The glory of the World Cup is no match for the grit of League One

In the end, the World Cup has failed to draw me in. I watched England’s matches against Senegal and France, and other odd bits here and there, but it’s broadly passed me by. I might have felt differently had England made it to the final; and I imagine I’m not alone in that.

For my seven-year-old son, football-mad as he is, the tournament has been more of a success. His lip wobbled when Harry Kane missed penalty number two against Hugo Lloris, and again at full time, but he remains invested in the magic of the competition and is now rooting for a French win.

I’m pleased for him, of course, even though his passion for the game has resulted in several furious rows about whether he can watch or listen to matches that start at 7pm. He has somehow managed, generally, to get his way. The final flashpoint may be if the final goes to extra time at just the moment we need to leave the house for a trip to the panto.

Anyhow, the World Cup is all well and good but I decided in the midst of it that my son really needed to get an alternative view of the game. So, a couple of weekends ago, we hopped on the train to Milton Keynes to watch MK Dons’ League One clash with mighty Burton Albion – a crucial fixture, with both teams stuck firmly in the relegation zone.

I hadn’t been to a professional men’s football match for years, and my son’s only experience of watching a game live came last year when we went to see Spurs against Villa in the Women’s Super League. There was chill in the air and a decent smattering of spectators, including a noisy group of away fans in one corner.

MK Dons’ stadium is impressive, purpose-built as it was after the club moved from Wimbledon in 2003 and was re-established in its current guise. But in a 30,500-capacity arena, just over 6,000 spectators can look a tad sparse, which at least meant we could choose to sit more or less wherever we liked.

Despite their small numbers, the hardcore Dons fans behind the goal were in good voice, and the home team got off to a decent start. But then a slightly dubious penalty led to Burton taking the lead, and the overt celebrations by the goalscorer right in front of us ramped up the raucousness considerably. My son yelled at the ref and grumbled at the lack of respect shown by the penalty-taker. He was getting into it, and so was I.

At half time, we had an overpriced KitKat and some crisps, stamping our feet to stay warm. In the second half, with the Dons now attacking towards our end, our voices joined the regular fans in urging the home side to score. They drove on again and again, and finally, in the 82nd minute, came the equaliser, as substitute Bradley Johnson headed home from a corner. The crowd went wild; we joined them, feeling an attachment to a team we’d never watched before.

In the final few minutes, the men in white shirts nearly grabbed a deserved winner – but it was not to be. We applauded them off, feeling that the Dons had been hard done by, agreeing that Nathan Holland had been the star player. We’d come again, we reckoned.

After the match, we went to McDonald’s, where my son insisted on having large fries with his burger. I doubted he’d finish them but he easily proved me wrong; all part and parcel of our grand day out.

Back at home, there was football on the telly, Argentina edging past Australia to make it through to the quarter-final in Qatar. But my son wanted to talk about our hard-fought game, about the ref’s dodgy decisions, the outrageous celebrations after Burton’s opener, and Holland’s excellence.

Messi and Mbappe may have the world at their feet – and one will be holding the World Cup aloft come Sunday evening – but, as my son now understands, real football is as much about the grit as the glory.