Last year I divorced my football team. After 38 years of a few ups and mostly downs I let go of Crewe Alexandra.

I was not a casual fan. I was obsessed. I was proud of the miracle that transformed the perennial laughing stock into everyone’s second-favourite team. Ours was a story that celebrated everything that was right in the beautiful game. In a world of multimillionaire players, oligarch owners and fickle fans Crewe Alex were the beacon of hope: a club with a fabled reputation for nurturing local talent and playing a style of football that was a purist’s dream.

My first game was in 1978, Crewe’s centenary season. I was 10. That year we finished bottom of the Fourth Division, 92nd out of 92. It was a position we became no stranger to in the next few years. But five years later a young Dario Gradi arrived and everything changed.

Much has been written about Gradi’s success on the field but it is difficult to overstate the hold he has over the club and, indeed, the town. The saying “no one individual is bigger than the club” is true almost everywhere – except perhaps Crewe.

Gradi assumed cult-like status – something I, in a small way, contributed to. In the golden era of football fanzines I was involved with producing Super Dario Land. I wrote articles most months, had a column for a while and proudly stood on Gresty Road shouting “SDL … Get your Suuuuper Dario Land … only a pound!” We sold several hundred each issue but there was a problem of sorts. Most fanzines thrived on malcontent and anti-board sentiments and we were just gushingly happy with our lot.

I travelled to all the outposts proper football fans will be familiar with, from Carlisle to Torquay to Southend … and unforgettable days at local rivals Port Vale, Wrexham and Chester. I was there when David Platt made his debut. I saw Shaun Smith score from the halfway line (twice). I celebrated three Wembley victories and I watched dozens of future internationals begin their careers. I used to bore everyone about all the famous players who started at Crewe but I’d always say the best prospect was one who never made it: a brilliant midfielder called Steve Walters. Now I know why.

Dario Gradi assumed cult-like status at Crewe. Photograph: Catherine Ivill - AMA/Getty Images

In November 2016 I watched in disbelief as player after player waived anonymity and spoke out about the unspeakable crimes that had been committed by Barry Bennell at my club. I read accounts that reduced me to tears and then I saw the reactions of the two people who have run the club for three decades: the chairman, John Bowler, and the director of football, Gradi. The seeming lack of empathy shown by these two men was incomprehensible. It left me cold. This, together with the reaction of so many fans feeling aggrieved that there was some kind of witch-hunt against Crewe, led me to question my loyalty to a club I was falling out of love with.

Fifteen months on, the Bennell trial is over but a trial of a different kind involving the club continues. There are still so many questions about who knew what and when, about whether this evil man could have been stopped earlier and whether there was a cover-up. There are questions for other clubs, too, but I somehow expected my one, the proud family club built on youth, to set a better example. The eerie silence from Gresty Road provides no answers.

At a fans’ forum on Monday Bowler once again declined to comment and bizarrely received a round of applause from fans. He said it would be “inappropriate” to discuss the matter. No, John, what is inappropriate is the behaviour of the club. The lack of empathy and common decency regarding the response to survivors, and the unwillingness to take any corporate responsibility, shame football and soil what is left of Crewe’s reputation.

If the club’s board has any shred of morality left it should turn on the floodlights and flush out the truth

Whatever the people in charge did or didn’t know, they should stand down. Horrendous crimes happened on their watch. They owe it to the hundreds of lives wrecked as a result of what happened under their noses for years. There are too many names on the headed paper that have not changed in 30 years.

I still have a brick with my name on it in the entrance to the main stand. I’ve asked for it to be removed and the club have emailed to say they would comply with my request.

At the back of my wardrobe there are reminders of happier times. There is the 1997 shirt I wore at Wembley, one of Dario’s signed training tops and a ball autographed by Danny Murphy, Robbie Savage, Neil Lennon and Walters. Symbolically the signatures are faded and the ball is deflated.

A few weeks after their stories broke I spoke with Walters and another survivor, Chris Unsworth. I decided that rather than spend my time following the fortunes of a team I no longer loved I would support a more deserving cause instead – the Offside Trust. The dignity and strength of the survivors I have met during the past year have been a reminder of what is truly important in life. The support the Offside Trust has received across sport has been phenomenal.

I have been accused of being a fake fan and far worse by supporters who cannot countenance their club ever doing wrong. I believe the majority of Crewe fans are decent, fair-minded folk who want the truth but there is a sizeable faction that thinks every journalist is out to get them and every article is fake news.

The media are simply shining torches into the darkness. If the club’s board has any shred of morality left, it should turn on the floodlights and flush out the truth. Thanks for the memories but they are now forever tainted.