It was just like old times at Carrow Road tonight. Only the name was different.
This time it was that of Glenn Roeder, not that of Nigel Worthington.
But as clutches of City supporters lingered around Carrow Road afterwards and made their feelings and their fury plain after Norwich slunk out the FA Cup in all-too typical a wretched fashion, the ugly, unforgiving mood was pretty much the same.
Roeder, however, stood defiant as he picked over the bones of tonight's 1-0 home defeat – Charlton's first win of any description in 19 games.
Life had taught him how to be a fighter; he wasn't about to change the habits of a life-time now.
“I'm going to be honest and I'm not going to tell you any lies,” said Roeder, quizzed as to how he felt on hearing a bitter chorus of 'Roeder out!' erupt at the final whistle.
“No-one likes it – tell me a human being that would enjoy that?” he said, after eventually emerging from a full, hour-long discussion with his players as yet another Canary cup campaign ends in a sorry shambles; City falling in a heap at the first hurdle.
“But where some human beings will go under and have no backbone, don't expect me to,” said Roeder. In fairness to the man, he has proved himself a fighter before.
“There's too many things that have happened in my life – recovering from brain tumours and things like that. It gives you a different sense of purpose to life.
“And most people haven't had to deal with things like that. Most people who do have to deal with things like that just slide away and do what they have to do with the rest of their life.
“But that's not me. And never will be.”
You can take the boy out of the East End, but can you ever take the East End out of the boy?
“I suppose that's down to my upbringing; where I grew up. And my parents, I suppose. I love a fight.”
The danger, of course, is not the sentiments; everyone can respect a fighter. It's the tone that can sometimes lead Roeder into hot water; it can all-too often jar with the locals.
A resounding home win over Barnsley on Saturday woud start to ease relations. Even then, however, you sense that it going to be a long, long way back now; warmth and affection are in distinctly short supply.
“Football changes in the flick of a finger; it changes very quickly and I will be the last man standing. I don't fall over very easy; in fact I don't fall over at all,” vowed Roeder tonight.
“I don't like where we are at the moment. And I accept the criticism because they want to win. And I want to win as well – as long as they know that. But I never cow down and I never give in.”
The very manner of the game's only goal summed up just why patience is running so, so thin tonight.
For it was comedy hour as Nicky Bailey poked a hopeful ball into the inside right channel for Darren Ambrose to chase.
He should never, ever have got it given that both Elliot Omosuzi and Adam Drury were in attendance; no matter, both would leave the ball to the other; Ambrose would skip clear and finish simply beyond a helpless David Marshall.
In a season already littered with unforced errors, Ambrose's winner was right up there with the worst of them. And all of this with just six minutes on the clock.
Bailey was inches away from doubling Roeder's discomfort on 17 minutes when he just failed to reach a Lloyd Sam near-post cross after the Addicks winger was allowed all too much time and space to whip the ball into the six-yard box.
With barely a shot to their name before the break, City sparked fitfully into life after it. And all, of course, against an Addicks side who hadn't won for the previous 18 games; a side that featured eight of its home-grown Academy youngsters at various stages of the evening.
Carl Cort's best moment in a City shirt arrived on 61 minutes when he thumped a big header goalward off a David Bell corner which forced keeper Darren Randolph into a hurried tip over.
Before the end of Arturo Lupoli would flick a free header into a fellow yellow shirt; Wes Hoolahan would replace Cort and add a touch of his usual invention and urgency – but it was all scratchy, desperate stuff.
And come the final whistle the punters duly made their feelings perfectly plain. 'What a load of rubbish,' came the chorus from the Barclay; 'We want Roeder out!' responded the Snake Pit – calls that would continue long into the night.
Once again Norwich's FA Cup adventures had ended at the first hurdle; the fourth round all too much to ask.
What the 59ers would made of it all isn't too hard to fathom; those still with us will have the joy of soaking up an increasingly ugly atmosphere at Carrow Road on Saturday as their 50-year reunion takes in all the fun of Barnsley at home. One suspects that the Class of 09 won't be asked to do a similar lap of honour come 2059.