Anyone who mocks Milton Keynes has never been. I used to live near it: 9½ minutes from the centre, to be precise, because that was how long it took to drive from the lovely Ouse Valley to the car park at Waitrose. Any day, any time; while smaller towns endured congestion at rush hour, we purred on. There were, it was said, two sets of traffic lights. They must have been in the museum.

But it was not just the grid system that pleased you. The new town had unimaginative buildings, but they were fringed by a profusion of trees, shrubs, flowers and grass. Another welcome aspect of life — and here comes a confession — saw football off the party circuit. You might be asked about the Saints and wonder why the inordinate interest in Southampton’s fortunes; it turned out to be the nickname of a rugby union team up the road in Northampton. So an off-duty football reporter could discuss a wider, or narrower, but at least different, world.

No more. Milton Keynes is a football town. A proper football town with a thriving, promotion-chasing Coca-Cola League One club and I make no apology for political incorrectness in congratulating Pete Winkelman, the local property developer who, in less than seven years, has built them from the ruins of Wimbledon, braving criticism (much of it reasonable) from those who considered a side’s spiriting from the depths of South London and relocation 62 miles north unethical and unattractively American; they said the new club, Milton Keynes Dons, should be called Franchise FC.

While accepting the principle, I disagreed. At Wimbledon, Sam Hammam and the Norwegians to whom he had sold out for £30 million left little to save. To be fair to Hammam (which goes against the grain, all the more so after his exit from Cardiff City), there had never been sustainable substance to the club, whom he had attempted to move to various places, including Dublin.

The trouble with Wimbledon was that they could never pull a crowd, for all the fine youth development and bright management, exemplified by Dave Bassett, that had accompanied their rise through the divisions.

It took them even to Wembley, where, under Bobby Gould in 1988, a mere 11 years after emerging from the Southern League, they beat Liverpool in the FA Cup Final. Home attendances that spring had included 5,058 against Luton Town and 5,920 against Coventry City. Earlier, for Oxford United’s visit to Plough Lane, only 4,229 had turned up.

Today the heirs to the tradition can draw as many as that in the Blue Square South. AFC Wimbledon are upwardly mobile, too, favourites to reach England’s fifth division.

They play at Kingstonian’s ground, a few miles from the site of Plough Lane, which Hamman let a supermarket chain flatten. When Wimbledon became tenants at Crystal Palace, Selhurst Park’s size emphasised their shortcomings. You could have called them Parasite FC because they cut their losses (which remained substantial) through gate receipts from visiting fans.

In 1993-94, they had 28,553 for a top-flight match against Manchester United. Even though they won through a goal by John Fashanu and marched on towards unscaled peaks — Wimbledon were to finish sixth that season — the figure had plummeted to 6,766 for the visit of Oldham Athletic, only to soar again to 20,875 for Tottenham Hotspur.

MK Dons, by contrast, have grown through their own community’s response. Before Winkelman, a former pop-music executive, the people of the town of concrete cows, generally newcomers from London or their descendants, would support, if anyone, the likes of Arsenal, Tottenham, Chelsea or West Ham United, showing no interest in local clubs such as Wolverton Town. Now they and their children roll up to a new stadium with a capacity of 22,000.

The average attendance is nearly 11,000 and still rising and, although some might find the “Moo Camp” atmosphere just a little too child-friendly — goals are greeted with music and cavorting mascots — the fact is that kids in Milton Keynes now grow up supporting their local team instead of glory-hunting in the shirts of giants.

Winkelman, in short, has done with league football what its far-sighted founders envisaged: provide the community with a meeting place. There is also something for the modern age: a centre where children can learn the game, as once they did in streets.

He has made mistakes — not least in waiting until 2007 to return Wimbledon’s trophies to Merton — and overseen relegation twice. But the appointment of Martin Allen as manager in 2006 was a turning point. Paul Ince saw the Dons into League One and today, under Roberto Di Matteo, they visit Scunthorpe United with renewed hope of automatic promotion to the Championship. They are even discussed at parties.