I probably should have mentioned before now that the old flame I’m referring to is the League of Ireland. Like all true love affairs, I can recall the exact date and place I became smitten: April 4, 1976, Oriel Park. Dundalk v Cork Hibernians. I was seven. A win would guarantee my home-town club the league title. The Town won 1-0 and I knew this was the place for me.

Like every other football-mad boy from that era, I loved the English league and couldn’t wait for Match of the Day every Saturday night. Sunday, though, was Mass and Oriel. Unlike my classmates, my team wasn’t Liverpool or Manchester United — it was Dundalk FC. Back then there was a large gap between the two leagues but it was nowhere near the chasm it is today. Besides, Dundalk had more than their share of big European nights, famously coming within a few inches of defeating Celtic and reaching the quarter-final of the European Cup in 1979.

They were happy days following Dundalk during my formative years, with six league titles and a scatter of FAI Cups. Somewhere along the line, life got in the way. Living full-time in Dublin, other priorities took hold. I never stopped checking Dundalk’s results. I went to the odd big game, but really it was the end of the affair.

Or so I thought. Then, after more than 20 years in the doldrums for Dundalk, Stephen Kenny started to weave his magic. Playing a wonderful brand of attacking football and punching way above their weight in Europe, they won the admiration of fans across the country. I could feel myself getting sucked back in. Tuning into the local radio for games; a European game here, a cup semi-final or final there; going to away games in Dublin. A nostalgia-filled trip “home” to Oriel.

By this point, my teenage son was by my side. Living so close to Dalymount Park, we started to drop in when Dundalk played Bohemians. I can’t quite remember how it happened but suddenly it wasn’t just the lure of seeing Dundalk that drew us to “Dayler” on a Friday night.

My Phibsboro born-and-bred son was quickly hooked on Bohs. As a Dundalk fan, I was a slower burn. But the atmosphere and the history at Irish football’s spiritual home was hugely appealing. The club, with its massive sense of community, started to worm its way into my affections. By the time Bohs had beaten Shamrock Rovers 2-1 away with a last-gasp winner earlier this season, I was hooked and wondering why I had stayed away so long.

In some ways we are living through a golden age of football, but the billionaire owners and astronomical wages make it all seem a little cold and sterile. Do I really care whether Roman Abramovich’s or Sheikh Mansour’s team wins the Premier League? I went to the past two Champions League finals and the quality of the football was extraordinary, but I’m not sure it matched the sheer joy of Darragh Leahy’s 99th-minute cracker in Tallaght.

Dalymount or Oriel or the RSC in Waterford feel like a throwback to an era where Bobby Moore, after winning the World Cup, popped home to his neighbours to invite them out on the town. I’m not blind to the league’s problems. At a recent away game, the seats we went to sit in were plastered with bird droppings; not exactly conducive to attracting families.

Make no mistake, though, the league has its own unique charm. What Keith Long has done with Bohs on an annual budget that wouldn’t pay a week’s wages for Alexis Sánchez is inspirational — and playing proper passing football too.

My 16-year-old has always been a big Arsenal fan but a few weeks back he lifted his head briefly from his Xbox to communicate. “I still like Arsenal,” he said thoughtfully. “But Bohs are my local club. They’re part of who I am. They’re my team.” Apart from the day he was born, I’m not sure I’ve loved him more than at that moment.

We’re hoping for a Dundalk-Bohs cup final this year in our house but even if Bohs don’t make it through against Cork on Monday, we’ll be in Dalymount for the next home game, for next season and I suspect many years to come.

Who said romance was dead?

Shane Coleman presents Newstalk Breakfast, weekdays