I draw the curtains, sunlight floods into my three-year-old son's room and he begins to stir. It's time to get him ready for the nursery run, usually a very happy routine, but this

Thursday morning was a little different. The previous night, during bathtime, we'd spoken about how Manchester United were going to win the Europa League and I'd show him a video

of Bruno Fernandes lifting the trophy in the morning when he woke up. We sang United songs, 'Glory Glory Man United' and a heavily edited, child-friendly version of 'Zlatan

Ibrahimovic he is a Swedish hero...', before stories and him nodding off to sleep. All was well. And then the game began. We broach the subject that United lost, and he _bursts _into

have been reminding each other of the James lyric: "If I hadn't seen such riches, I could live with being poor", which sums up the life of a Manchester United fan in these

modern times quite nicely. I don't remember a time when I wasn't in love with Manchester United. My first memory is the 1994 FA Cup final (and the celebratory chippy dinner after).

And I will always love them... but at the moment it's quite hard to _like _them. And this is actually disconnected from making my son cry/their struggles on the pitch. Because beyond

the calamitous performances, transfer gossip and social media recriminations we all obsess over, one thing has gone very under-reported: the fact that going to watch Manchester United has

quietly become... well, a bit s***. People finally started paying attention to this when Big Jim Ratcliffe, not short of a few bob, started charging OAPs and kids £66 to come to Old

Trafford. A few weeks after this, I went to the Fulham FA Cup game and saw up close a steward screaming aggressively, red-faced, at children in the South Stand (not the most difficult part

of the ground to keep in order) for standing up while waving to Wayne Rooney in one of the broadcasting studios. The Manchester United legend was happily waving back and interacting with his

adoring young fans. I couldn't help but just think to myself: where's the joy in this place gone? I also wondered where this kind of 'assertive' stewarding was a few

weeks earlier when Rangers fans, who made their way to the match on the tram through our city centre off their faces singing 'Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves', were

allowed to run riot in the home end on what was a shameful night for every person at Manchester United whose job it is to keep spectators safe. But that moment with the steward was just the

cherry on top of a cake packed with minor grievances that have mounted over the years. The food and drink options by the ground are shocking, and inside the ground they're even worse.

The hot dogs are wet, and the pies are so hot Frodo wouldn't have to travel to Mount Doom to destroy the One Ring. At half-time the communal areas feel dangerously over-packed, and the

gents' toilets are... to be avoided, if possible. At one point this season I queued 27 minutes (I timed it) to get a Diet Coke on the concourse, only for it to be actually _warm _when

it's finally handed over. The behaviour in some of the hospitality sections that overlook the family stand have been reprehensible on occasion, clearly distressing one child I was sat

next to, only for stewards to admit there's not much they can do about it when confronted by fans. In fairness the club did apologise to affected fans afterwards, and it hasn't

happened since. Often a VAR decision that dictates the outcome of the entire day will be an absolute mystery to those who have actually paid to watch the match in the stadium, with no

visuals or explanation offered. The journey home from Trafford Bar to East Didsbury is, without fail, a calamity. Sardines wouldn't tolerate such conditions. And then there's the

experience of taking your seat before kick-off on a rainy Sunday only to feel a consistent thud, thud, thud, on your shoulder, and realise the roof is leaking on you and will do so

relentlessly for the next 90 minutes. Of course all football stadiums have their problems, but this is Manchester United. Aren't we supposed to be the best club in the world? I'll

never stop going, whether they're winning the league or, more likely, fighting relegation, but as I've said... it's just all a bit s***. So towards the end of the season, with

my son too young to go to Old Trafford still and family commitments mounting up, I decided to dial back my visits to Manchester United a little bit. It started with a hike on Lyme Park

after work rather than indulging in the life-long ritual of watching the team, and it was lovely. So I then thought I'd change the ritual... for a few weeks at least - and go and watch

a few _other _football teams across Greater Manchester. And I'm very glad I did. Here's what I found on my travels: TRAFFORD FC 1 - 2 STAFFORD RANGERS, MARCH 22 * Ticket price: £10

* Stadium: Shawe View Stadium, Shawe Rd, Urmston, Manchester * Attendance: 654 * Quality of football: 2/5 * Food and drink: Limited options but 40p for a Freddo? Can't complain in this

day and age * Vibes: 4/5 We arrive a few minutes late, and as we make our way through the turnstiles its apparent that someone has scored. We've no idea who, and there's something

quite liberating about that. It's a very friendly atmosphere, but as a goalkeeper lines up to take a kick the crowd greet him with a "OOOOooOO you fat b******". I'd

parked just round the corner from the Shawe View Stadium, and had seen a dad wrestle a very new baby into a carrier. Once we're on the ground he's leaning against an advertising

board watching the game unfold, feeding the baby a bottle as he enjoys a beer. Meanwhile kids are playing their own match at the side of the pitch, with some form of a shed adorning a

'High Voltage' sign the only obstruction. My own son debates with another child on who can find the biggest stick. At half-time, we get a hot dog, a Freddo and a Diet Coke for

£3.40 while Stone Roses blast out on the PA and I'm left just thinking to myself: "This is the life." Next to the away end, we find a Trafford FC flag in the style of a Stone

Roses album cover which reads: "I wanna be Trafford". It took me a minute. A bloke from Aberdeen comes over and takes a photo. "I'm not a weirdo," he assures me.

"I'm just really into flags." ALTRINCHAM FC 2 - 1 YEOVIL TOWN, APRIL 5 * Ticket price: £20 * Stadium: J Davidson Stadium, Moss Lane, Hale, Altrincham * Attendance: 1,851 *

Quality of football: 4/5 * Food and drink: Unreal chips and curry sauce * Vibes: 4/5 It's a gorgeous day for football. The sun is shining, I've just taken my spot as the teams come

out and I'm admiring Altrincham FC's J Davidson Stadium and what a pleasant place it is to watch football. Behind me, a bloke is chatting to his mate. "First thing I'd

do if I ran this club is build a new stadium. I think it's f**** s***." Fair enough, it's a game of opinions I guess. In the opening few minutes, the ball stays in the air for

at least 15 seconds, bouncing off various heads and shins in the process. This is proper football. Pep Guardiola would faint. One of the defenders for Altrincham doesn't appear to get

on very well with his goalkeeper, and a few choice words are exchanged between the two. You can feel these things up close at this level, you don't need to wait for one of their agents

to brief The Athletic months later about it. As the substitutes warm up on the side of the pitch, one of them stops his stretches to sign a matchday programme for a young lad. Another young

boy gets a mid-game fist bump from one of the players taking a throw in and they look delighted with themselves. There's still an element of hero worship and accessibility at this level

and that's really lovely to see up close. At half-time I order chips in curry sauce and think about how it's among the finest dishes invented. If you called it Pommes De Terre in

a coriander and turmeric reduction all the top restaurants would serve it. But the best thing about this trip is the crowd, because it is striking seeing how many young people - boys and

girls - are in the ground to support the team. The megabucks of the Premier League may have priced out many families, but if that is instead manifesting in lower and non-league clubs getting

a younger, more vibrant support then maybe it's not such a bad thing. WEST DIDSBURY AND CHORLTON 1 - 0 LONGBRIDGE TOWN, APRIL 12 * Ticket price: £7 * Stadium: Brookburn Road,

Chorlton-cum-Hardy, Manchester * Attendance: 1320 * Quality of football: 3/5 * Food and drink: A Burton Road IPA and a burrito, sat on a hill watching footie? I'm in heaven * Vibes: 5/5

Going to watch West Didsbury and Chorlton is an _experience_. There are very few 'proper football men' to be found here, which is a very nice change of pace. It's a young,

hip (to a farcical extent) crowd who chant about loving hummus and quinoa. 'The West Experience' is a true rejection of traditional football. There's still beer and

there's still 22 blokes running round a pitch, but the chants are self-aware, ironic and genuinely hilarious. West's hardcore fans stand in 'The Shed', and sing to the

tune of Kylie Minogue's 'Can't Get You Out of My Head': "You just can't get me out of the shed. North West Counties is all I think about." The fashion on

show here by the very 20s/early 30s crowd is like Cheltenham Festival for Northern Quarter parodies, and at half-time fans unveil a 'West Against Hate' banner. Refereeing decisions

that don't go our way are greeted with "The referee's a Tory!" chant. A man from a hut makes burritos like a man possessed, while outrageous Cadbury's Crème Egg

blondies keep my wife and son happy as their interest in the football wanes. The final whistle confirms a 1-0 win, and books West's place in the playoffs. But I think people are having

too much of a nice day in the Chorlton sunshine to care. The football sometimes feels its secondary at Brookburn Road, but that's because they have a community here determined to have a

nice time rather than to 'win things'... and that's OK. Football is allowed to be just a bit of fun sometimes.