THE contents of the Wallabies laundry basket. Dean Jones's armpits after that double century in Chennai. The stalls at Randwick on a 35-degree day. There are a lot of things in sport that stink.

But in an era where worth is most often determined by the accountants' bottom line or a league's strategic plans rather than anything so sentimental as historical contribution or competitive spirit, there is no stench more foul than the odour that wafts from a dying football club or, in the case of North Melbourne, one that is in danger of being marched to the gallows.

As nostalgic fans of Fitzroy and South Melbourne and even rugby league's Newtown might tell the now-distraught Kangaroos supporters as their club wrestles with Demetriou's Choice — go to the Gold Coast or we turn off the life-support machine — once your cards are marked, there is no such thing as death with dignity.

Instead, in most cases, there is only a depressing succession of events leading to the inevitable conclusion — relocation, merger or termination.

First comes the public rallying, the tin-rattling and the vocal defiance of diehard supporters and club stalwarts whose anger is inevitably directed at the league's public figurehead.

That the Kangaroos' public enemy No. 1 will be AFL chief executive Andrew Demetriou, who played 103 games for the club, will only add to their sense of betrayal.

There is usually the vague offer of a helping hand from powerful clubs happy to have the battlers in the competition because they will be assured two wins a season. And there is likely betrayal of fellow strugglers who sell their support to the league to maintain their own tentative grip on survival.

There is the emergence from the woodwork of the publicity-addicted celebrity "supporters" whose self-proclaimed "undying loyalty" to the club has never been quite enough to have them cancel a trip to the snow or a villa in Tuscany to attend an actual game.

Eventually, there are the cracks that open within the club as fatigued administrators and board members buckle under the pressure and confront the threat of personal liability for massive debts, while others fight to the last in the hope of finding a white knight, a mystery backer or other usually fanciful lifelines.

Finally, there are those grim final days. The heart-wrenching despair created by an uncompetitive team that causes all but the hardcore fans to leave and do their mourning privately. And, without help from the AFL, surely even the proud Kangaroos, who defied expectations by making the top four this season, would sink quickly to the bottom.

There are some recent death-row survivors from the major Australian leagues to provide hope and encouragement for Kangaroos supporters facing the bleak prospect of seeing their team head north or, if they don't, being left to die.

South Sydney has risen from the grave. However, as Russell Crowe and Peter Holmes a Court worked out, the Rabbitohs had a powerful and under-utilised brand that could be exploited just as an aspirational generation was yearning for a sense of community and club spirit. (The great irony is that Souths' nostalgia-driven revival has been as slickly marketed as the latest plasma screen.)

The Western Bulldogs somehow slipped the noose, and Hawthorn and Melbourne dodged a proposed merger, although Hawthorn had a strong supporter base to regenerate and has spread into Tasmania, while the Bulldogs and the Demons remain dependent on handouts and might themselves feel the squeeze when the AFL looks for "volunteers" to become Sydney's second team by 2015.

The Kangaroos' unusual dilemma is that the club has never been run by a bunch of flat-earthers bound by sentimental notions of playing 22 games on a Saturday arvo at dilapidated suburban grounds. The Roos pioneered Friday night football at the MCG, created the profitable grand final breakfast and sold games interstate — all with the support of their fans, but never with enough of them.

From the outside, the club's decision seems straightforward — move on your own terms. Do what Fitzroy failed to do when it resisted a move to Brisbane in the 1980s and you risk having the club's ashes sent north years later.

Of course, it is easy to say that when you haven't spent four or five decades shouting yourself hoarse for the Shinboners. When the family dog is not named "Archie" in honour of the lion-hearted Glenn Archer. When you're not the one left feeling like a pensioner forced to sell his home so they can build a new freeway.

That's why, regardless of how much financial sense they make, mergers/relocations/ liquidations stink. Always will.