I hope Norman Whiteside doesn't regret auctioning off his precious football memorabilia later this month. It's just a shame that he feels he needs to.
These days, even your average Premier League player will have set himself up financially for life after only a couple of seasons.
And Big Norm was anything but average.
You're not 'average' if you're pulling on a Manchester United shirt at just 16, and being one of the first names on the teamsheet for eight years.
You're not 'average' when you score goals in three showpiece Wembley finals.
And you're certainly not 'average' when you're making your Northern Ireland debut as a 17-year-old starter at the World Cup, or bagging a superb winner for our wee country away to the mighty Germans.
At just 20 years old, the Shankill boy had already achieved more than the vast majority of players manage in an entire career.
He was Rambo or Stormin' Norman, not Mr Average. But he wasn't a 'Premier League' player either. For that distinction, you had to be around from 1992 onwards.
Whiteside was only 27 - the age when most footballers are supposedly at their absolute peak - back then.
A player of his ability could have expected another eight years of earning the big dough, driving the fancy cars, luxuriating in a Cheshire mansion.
But an otherwise stellar career was ruined by persistent knee injuries (and a ruptured Achilles tendon) which led to him bowing to the inevitable a year before Sky's millions came rolling in.
Timing has never been kind to Whiteside. If anything, it's been a curse.
He had his first major operation - a fateful cartilage removal - in 1981 before he'd kicked a ball for United's first team; bizarrely, it was the legacy of an injury not sustained on the pitch, but from his right knee suddenly giving way as he clambered out of bed one morning.
Had this freak setback occurred a couple of years later, arthroscopy, keyhole and non-invasive surgery would have cured the problem; instead, Norman's cartilage was left sitting in a jar beside his bed in the recovery ward.
For the next 10 years, he'd play with bone rubbing against bone; the outcome was inevitable.
I've known Norman for a long time, and he could be forgiven for feeling remorseful about how things turned out.
He certainly wouldn't be the first ex-pro to look at what top flight footballers are earning now with a tinge of envy.
Today, Paul Pogba earns a salary 200 times greater than what Norman received as one of United's most influential players of the Eighties.
It's hard to believe that he started as an apprentice on £16 a week, rising to £250 as regular first-teamer and £400, if you include bonuses, by the time he left United.
It's well known now that Alex Ferguson advised him on what to ask for at Everton - £60k a year - and that he subsequently earned more from his 29 appearances for The Toffees than almost 10 times that number for United.
But his outrageous talent merited much more, and Whiteside is still immensely popular with United fans, especially those of us who remember him breaking all types of records as the youngest this, youngest that and youngest the other.
But - in another example of lousy timing - Whiteside's testimonial, in May 1992, came around at a time when United fans were disillusioned with their team losing out to Leeds in the title race, and only 7,434 diehards turned up at OT to show their appreciation.
Now, at 55, and with pragmatism overcoming sentimentality, Norman believes it's the right time to auction off his medals, trophies and other mementoes of a fabulous, if all-too-short and prematurely ended, career.
We can harp on about his glorious past, but he's the one who has to think about his future.
"I've got to this age and want to ensure all my pension provisions are in place," he said.
So don't fret about Norman; he's doing fine on the after-dinner speaking circuit, and pulling in a lot more than he made as a fully-qualified, post-football podiatrist.
But if you want a cautionary tale of how lacking in gratitude the game can be, look no further than one of its biggest icons - World Cup-winning captain Bobby Moore, whose name sprang to mind when I was thinking fondly about his late ex-partner in the England defence, Jack Charlton.
When Bobby succumbed to colon cancer in 1993, aged just 51, his only regular income was as a £150-a-time pundit on Capital Radio.
Despite leading his country to their greatest-ever triumph, he didn't even get the courtesy of a reply from the Football Association when he later applied for a coaching role.
West Ham, for whom he played over 500 times and led to FA Cup and European Cup Winners' Cup success, promised him a lucrative free transfer at the end of his final contract but then reneged, citing revenge for Moore attempting to decamp to Spurs a few years earlier. Shamefully, he was never welcomed back.
Desperate for funds after a business investment went catastrophically wrong, one of English football's biggest stars was reduced to working for the sleazy Sunday Sport tabloid.
After he died, West Ham erected a statue featuring "this club's greatest ever player" and paid ex-wife Tina £150,000 for his memorabilia collection.
Norman Whiteside may be selling his medals, but he's in rude health, his reputation and legacy is intact and his memories remain priceless.
No one can take that away from him.