We are more cooped up than a Marty Brodeur backup, bored as Alexander Daigle during a Jacques Martin pep talk. Haven’t kept this much distance since Steve Durbano warned me to stop writing bad stuff about him. Making even less contact than did Rob McClanahan.

Every day is the same. We’re back at the ’87 Canada Cup, loving’ it all, and then the alarm goes off and everything is downhill from there. Grab the phone to check the West Coast scores and the last one there is the Seals beat the Scouts. Brush my teeth, go to the laptop and click Hockey Buzz, where one of our enterprising writers is down to ranking Chris Vandevelde’s greatest games and, in the comments, people actually are debating and insulting each other. We go back to reading Gary Unger and the Battling Blues. For the fourth time.

By now we have pretty much gone through the Netflix cue. Zero, Zero, Zero? Last we checked, the Islanders’ power play still hadn’t gotten going. Tiger King? Hey that guy is even more self-absorbed than the only Tiger we know, Tiger Williams. Infinity? Already experiencing that. Inevitably will watch every damn show. But would give out entire mint condition collection of Bob Woytowich rookie cards for something, anything, live.

Reassurances are repeated hourly on TV and on the net that if we stay home we’ll be almost as safe as Jody Hull’s spot on a Roger Neilson team. So we lay lower than Jean Guy Legace would get if anyone was dumb enough to not keep their heads up coming through center. Sign of normalcy: Our allergist is re-opening on Wednesday for shots, but it’s by appointment only, following a protocol more strict than when Brett Hull’s goal Cup-winning goal in Buffalo was allowed to stand for sure. Wear gloves, masks, do not touch anything, including Andrew MacDonald’s contract with a 10-foot pole. Gotta be in and out of there even faster than Matt Duchene in Columbus.

We walk streets more deserted than Bill Peters in his final days in Calgary. Wash our hands more often than a GM of Derick Brassard. Like Lou Lamoriello, we breathe not a word on anything to anybody, and especially not on anybody. Night after night the news is more bleak than Ilya Lyuvushin’s chances to get on the power play. We try to count our blessings like Artemi Panarin counts his money, but its tough, man, when time goes by slower than Jere Lehtera. At this stage, we’ll bet Mitch Marner would even welcome a Mike Babcock questionnaire.

So many things unanswered. When will they play again? June? July? The same day somebody signs llya Bryzgalov? Could take that long. Will it be in arenas more empty than management pledges to Sabre fans? Will the players have to stay six feet away from each other? Never mind that one. In today’s corners, they already do.

Used to be Matthew Tkachuk only had to worry about Zack Kassian’s sanity. Now all of us are at risk of losing it, like never before. Saw Peter Laviolette tweeting a cry for help on Monday and sympathized. Burst into tears like we were Coach Q realizing what he had gotten into it in Florida.

To grasp the magnitude of this, please understand something: This columnist has been around forever, which has lasted even longer than Joe Thornton, and recalls nothing even close to this for the level of anxiety, not even on WHA paydays, when the players raced each other to the bank to cash their checks while there was money left. Oh, yes, you millenials out there, we have seen some bad things and done some hard time, like sharing an arm rest with Moose Dupont in the middle seat on a flight all the way to Vancouver. Ribs still hurt 35 years later. Also watched R.J, Umberger at the end. Not pretty.

But nothing has been as frustrating as this, not even labor stoppages. One of those once wiped out an entire season, but at least there was somebody to blame then, like the Rangers for laying out all that money on Dan LaCouture, or a town of Ottawa’s size being in the league, or the union for trying to keep Niko Dimitrakos and his family eating. This particular mess, man hasn’t made. Sure, some people let down their guard, but this is biology, so it’s a lot harder to find at fault than Roman Cechmanek in the playoffs for sure.

But as the captain of a bad power play has to occasionally emphasize, here is our point: Do not despair. Government checks are on the way. Not as bit as Blake Wheeler’s checks, but every little bit helps. Right now science seems to know about as much about this Covid19 as Kings GM George Maguire did about Rick Martin when he got off the plane following his trade to LA on crutches. But be assured that great minds are working on this. Maybe they are not as smart as Rick Dudley thought he was, but plenty brilliant nevertheless.

Right now we are in the dark, not a puck in sight, willing to give our right arms for a game on TV, even if Adam Erne is playing. Most concerning of all are the warnings that after the hot summer, there is a good chance that unlike the Leafs, this disease will circle back. But there should be greater access to tests by than, although we hope they will probe more reliable than the ones the Lightning went through on the way to 128 points year ago before crashing in the first round.

Meanwhile, we’re told that this week or next, the number of patients will peak. So, like Dale Weise in a 31-team league, we gotta hang on. The border remains more closed than Pavel Bure’s mind about coming back in the zone but it’s always darkest before the dawn. Unlike Ron Flockhart, this will pass.

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