The love affair began on November 19, 1991 . That was the day when, after months of haranguing, my father finally relented and took me to my first football match. The result was a 3-2 defeat, a complete irrelevance.

In a crowd of 15,000 people, my overriding emotion was one of vulnerability, of mild panic (that was just the home side’s defending) and a sense of helplessness. I’d never felt so small or overawed.

But there was something so thrilling about this curious event. Twenty-two players kick and head a ball around a field trying to get it into a net, while thousands of fans shout and cheer from the sidelines. In its simplicity, it was fascinating — and I wanted more.

Back then, the place was very different. In the days before the golden palace was built, the ground I sat in resembled a decaying, leaky, abandoned old warehouse.

The manager precariously perched on some scaffolding to get a decent view. There was one all-seater stand which had red seats. It was confusing.

In fact, the stadium was utterly shambolic and signified the club’s dramatic fall from grace in the previous decade but I knew no better.

All that mattered was this was my club — I didn’t know it then, but at six years old, I had already found my true sense of belonging.

What’s followed has been a hell of a journey.

The overspending, underachieving but never dull 1990s, the ultimate humiliation in blowing an 11-point lead to them lot down the road in 2002 in a manner Devon Loch would scoff at, redemption and perfect play-off promotion in 2003, heartache and anger at wilting to relegation a year later, apathy in the mid 2000s, rejuvenation and long-awaited success thanks to a gruff Yorkshireman before an apocalyptic and scarcely comprehendible double relegation in 2012 and 2013.

The revival since then has been worth the pain.

Like any long-term relationship, the one between me and my club has involved the most unimaginable, goosebump-inducing highs but also pain that never, ever leaves you. It’s caused tears, hope, despair, laughter, anger, resentment and apathy, but never a hint of straying to someone else, no matter how much you’ve been hurt. When it comes to your club, monogamy is a rule that need not be written. For better, for worse; til death us do part.

It is a club rich in history, one that has won multiple league titles, FA Cups and League Cups, not to mention an appearance in a European final. It was the first club to win all four divisions and a founding member of the Football League.

It was proclaimed as having the best team in the world in the 1950s. Then just 30 years later, only 2,000 or 3,000 fans would turn up as a broke Fourth Division club was very nearly made extinct. We call this character building.

And what about the players we’ve watched over the years, the men lucky enough to act out our dreams?

Well, there was the first man to play 100 times for his country. Or “God’s footballer,” a gifted genius who swapped being one of the most talented players of his generation to become a Jehovah’s Witness.

Then there was the ultimate cult hero — a backstreet international from Tipton who earned an England call-up when playing in the third tier and scored 306 goals in 561 games (this man was known as God in my household).

Or how about one of the present incumbents, a midfielder who never sets foot in the penalty area and only scores breathtaking goals that make you want to paint him like one of your French girls?

It really is quite a club… the gold shirt colour, the wolf head badge, the city centre stadium, the deeply passionate, fiercely loyal supporters who “spake loike this.”

And in my privileged role as a journalist for The Athletic, I have the opportunity to try and put this club’s unique story into words you will hopefully find worthy.

Boy, are there some tales to tell, from its glorious and colourful past, yes, but primarily its awe-inspiring present and its bright, golden future.

In just two years, this team has transformed from a Championship also-ran to one of the most exciting, burgeoning teams in Europe .

I cannot wait to describe to you what unfolds next.

My name is Tim Spiers. And my club is Wolverhampton Wanderers.

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(Photo: Graham Chadwick/Allsport)