Well, how low can you go?
For Stan, that was down there with the most inept performances of 'Hammy' Hamilton and old PG at his nadir.
Of the 13 City players who played yesterday, only Patty, Crofty, Clingan and Doc can really wake up this morning and tell themselves that they gave their all.
Rusty, Lita and Marshall may not be too far behind. As for the rest of them – pitiful.
Poor old Stan doesn't know where to start. Before Palace, Roeder complained of not being able to field a settled back four.
He then dropped the ever-reliable Drury and shipped three, soft goals. Against Forest, he stuck with the fragile four of Boxing Day and shipped another three goals. Get the message, Glenn? We need experience.
Breaking in youngsters for other teams may well win you a meal in London every now and again, but it adds to our inconsistency.
For all the 'potential' of Bertie and Ozzie, they flounder; they are the boys who can't play three games in a week (poor dears); they are learning their trade at our expense. And as for Jon O? Indescribable. Daryl Sutch would have been preferable – maybe even Jurgen Colin.
Two words: MARTIN TAYLOR. And you blew it.
Quite what the reason is for such a shambles, Stan fears the worst. We have lost something like nine of the past 13 games. In amidst these, we have played OK at times.
But, frankly, who cares when you lose, lose, lose?
Of course we don't want to see our boys playing hoof-ball. But we would like to see us draw the odd game in between the intermittent victories and ever-more predictable defeats.
The problems in the team have been clear all season – weak full-backs (with a good one sat on the bench), injuries to two injury-prone centre backs (and no back up), a right-winger playing on the left (when a genius sits in the stands with only a season ticket for company…), and a toothless frontline (which could well amount to just Carl Cort come 1 January…).
And at the helm, a manager bent on a mission of destruction. From a distance he seems to hate half his players; in particular, his treatment of Simon Lappin has been diabolical, especially given that Lappin never let his team-mates down in the way that half the shower on show did yesterday.
Rumours abound about slanging matches with players here and on their way; to all extents and purposes, our club seems to be under the direction of Don Logan (Ben Kingsley's character in Sexy Beast…)
He shuns the media; thinks us fans are all ignorant yokels whose opinion is worth nothing given that we haven't managed England.
To make matters worse, Roeder now lacks an evidently respected coach and, as a consequence, has had to take a more 'hands-on' approach to training. By the way, Huddersfield won 2-0.
So what do we do? The knives are out, that is for sure. But will more change at the top help the cause?
If the board dare to sack Roeder ('You tell him… 'No, you… 'But, he'll shout at me… 'Give him some parsnips, he likes them apparently…), then it needs to be now in order to allow the new chap – be it the free agent that is Aage H, or Mark Robins, or whoever – to spend what little money we have on two or three defenders and two centre-forwards.
If not, then we have to grin and bear it and hope Roeder's contact book includes players other than those listed under 'inexperienced-rooky from London' or 'injury prone pension planners'.
For what it's worth, Stan feels the writing is on the wall.
We will stay up this year only if other clubs implode and not because we have the character or quality to drag ourselves out of it.
And any new manager will have too much of mess to sort out to change a thing.
Put bluntly, the club has been rotting since 2005, and the bottom is now well and truly about to fall out. Happy days …
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