As Stan weaved his way through the beaming faces that filled Carrow Road at 5pm on Saturday his phone peeped the arrival of an incoming text.
It was 'Black Cat' Dave?.
'In Germany and can't get the results. How have the Cats and the Canaries got on? Hope you're smiling?'
Indeed Stan was; like a Cheshire cat rather than a black one!
The news of Sunderland's demise to a ten-man Villa was broken as was our remarkable, indeed rather surreal, victory.
'What went right?' shot back the response from Deutschland.
'Destiny,' was as good as Stan could come up with.
After a few months as dark as we have ever experienced, the feeling of joy that greeted each goal and ultimate victory lifted the very soul. Each goal lightened a yoke from Stan's shoulders, and served to remind him exactly why he bothered with a pastime as joyless as following City has been for four, long years.
The strange, but comforting sight of Mr B Gunn, complete with comedy belly, stood statuesque in the technical area somehow seemed to draw the poison of recent weeks out of a still-edgy Carrow Road crowd.
He's an adopted son of the county whose triumphs and despairs we've witnessed and shared.
Stan can think of no-one more appropriate to have sent the team out on the day the 59ers returned to be saluted by 24,000 City fans. If ever there was a day for the return of legends it was Saturday.
There were no real surprises in the team. It seemed as though the criteria for team selection was based on simple footballing logic and green and yellowness of blood. Hence the Rusty-Cureton forward line.
Whilst the score remained goalless and we huffed and puffed and conceded possession too readily, there were clear difference from previous weeks and months.
Players actually put in challenges and threw themselves in front of shots and crosses to such an extent that Marshall was left to merely field the odd cross or speculative long range effort. Even if the belief wasn't yet there, the desire once again was.
The team left the field at half-time to applause rather than derision and the 59ers were invited to set foot on the hallowed turf once more.
The reception they got as they arrived in front of the Barclay was both moving and deserved. It was an out-pouring of genuine emotion from ex-players and fans alike that somehow caught the Norfolk psyche and ultimately the football club's very essence.
In many ways it was exactly this sort of display of emotion and togetherness that Roeder wouldn't have 'got'. It would have been dismissed as sentimental nonsense in the same way he brushed off people's upset at the treatment of Hucks.
It's this same reason why the board seem to be placing so much store on the next appointment understanding Norfolk sensibilities. Grant never struck the right cord and Roeder took spikiness to a new level.
Once the present custodians of the yellow shirts emerged from the tunnel and the 59ers made their way off the field to polish off the remains of Gunny's claret you sensed another change in the atmosphere. A feeling of destiny, if you will.
Roving Wes got the party started with a Bellamy-esque finish and Cureton's almost inevitable goal against a team he was training with four days previously set Carrow Road alive before the late flurry sent us home, via the pub, tired, emotional and most importantly, happy.
Let's not get too carried away, we're still in the mire; we are, officially at least, managerless. But Saturday gave the whole club a shot in the arm that it so desperately needed. The next manager will at least arrive at a club where the odd laugh can be heard.
So once again our board stand at a crossroads; charged with making another huge decision about the future of the club.
Stan's with the board on this one, whoever it is needs not only to know his football but needs to know us, understand what we are all about, what exactly makes us tick.
Stan has grave concerns about Boothroyd's record and footballing philosophy as well as his ability to unify. Stan's not entirely convinced by Paul Ince and has dismissed many of the other candidates as bookies field fillers.
For what it's worth Stan would go with Rioch. He was undermined last time he was here by the Machiavellian Hamilton, and would be the perfect person to oversee the grooming of a future manager whose City credentials may be even stronger.
Whatever happens in the week ahead, here's to the 59ers and Big Bryan. Thanks for putting a smile back on a lot of faces, let's just hope they stay there!