In the time of COVID-19, to discuss anything short of global catastrophe is to risk being accused of trivialising the greatest social disruption since World War II.

But as well as a potentially deadly virus, sports fans also have a lot of time on our hands.

So we continue to obsess about sport and the not insubstantial matter of how locked gates or abandonments will disrupt now-fragile sporting economies.

Which in turn raises a delicate question — will it be the fans or the participants who will shoulder the financial burden?

Let's start with those fans who have bought club memberships that promised admission to games that will be played without us, or quite possibly not at all.

These memberships represent money in the bank for sports whose coffers are about to be emptied, especially if matches are abandoned and media rights revenue vanishes.

Last year the AFL reported a total of 1,057,572 club members, an incredible level of subscription even if you consider that three-game memberships and even pet memberships (Spotty loves his Hawks!) were included.

While the AFL does not provide average values when trumpeting its vast pool of "proud, passionate and paid-up" club members, season tickets are the second greatest source of revenue after media rights revenue for clubs.

Will club members be forced to cover sport's coronavirus-enforced break? ( ABC News: Dylan Anderson )

So do those who have bought their memberships ask for a refund? Or will they write off their loss as they might a non-refundable holiday booking, or even view it as a gratuity to their club for lifelong service?

The answer might provide an indication of the emotional attachment fans have to their clubs, which is in many cases stronger than for the game itself.

Although, in relying on this goodwill, clubs would do well to tread lightly if they are to make appeals to fans to accept less value for the same money this season.

Over the past decade, in the AFL particularly, there has been a strong sense of membership-shaming, with club propaganda designed to suggest you are not a real fan if you don't buy a membership — regardless of your financial circumstances, your lifelong commitment or even your ability to attend the games for which you are hectored into subscribing.

It would be unfortunate if the same baked-on fans who have been made to feel their membership investment is compulsory are also shamed should they ask for a refund.

Instead you can only hope when the time comes, clubs and leagues will not try to hug at heartstrings to keep money paid for nothing, and present a cogent economic argument.

This message should include an honest economic case about how the return of membership might impact the ability of clubs to keep functioning at their usual levels, and an explanation of the sacrifices other vested interests are making.

This in turn leads to the second emotional button that the AFL, NRL and other leagues might be inclined to push if they are to endure this crisis.

If fans are expected to make a financial sacrifice, surely so too will be the administrators, club officials and — most publicly — the players.

On Sunday Australian Rugby League Commission chairman Peter V'landys made an audacious and badly mistimed call for a $200 million government gift to prop up his sport.

"An Australia without rugby league is not Australia," said V'landys, a statement that might bemuse or, as likely, not be heard at all by, the residents of NRL-free Tasmania, South Australia, West Australia and the Northern Territory.

V'landys' plea came at a time when people were calculating both the social and economic ramifications to their daily lives, and before he had any real idea of the damage caused to the NRL.

So given there is no certainty games will be played from one weekend to the next, the $200 million figure was plucked from thin air.

Soon after V'landys spoke, Melbourne Storm captain Cameron Smith made an articulate case for NRL games to be postponed, due to risks including the fear that travelling players with young children could bring the virus home with them.

Cameron Smith has called for the NRL season to be suspended. ( AAP: Brendon Thorne )

But even worse for his game, V'landys' opportunism caused some to focus on the generous wages many in his administration, working as club employees and, particularly, players, enjoy.

Will this $200 million be used to ensure a player on $1 million contract is fully paid, while a barista at the local coffee shop loses his minimum wage shifts when business shuts down?

The buzz phrase of contemporary collective bargaining in sport is "revenue share". It is now taken for granted that players will gain a substantial proportion of the revenue their game generates.

So as sport bleeds money, does revenue share also apply when the money pile collapses — a question some had been pondering before COVID-19, given the possibility media rights deals have peaked.

Most pertinently, would players with guaranteed contracts accept pay cuts based on the substantially reduced revenue figures that are inevitable this season, and likely for several seasons to come?

Then again, if Smith's plea is ignored, players compelled to honour their contracts, play in empty stadiums and take the risks that interstate travel and locker room congregation present might deserve a bonus rather than a pay cut.

In such uncertain times one reality will inevitably emerge: Even wealthy sports are going to take a massive hit and someone will have to pay.