Moreover, in this book Harrison pulls few punches with his outspoken views on the state of the game in this country and the legacy of mis-management of F.A. coaching courses. With his long career at the grassroots, his wealth of coaching experience at the top level, and his current position in international football as the assistant to Mark Hughes with Wales, few people can be as qualified as he time, Solskjaer, from Sheringham's assist, had made it 2-1. Somehow, from the very brink of defeat, Manchester United had completed one of the most astounding comebacks in the history of football.

They had beaten one of Europe's most accomplished clubs to lift the European Champions League trophy - the European Cup that Sir Matt Busby's wonderful United team had lifted more than 30 years before. By doing so, Sir Alex Ferguson's side had completed a historic treble: the Champions League, the Premiership and the FA Cup. Many people on that unforgettable night in Spain were as proud as could be but no-one was prouder or more emotional than myself. Many members of the United squad that had built and completed that phenomenal treble achievement were "my boys." They had come all the way through Manchester United's youth system. Discovered, nurtured, encouraged and improved by the club's coaches and I had been privileged to be at the helm as they turned from promising boys into true men. Achievers.

That night, as the celebrations really got underway David Beckham, Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes and the Neville brothers sought me out to share their joy. These players, superstars at the very top of their profession, seeking out Eric Harrison - former wing-half with Hartlepool, Halifax, Barrow, Southport and Scarborough - to say thanks. How did I feel? Thrilled? Yes. Flattered? Yes. Happy. But more than anything else I thought to myself: what a lucky man.

My career has travelled, as much as any ever could, from one extreme to the other. From sharing a mug of hot Bovril to keep out the cold in Halifax Town's dilapidated dressing-room to sipping champagne at the Nou Camp as part of the greatest night in the history of the greatest football club in the world. Oh yes, a lucky, lucky man.

I played all my football - 550 league and cup games - in the lower divisions of the Football League (or just below it). I spent my whole career playing in front of one or two thousand people kicking lumps out of opponents in pursuit of a tiny but oh-so-precious win bonus at the end of the week. If someone had said to me back then, on a frosty night at Halifax's Shay Ground after we had battled through 90 minutes against the likes of Crewe Alexandra or Lincoln City, that I would one day be part of the club that dominates Europe I would have told them to get some therapy. Even Roy of the Rovers stories have their limits.

I vividly remember my first contract as a player. I was thrilled to get a deal for one season with Halifax Town. Not much security there but in the 17 years I was to play professional football, I was only ever to get a contract for one season at a time. My first wage was #14 in the winter and #12 in the summer - as Tommy Docherty often jokes, players must have been bad players in the summer.

Those, of course, were the times of the maximum wage. What a difference these days. When I was in hospital some time ago with a thrombosis in my leg, I could not stop thinking about the doctors and nurses who were saving people's lives yet only earning a fraction of what the top footballers earn. The poor nurses are on a pittance compared to those footballers.

Back in the 1950s and 1960s players' wages were poor but when they started rising they soon made up for lost time. I remember, as far back as 1979, accompanying Everton's chairman Sir Philip Carter on a mission to try to sign Scottish international Asa Hartford. Gordon Lee, the Everton manager, was on holiday, so I had to go with the chairman to meet Asa. The three of us met at a hotel and when Asa told the chairman the terms he wanted, I was stunned. He asked for a fortune and I thought he was having a laugh but Sir Philip told me it was just a normal wage for top First Division players at the time.

Even what Asa wanted is peanuts to what players earn these days. Good luck to today's players. If they can get the money, then fine, but spare a thought for the poor old nurses. Crazy. Still, that's another story.

This is my story and it is the story of a man who is football crazy. Always have been, always will be. I still remember the day I signed as a professional footballer for Halifax. It was the best moment of my football career. I have had some unbelievable moments but that first step - actually achieving what I had always dreamt about as a young boy in desperately wanting to be a footballer - meant everything to me. Every professional footballer should get down on their knees and pray that their dream has come true. They should give 100% all the time in training and in games. Most do - but those that do not should be ashamed of themselves. Me, I was thrilled to be bits to be on my way and determined to make the most of whatever talent I had been born with.

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