A night has passed, a few pints have been necked to kill the pain, but Stan still feels as though he's been mugged.
There we were; cruising; 1-0 up; playing well if unspectacularly, looking for all the world like a decent Championship team – well-balanced, competent and solid.
And then it happened: a floated ball across the box. Three Canaries watch it drift by; Whittingham strolls in at the back post and touches it home.
Panic sets in, though we still …