or maybe Geelong; and while Tasmania may not deserve a team, it does deserve to host an influx of potentially-contaminated players and staff for games behind closed doors at no benefit to the state's fans.

To its credit, the AFL has canvassed advice from state and federal governments over the matter.

The NRL sought even higher approval and consulted Channel Nine.

The speed with which normally lucrative national footy codes have suddenly fallen upon financial destitution and their players have reverted to close-season form by getting caught drink-driving has ably demonstrated how desperate our major winter sports are to return to action.

And it's a similar story for their followers.

A sample of sports reports across various networks shows how starved fans have become.

There's only so much coverage of chess and Belarusian Premier League soccer a person can take before they want to inject themselves with disinfectant.

Many sports reports have opted to go a bit more obscure, much like when Clint Eastwood suddenly started singing in Paint Your Wagon.

Social media streams have been abuzz with clips of little-known sports, such as the world chase tag championships (the obstacles can be potentially career-ending) or teqball (a hybrid of table tennis and soccer which appears to be the best thing to come out of Hungary since Ferenc Puskas).

Endorsed by former national team captain and manager Ronald Koeman, teqball has found a natural home in the Netherlands, which is unsurprising given the nation has become a world leader in bizarre sporting practices.

If you want minority sports, get in amongst the tulips and windmills.

To paraphrase Tom Gleeson on Hard Quiz, this week I've been really getting into dyke jumping.

The sport originated in the northern province of Friesland which, apparently, remains the undisputed capital of dyke jumping. Not that there's probably a lot of competition for the title.

Tracing its origins back to vagrants who would traverse waterways to pilfer food, the practice involves using only a long pole and a combination of foot speed and climbing ability.

Experts advise that wrapping the rubber inner tube from a bicycle tyre around ankles aids grip on the pole, although the International Olympic Committee may need to investigate the legality of such behaviour.

With the likes of Ajax, Feyenoord and PSV Eindhoven on enforced shutdowns, rivalling dyke jumping for prime time sports coverage has been the Dutch Headwind Cycling Championships.

This brilliant concept can only be held in optimum weather conditions and involves cyclists tackling a 9km straight course along the top of a dam which took a decade to build and saves the Netherlands from a submarine existence.

Here's the kicker: they ride into a 120km/h headwind. Oh, and they can only use the ordinary Dutch bikes which have no gears and just one brake, not that it is needed much.

A commendably-detailed YouTube explainer reveals that cycling into a 120km/h headwind produces 64 times the added drag compared to a mere 15km version.

And as the presenter explains: "It's a good weird human interest story: people doing a deliberately difficult thing and hurting themselves just enough that it's interesting."

He's not wrong.

So when you've finished binge-watching The Last Dance or After Life Series 2 on Netflix, and can take no more "virtual" sports or reports of introducing piped crowd noise, get yourself down to the Oosterscheldekering storm barrier between the Schouwen-Duiveland and Noord-Beveland islands.

Or rather don't, because this year's championships were cancelled. Not because of coronavirus, but because the aftermath of Storm Ciara meant the winds were too high.

Incidentally, it may also be hard to feel sympathy for cash-strapped national footy competitions when footage of coaches' boxes with no room left for a head coach and reports of clubs having to reduce their media departments to just one might suggest a considerable degree of over-employment in the first place.

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