"Simon Parker? It’s (insert disgruntled player’s name here) and I’m not happy with what you wrote.”

Mr Angry phone calls come with the territory for football reporters. Even more so since the invention of the dreaded marks out of ten.

Like anyone in my profession, I’ve had my fair few, ranging from the “you’ve never played the game blah, blah, blah” to “what game were you watching” and even “I’m not dead yet, pal.”

That last one, thankfully, was unique after I had penned an obit of a former international who had clearly not left this mortal coil as my contacts had so convincingly suggested. Many, many apologies later, I did subtly file the tribute away for a later use – but also removed the word “genial”.

That sticks in the mind, as did the ‘hairdryer’ I once got from Dean Windass. It was during one of those periods when City were between managers. Bryan Robson was on his way but nobody knew that for sure.

Except Deano, who insisted on telling the world – including Sky.

Gordon Gibb was livid his striker was blabbing and had a pop in the paper. Windass was censored behind closed doors and blamed me very publicly.

Two foaming phone calls followed but the real fireworks came the next day after training with a rollicking – none of which I could possibly repeat – in front of fellow players, hacks and coaches.

The gist of it was that he would never speak to me again. Never ever.

Ten days later, he popped his head round the door of the press room and asked for a word. In full view of the assembled media, he apologised profusely – and then gave me a back-page quotes piece for the following day’s paper. That, in a nutshell, was Deano. Volcanic one minute; such easy-going company the next.

No bearing grudges; the clash was in the past. So much so that we collaborated a few years later on his autobiography.

The book itself was given a new life by Deano’s return to Hull. And the fairytale ending was provided by that stunning Wembley volley which took the Tigers into the Premier League.

Looking back, and Deano has never done hindsight, that would have been a great way to finish as a player. How can you beat scoring the goal that takes your home-town club into the top division for the first time in their history?

Instead he was mucked about by Phil Brown, stumbled through an ill-fated loan spell at Oldham and eventually sacked as Colin Todd’s other half by crisis club Darlington.

Deano always said he would play past 40 and he managed that. But a second-half cameo as a Darlo sub in front of less than 2,000 fans was hardly the grandest swansong. Now the boots are on the peg and he is ready for the next chapter.

For now, Windass is content with doing his best Chris Kamara impression as a Sky pundit. But his sights are set on management.

In the same way it took a brave manager (those were Brown’s own words) to take him back to Hull, a chairman with cohones is needed to give him his hot-seat break.

Deano’s personality divides opinion. Just ask a room full of City fans.

Every story I wrote on him would be followed with an angry letter from one supporter in particular. Even now, his vitriol will be spilling onto another note heading for my desk.

But beneath the cheeky chappy, cock-of-the-walk facade lurks an absolute passion for football. He knows the game inside out.

“People need to see the other side of him – the grown-up side,” his wife once told me. “They won’t see that until he’s finished playing.”

And imagine the fun to be had in the post-match press conferences.

His personality should guarantee that someone, somewhere gives him the opportunity he craves.

And if it doesn’t, I’m sure he’ll tell everyone about it.