With old fashioned rattle packed, rosette pinned to his lapel and flat cap donned Stan rolled back the years and headed for The Valley with 3,000 equally deluded souls.
We're totally rubbish and our manager seems to have taken on a bet with someone, that he can p*ss off everyone in Norfolk within 12 months?.
But heh, this is the FA Cup, and when that little baby comes calling it's like a siren beckoning desperate men onto the rocks of footballing hope, usually to be crushed by the waves of reality 90 minutes later.
Stan's got some wonderful memories of cup games, admittedly they are so far distant many are now in black and white, but they trigger something altogether different and very special within. The fact this year represents half a century since City's finest FA Cup hour added a certain nostalgic piquancy to the occasion.
The footage of the returning 59ers and the vast crowds that had roared them on, home and away, evokes something very special to those involved and those who have absorbed the myth and legend by some sort of football supporting osmosis.
Images are conjured of a time when a whole city and its county came together in a wonderful fervour of hope and enormous civic pride.
It was, above and beyond a Cup run, a coming of age for Norwich City FC and a cementing of it's place at the very heart of the county to which it belongs.
Subsequent, ultimately unsuccessful, runs to the semi-finals have further whetted the appetite of a populace who continue to dream that one day City's name will be on the Cup.
Stan's head says: 'It will never happen…', his heart however, drags him down the M11 on a freezing cold January Saturday, to witness the two worst teams in the Championship, clash in a game that will have barely registered outside the NR and SE postcodes? it certainly was never going to be a classic.
The ear-wigged news from a steward that at one point we had sold more tickets that Charlton and the attendance was unlikely to break 12,000 wasn't the sort of fare that stirred the loins. Indeed, neither was the flat lager in a plastic glass or the length of queue at the chip shop.
What did lift Stan's heart was the sheer numbers of hardy and generally happy City folk who had packed the away end come three o'clock. With the crushing weight of Championship survival lifted temporarily from their shoulders it was like an away following of old? until word of Roeder's team choice went round!
'Right then Stevo, what will REALLY p*ss off the fans today?' Asked Glenn at the team hotel on Saturday morning.
'You've got to leave Lupoli on the bench and pick Fozzy regardless.. Oh yeah, and don't play Drury at left-back.' shot back Stevenson.
'Job's a good 'un'; cheers Stevo…' replied Roeder, as he pencilled in his team sheet.
True to form, Norwich looked slightly less rubbish than Charlton for 15 minutes or so until some 12-year-old, who'd been running rings round Fozzy, blasted in a pearler from the edge of the box. Let's just say the mood in the away dipped somewhat!
Despite having the advantage of the only pillar in The Valley bang in front of him, Stan witnessed a pretty poor spectacle unfold and then listened to the chants around him descend from 'Roeder, sort it out!' to 'Roeder out!' in a matter of minutes.
Granted we are all unworthy and stupid football supporters rather than professionals of the genius of Graham Taylor and Steve Mclaren, but it did seem somewhat odd that our only out-and-out striker sat on the bench with us a goal down and Roeder facing derision from all quarters.
Lupoli eventually arrived, Lupoli subsequently scored, and then Lupoli nearly won it?. Remarkable really!
We spilled out into the chill South East London evening and muttered of extra revenue and balls in the hat whilst allowing far deeper concerns to remain shelved for a little while longer.
Stan's mood was lifted until he listened to Roeder's post match comments. What on earth was he talking about? 'Hoolahan's too small with little batteries that need charging…'? err? you, bought him Glenn!
You also bought Bell, Pattison and Lupoli who, lets face it are hardly giants. Your captain also happens to be, not only pretty ineffective at this level, but also pretty small?. Stan's confused.
Maybe when the likes of Lupoli arrived at Colney on the day of his signing he was dressed in one of those old Sky TV sumo suits! 'Look at the size of him Lee, that's exactly what we're after!
Ah well, what does it all matter? The glamour of the Steel City or East London potentially awaits?. Stan's excited already!
Oh, the magic of The Cup!
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