ON FRIDAY evening I managed to drag my carcass out to Moore Park for what turned out to be one of the more unspectacular nights of my week (quite a claim considering I had spent most of it finding ways to procrastinate – successfully – with an impending end of semester assignment due).

5pm was the time my Media, Information and Society essay was to be handed in (the title of the course screams out at you not to spend more than a few hours on it a year), worth 50 percent of my total mark - and made up of 70 percent quotes.

I'd rather spend my summer balancing my love of Mediterranean cuisine, football and bloodshot eyes, than re-doing essays on Immanuel Kant (who, for the record, is sort of like the Eric Cantona of the Enlightenment Period).

I finished the assignment at 3.45pm, after which I felt slightly liberated despite an impending exam on Tuesday that I haven't started studying for, thanks to my cousin's wedding where my parents introduced to me a new level of embarrassment thanks to what I assume was some enjoyable red wine.

Cue: celebratory meal at Oporto near Central tunnel.

Portuguese *insert Greece-inspired Euro 2004 swipe here* food did not end up being the focus of my evening though.

My intense study of the lurking army of seagulls (Have you ever seen a seagull drink? It's pretty damn fascinating...) was disrupted by the typically uninspired chants of wandering Sydney FC fans, many of whom probably had a level of intelligence rivalled by the local bird life.

What struck me most about their presence, however, was that I had simply hadn't the slightest idea that it was Sydney about to play at home.

Was I slipping at my old age? Surely not, I consoled myself. Clearly, being cocooned in a world of study *snicker* for the afternoon had taken its toll: it had been a rough week.

Suddenly I felt inspired to get over to the SFS for a rare A-League expedition – football is never the same on TV when the voices of Mike Cockerill and Andy Harper drone out any semblance of logical thought you might have been able to conjure up.

After failing to convince my friend to tag along – she was "tempted but not in the mood and would go next time" – I met up with a couple of other mates, grabbed a bargain (hah!) $17 student-priced general admission ticket and somehow contrived to sit in the one area of the stadium where there was a cyclone-like draft.

On the way over to Moore Park it seemed as though there was a nice crowd building up and I began to entertain the thought that the spectacular collapse of Kosmina's side against the Mariners had prompted a few more bandwagoners to break the bank for Ian Fyfe – Roll On!

Alas, it took us a few minutes to take an educated guess that there were a mere 12,000 present. The official figure was something around that mark...

We spent most of the match whingeing about the situation, lamenting the lack of a true marquee superstar to pull so-so fans in, the chance missed to build squads around the likes of Yorke, Juninho and Carbone, the lack of quality in the league brought about by its small size, the depths of untapped talent in the state leagues and beyond - and eventually, how unfit John Aloisi looked in real life (the answer is ridiculously).

Finally the discussion turned to the NSL, where I spoke about my predicament as a Sydney Olympic fan forced to watch the painful death of the club that I loved but willing to make the sacrifice for the greater good.

It might be an attitude not totally shared among football fans of a bygone era but we both agreed that the vast majority of us (his father had been an APIA fan) had initially tried to connect with Lowy's franchise.

Why had it worn off, though? What is it that has turned us away from the SFS and any care about the fortunes of Sydney's only representative in the A-League?

We agreed that we should be fiercely passionate and loyal, considering the fanatical followers of the game that we are, but that we have been offered no incentive to follow a club without a history or an identity with which we can connect.

Why should we go out to Moore Park on a cold Friday night to pay criminal prices to watch an ordinary side play ordinary football, when, as my friend rightly suggested, we gain so much more from watching bottom-of-the-table clashes from around Europe?

Much of our logic could probably be applied to the lack of crowd generally at the SFS, I suppose. Why should anybody, given the current economic climate and the abundance of alternatives, pay to inconvenience themselves?

It is a consideration that makes me admire the plight of the current crop of loyal Sydney FC fans that little bit more; they have truly carried on their backs a fledgling side and the same can be applied to consistent A-League attendees generally across the whole competition.

Personally, I'm interested in hearing about the thought-processes of all fans, NSL or not, regular attendees or couch potatoes, lovers or haters.

What is it that really makes us tick when deciding whether to head off to our local football cathedral?

And more importantly, just how fat can John Aloisi get?