So where do we go from here?
Forget the fact that there's not a cat in hell's chance of Sheffield Wednesday sitting in the bottom three places in the table for much longer – and therefore this hardly being a home defeat against one of the worst teams in the Coca-Cola Championship – because on this showing City are in big trouble now anyway.
You almost get the feeling though that anyone not present in the City of Manchester Stadium, and therefore either having had to listen to, or read the reports from the Carling Cup game would have thought that the whole thing was one big wind-up on Tuesday night, because on that occasion the Canaries had apparently gone some way to repaying the debt incurred as a result of their woeful display at Molineux four days earlier – not to mention what had undoubtedly been an extremely unconvincing start to the season. And played some very decent football.
They'd gone toe-to-toe with what was undoubtedly a strong enough Manchester City side, been resolute defensively, creative in attack and generally very effective in all departments of the pitch.
Well not yesterday, I'm afraid.
First half..? Not bad.
Not bad, that is, relatively speaking mind?
Because despite the Canaries having shown the right intentions by attempting to work the ball from one end of the pitch to the other, as opposed to opting for the easier and safer method of just launching it, the vast majority of their passages of play still invariably came to nothing when it mattered as soon as they neared the visitor's penalty box.
Aside from a Gary Doherty header after seven minutes and young Michael Spillane blasting over some four minutes later, City hardly troubled Wednesday 'keeper Lee Grant for the remainder of the game.
And the realisation that any hopes of a repeat of the standards set in Manchester and that particular display proving the proverbial springboard for City to progress onwards and upwards were soon about to start fading.
The teams were sharing possession, but the big difference being that Brian Laws' men were looking far more dangerous than City going forward and usually finishing their attacks with some sort of effort at goal.
And the longer the game progressed the more you sensed that the confidence that for once had been evident in the Canaries at the start of the game was disappearing just as quickly as were their hopes with every passing minute.
But when the inevitable happened and winger Wade Small arrived at the far post to smash the ball under David Marshall to settle the contest, the Canaries ? who had already been wobbling – completely fell apart.
Watching those last tem minutes or so was so uncomfortable it was almost painful, as City seemingly had no ideas whatsoever or any inclination to throw everything but the kitchen sink at the visitors to try to salvage something from the game.
With chants of 'What a load of rubbish!' echoing around the ground, the players in yellow shirts simply froze, and they basically just wanted the referee to bring the whole sorry afternoon to a close so that they could return to the sanctuary of their dressing-room for the latest in what must now be familiar line in rollickings from Peter Grant.
It had turned into another absolute nightmare of a day for the Canaries, as while they could at least point to this hardly having been a repeat of the abysmal effort at Wolves, the fact remained that they had just lost their fifth game in six outings, had generally been toothless in attack and most worrying of all, had ended the evening with frightened looks on their faces.
Like I say, where to from here?