Stan (sorry ro!) would have bitten your hand off for 1-1 prior to Friday night's kick-off, and at half-time to gain that scoreline he'd have bitten off his own… no, let's not go there.
Despite it “only” being a point against lowly Doncaster, we really must not underestimate how big that point potentially was. It may not seem like a reason for celebration, but Stan really does sense that this weekend's result was huge.
Wolves away has been mentally written off, we just don't win there, so emerging from the Keepmoat still above Doncaster in the table was vital. It wasn't so much the point we gained as the two we denied our hosts.
Credit to those who travelled; Stan passed a good few members of the Y'army as he headed home eastwards from Kings Lynn on Friday afternoon. It felt somehow treacherous not to be driving in the opposite direction with them but “the racing” and work had done for Stan's hopes of making his first footballing trip to Doncaster.
A sharp pint whilst out “walking the dog”, a quick wolfing down of some sustenance and it was the Adams and Goreham show for Stan. Make no mistake Chris and Neil are good, in fact after years of having to listen to “it's in the net” Waller, make that excellent.
Regardless of their commentating qualities, however, the away-game-on-the-radio-experience has become utter torture over that last couple of years.
Stan shuts himself into the back room like some sort of hermit takes a deep breath then proceeds to spend the next two hours in what can only be described as footballing agony.
At least these days there is a little community out there who Stan can converse with as the rising sense of panic envelops him. A desperate little band of brothers (and a sister or two) dotted around the country and beyond sharing Stan's pain.
Whilst the texts, twitters and phone calls allow some sort of release from the torture hyper-ventilating does still tend to creep in unless brisk walks around the room are occasionally undertaken.
That said, the fact that Mrs Stan stuck her head round the door at about 9.35 and said, “Oh my God, you look like you're having a heart attack…” did highlight the limitations of this stress-busting technique.
The sheer despondency of half-time was hard to bear. The level of performance had rarely risen above mediocre and judging from what Radio Norfolk's finest was relaying to us the score line was hardly undeserved.
Different manager, same old problems was the gist of the flying texts. Anyone who's watched City this season can see where the problems lie. Gunny surely can too, but it's going to be the solving of these problems on a limited budget that will test him.
“Weak through the spine” could be a term applied to the City teams of Worthy (post promotion) Grant and Roeder, and it seems bizarre that we have just played our last match in January without a target man, with a loanee left-back at centre-half and a midfield that still lacks the ability to dominate games.
But ho-hum this may all change by 5pm Monday.
The second half was a wholly more enjoyable if equally stressful affair. Grounds header was greeted with much air punching, a rather over-enthusiastic dance around the room followed by a flurry of “Get in!” texts. At about this point Stan's heart rate reached 186bpm and then remained there until final whistle blew some 35 minutes distant.
Gunny has now achieved five points from nine. Crucially we haven't lost to any of our relegation rivals and there is undoubtedly, as naff as it sounds, a feeling of togetherness about the place.
Gunny made an error against Southampton, he held his hand up, we moved on and on Friday, credit to him, he clearly said something right at half-time.
It's going to be a tough few months ahead, no doubt about it, and just how tough will depend on who walks through the door over the next few days.
The arrivals of, for example, Purse and O'Connor would transform this side. Not necessarily in technical ability but more in balance and brawn. We've been too soft and too nice for too long. We need a couple of masters of the dark arts back in our midst.
Woah there! Text just in… Killen? Who's he? Is he big? Is he ugly? Does he do dirty?
Let the twittering begin!