We’re often told that romance is dead in the beautiful game. The rich get richer and the disparity between professional footballers and fans has never been wider. But not all clubs are cynical or greedy. Take the German second division side Union Berlin, a team that is proud of its roots in the community, one that’s built and owned by fans.

I’m following some bloke. It wasn’t what I set out to do when I left the house but now I feel it’s for the best. He’s on the same S-bahn as me, drinking beer with his headphones on. The poor fool has a Union scarf on. He’s a free tour guide. Europe is full of them. Sure enough, he got off at my stop, drinking from the watering hole of doom. The U-bahn we had to get wasn’t for another nine minutes so I decided to ask him a few questions.

What ensued was tough small talk. He was a nice guy but he deflected my conversation starters about Union, I was curious to hear how this guy felt about their season. Wanting to make things work, I made things work. I squeezed answers out of him. Found out things about the team, things about him. He had lived in Germany for the last seven years. He once lived in Japan. He liked Japan better, warned me that Germany was fucked, predicted civil war.

He originally hailed from York in England, supporting Tranmere Rovers. Asked why he supported Union, he answered that there was nothing else to do. Did he have any passions? I never found out. I wonder if he ever will himself. Man, I’m deep, me. The chat had a good flow to it as we approached the stadium. The walk towards the Stadion An der Alten Försterei (literally The Stadium at the Old Forester’s house) was suitably enchanting. Some supporters broke ranks and strolled a couple of feet into the woods for a slash. I saved mine for later. The game was starting.

1860 Munich are fighting relegation. They arrived in Berlin with a good record against the home side. Union hadn’t beaten the Bavarians in this fixture in more than seven years but they did whup them on their own patch back in May. The mood was good. The fans were buzzing. When are they not, says you. The place lacks no atmosphere. It has bags of it. From the walk through the woods to the cheerleader orchestrating chants with a megaphone. Christian Arbeit, the club’s press officer, sits in the crowd with a microphone, shouting half of the goalscorer’s name after each strike, allowing the crowd to enthusiastically, fanatically give him his full title. As cliched and cheesy as it sounds, it really is like a big family.

Felix Kroos, a January signing from Werder Bremen, puts Union ahead after six minutes. Taking a touch to put the ball past the last defender, Kroos then takes another to shoot beyond Stefan Ortega. There’s a feeling that the 1860 goalkeeper could have exerted more effort. 1860 apply pressure but can’t find a way beyond Jakob Busk. The 22-year-old Danish stopper is another January signing. Arriving from Norwegian second tier side Sandefjord, he was arguably the man of the match. He got enough on one shot to deflect it onto the post. Lucky. A bigger save would come later.

Half-time saw the big screen display heartfelt messages from fans to their other halves. I felt the love. It was warm and fuzzy. Mind you, it was Baltic out. There’s me taking notes with blue hands. No wonder I didn’t get a message. Blue handed freak. I fought off the temptation to crash a heartfelt hug and waited for the second half to begin. Union forward Bobby Wood had a good chance saved from point blank range in the first half. He was lively, dangerous, yearning for a goal.

Then, ten minutes or so before the end, a game defining moment occurs. 1860 attacker Rubin Okotie is one-on-one with Busk. He tries to place the ball but the 22-year-old Dane makes himself big, advances quickly and blocks the shot. Seconds later Union break on the counter-attack. The ball is played to Wood, the crowd are anticipating something special. He races beyond his marker, holding him off before shooting towards the far corner of the net. Tremendous composure, wonderful finish. Never in doubt. He reminds me of Javier Hernandez. That’s his ninth goal of the campaign.

Damir Kreilach put polish on the result with a third Union goal three minutes from the death. Wood almost scored immediately from the restart. It was turning into a rout. No added time was necessary but the home side were in no hurry to leave the pitch. They basked in the adulation of their support, reciprocating the love that had been emanating from the bellowing terraces. I skipped through the trees on the way home, smitten.