Unable to find writing inspiration in the usual ways, Stan has decided that the answer to his impotence lays somewhere within the bottles of Carlsberg Export that were/are chilling in the fridge.
Thus, prepare for an increasingly incoherent waffle through the NCFC week just gone!
Somehow two games, 12e goals, a new manager and even the return of 'the curse of hooliganism' have failed to set Stan's creative juices flowing.
This Stan can't even blame an unscheduled sleepover on a National Express train for his lack of writing enthusiasm. Even being called a c### by 'Sheffieldcanary' hasn't stirred any greater response than an initial exclamation of 'Ooh, how beastly!'!
So what's gone wrong? Where has Stan's footballing mojo gone?
I suppose the best way to describe the present feeling is that of an old punch drunk boxer in his 164th bout, who has hit the canvas within the first three rounds in his the last 49 fights. In fact, he hit the canvas seven times in the first round of his recent comeback!
The painful slog metered out by this cruel, cruel game has left Stan glazed-eyed and slurring� actually maybe that was the Carlsberg! �
Anyway, regardless of the cause, it's undeniable that Stan isn't the only one feeling this way. Despite renewing season tickets in nigh-on insane numbers, the faithful seems somehow listless; almost as though the events of the last three weeks have provided the final left-hook onto the chins of many already staggering fans.
So what has the last week done for morale? Well, in theory it should have lifted spirits and had us all enthused, but for whatever reason it hasn't. So why not?
There can be very little doubt that Lambert's appointment is a good one. This Stan has sat on the fence more often than the local blackbird of late, but he'll nail his colours to the Lambert mast with no hesitation.
It surely will prove to be a good appointment. He's exactly the sort of man who should have walked through the door when Delia belatedly hit the ejector-seat button when Worthy was it's increasingly twitchy occupant.
Lambert is hungry, he's learnt his trade at others expense, he has a fantastic playing pedigree and, more importantly, seems to carry that factor X somehow missing from Grant and Roeder. In honesty my niece's pet dwarf hamster had more than those two!
What stirs Stan, more than anything, is the apparent direct Clough lineage. Clough didn't deal with idiots hence Martin O'Neill's spell at Forest.
Ditto Lambert's spell under O'Neill. Can anyone imagine 'Marvellous Martin' having a chump as a captain at Celtic? If Lambert comes with his blessing, that alone will do for Stan.
Watching Lambert perform in front of the Press is equally reassuring. He's calm, straight-taking and possesses the sort of silencing glare that few possess. His Clough/O'Neill-esque track-suited demeanour on the touchline further reinforces the perception of an heir-apparent.
The problem is that the events of the preceding few days did much to dampen Stan's, and he senses many other's, enthusiasm at the latest managerial arrival.
On Saturday the sour taste was still being spat from the mouth, thus preventing any sort of overt excitement at the dawning of yet another era.
The victory over the mighty Wycome Wanderers, and the bravery of the selection, should have been met with far more interest than it was, instead talk remained firmly focused on the rise and bizarre fall of the Club legend and jolly good egg that is Bryan Gunn.
Much about the 5-2 victory was to be positive about. Stan had read about the high tempo that Lambert insists his sides play with, and there can be no doubt that it was evident from first whistle to last. His sides also clearly intend to play a high line.
It worked a treat against the Chair Boys, it was exposed ruthlessly against the quality of Sunderland. � win some, lose some!
Ten first-half minutes against Sunderland apart, Lambert must be reasonably happy with his new charges so far. They have certainly looked better than the rabble that rolled into town on that fateful Saturday a week or so back.
As well as listening to those he trusts, Lambert will have watched player's reactions to his arrival. That steely gaze will have been cast on stalwarts and youngsters alike, and in the next month or so we will have an idea or his conclusions.
Once more players will come and others will go, a new team will be moulded and once again Stan will have to ask Big Dunc 'Who on earth is that on the right?'
In short, these should be exciting times� but they just aren't. Stan himself fears rising from the canvas in case another hay-maker should put him back down again…
It's become about self-preservation.
What the club needs right now is a dose of smelling salts. So let's all just pray that McNally has brought in the man to finally deliver them to an increasingly beleaguered fan base hanging desparately to the ropes.
So best of luck Paul, we're all behind you, it's just that a number of us are having difficulty showing our emotions at the moment… now where's that gum shield gone?