In the seven days or so that Glenn Roeder has sat on the Carrow Road throne there has, in fairness, been much to like.
But if I was to pick out one line that stood out from the crowd, it was delivered by the new Norwich City manager last Thursday and came in the wake of Lee Clark's arrival as his new No2.
?If he didn't want to manage I wouldn't be so keen to have him,? said Roeder, as his 35-year-old side-kick prepared to meet the Press for the first time.
?Because I have to have ambitious people around me. And I've got no insecurities whatsoever about that,? added Roeder.
All of which was fascinating.
In part, it showed a man that was confident in his own strengths and abilities – someone that didn't feel remotely threatened by the two, eager young things snapping at his managerial heels.
You presume it will still be two, eager young things. Roeder himself suggested that City's new first team coach would be the grand old age of 28 and, like Clark, was fiercely determined to be his own boss one day.
Both, you sense, will be given the freedom to speak their own mind; both will be encouraged to have an input – even if Roeder has the last say.
And while we wait for 'The Third Man' to step out of the shadows in the next 49-hours, having now met Clark for the first time there is another big point worth making.
In tone and outward temperament, he bears little resemblance to his manager.
?I'm a passionate man – I wear my heart on my sleeve,? said Clark, as he gave his first, full interview yesterday.
There are many descriptions floating around the place about Roeder, very few of them involve the word ?passionate?.
He remains, to my mind, very much out of the Bruce Rioch mould. Slightly old school in the way he displays his emotions, it was noticeable that when the odd decision went against the Canaries on Sunday, it was Clark that was leaping off the bench in an instant fury; Roeder's frustrations were always more in check.
You had to look harder for them. As in when he aimed a sly kick at a helpless medical bag. Or rather a less than helpless medical bag.
?I wasn't that relaxed when I kicked that medical bag,? Roeder said, about to get his come-uppance.
?But we must have the only medical bag that's got six house bricks in it. Broke my right toe and ruined a good pair of shoes…'
But in that same, dry sense of humour you can see exactly how the players might relax in his touch-line presence; he hasn't that burning intensity that Peter Grant brought to the role.
In one sense, Grant's level of passion is only to be admired. It is, after all, what makes up much of Roy Keane's make-up.
And you could see something similar in Clark – that same burning desire to do well, to get on, to make it as a manager.
Only in Clark's case he has set his sights on a return to St James', rather than Parkhead.
Which is all fine.
But if you look back now on the Grant reign and look at the character of Jim Duffy that stood alongside him and you see someone hewn from a pretty similar rock.
Chalk and chalk; as opposed to the chalk and cheese that the Roeder-Clark combo would appear to offer.
Good cop, bad cop is probably too simplisitc; you can see very easily how Clark would be the kind of 'decent lad' that the Huckerbys and Dublins of this world would relate to.
But Roeder and Clark aren't two peas from the same pod; Grant and Duffy were.
Between them they never quite had the lightness of touch that certain players need – for most members of a modern day dressing room, football is a job not a religion.
Maybe Roeder's own brush with death has mellowed his own outlook – that, for him, it is no longer a matter of life and death. He's been there, done that – seen the impact serious illness can have on those he loves and realises that football is just a game. Just a job.
There are far more important things in life; likewise, there are people who do far more important jobs in this world than managing Norwich City, Newcastle United or Celtic. There are people who save the lives of others.
Speaking to veteran Evening Standard football writer Ken Dyer in his first major interview after that tumour scare, the City chief made that point himself.
?This experience has taught me so much,” Roeder told the Standard in the summer of 2003. ?Not least that the doctors and nurses who cared for me are the real stars, not footballers.
“Mr Afshar, who performed the operation and the neurologist Dr Gawler, they truly are unsung heroes, the silent superstars. They don't seek the limelight but every day they are saving lives.
“The nurses too, both in the London Hospital and the London Clinic, were magnificent. They have smiles on their faces as they work their 12-hour shifts simply because they care about people.?
He comes to the game with a different 'fix' on the sport; for him, somehow, football occupies a different place in his world than it does in the world of your Grants, your Duffys and, maybe, your Clarks.
But – and here is one of the minor tragedies that under-mined Grant's reign – I got the distinct impression that he himself knew that he needed someone with a lighter touch about the place; the Dougie Livermore-type with a well-timed wink and well-delivered gag.
But he couldn't find one. Time and results ran out on him – just as they did when it came to filling that No5 shirt.
Roeder, to his early credit, has filled both the gaps in his armour within a week.
In comes Martin Taylor and hauls Norwich off the floor with that crucial derby strike and in comes Lee Clark to bolt all a young man's fire and brimstone onto Roeder's older outlook – one that is not so much world-weary, but worldly-wise.
It is an intriguing mix character-wise. And to have the strength of purpose to both recognise the chinks in your own character make-up and then do something immediately about it suggests that there is far more to the new Norwich City manager than might immediately meet the eye.