While I would want to be Lee Chapman or Imre Varadi, my dad would always laugh and say none of them was fit to lace Derek Dooley's boots.

It was one of those "Ian Rush ... who is he?" moments.

But unlike the little lad from the milk adverts, I was to grow up in a home where Dooley was king.

A playing record of 63 goals in as many games would make him a multi-millionaire these days, but back in 1953 he was just a normal working class hero. So it was a tragic moment when a broken leg led to gangrene, which prompted amputation, and the end of a promising playing career.

To lesser men, it could have been the end, but Dooley battled on and took on the Hillsborough manager's job. Yet in another cruel twist, he was sacked by the Owls on Christmas Eve in 1973, leaving him heartbroken by his beloved Wednesday.

So it was a surprise when he crossed the city, working his way through the ranks before eventually becoming chairman at Bramall Lane.

It was 20 years before he would set foot back in Hillsborough, in one of those rare moments which leaves you proud to be a football fan.

He was guest of honour for the Sheffield derby in the early Nineties, receiving a standing ovation as he walked once more on the Hillsborough turf. Blades and Owls united, loyalties put briefly aside, to hail the man who was fondly known as "Mr Sheffield.".

Former Blades manager Neil Warnock said: "He was like a father to me. I don't think anyone will ever come to be loved by both sides of Sheffield as Derek Dooley was."

It was an experience I doubt I will ever experience again, and that's fitting, for there was, and always will be, one Derek Dooley.

Full obituary in Saturday's Yorkshire Post.