Amid all the 'Boy, aren't we feeling good about ourselves right now...' that's going on north of this famous border right now, one name deserves something of a wider airing.
And, talking to one or two more in the know, there needs to be a word of caution.
It might, just be down to the fact that it was Wolves.
This was his old manor; the game was against his old employers; maybe that was why there was that extra spring in his step.
But Carl Cort may yet prove to be one of the more lasting bequests of Glenn Roeder's ill-starred reign – potentially in much the same way that Dion Dublin was in the fag end of Nigel Worthington's spell at the helm.
For by every account, on Tuesday night the 31-year-old one-time Wimbledon starlet was rolling back the years in the midst of that
3-3 draw with the league leaders; looking every inch the player he was once destined to be as Sir Bobby decided to reach for his cheque book and pen out £7 million of Freddie Shepherd's money for the gangly, south London kid.
Since then, of course, Cort's early promise has faded – principally on the back of an on-going knee concern.
More cartilage than ligament, it has needed the loving attentions of a veritable footballing horse whisperer of a man to coax his star pupil back into life and – with Roeder's help and encouragement – to find Cort the stage he needed to display his lasting wares.
And that he duly did on Tuesday – crowned, of course, by that 47th minute pin-point strike into the top corner; all side-foot and technique; the sign of a genuine craftsman at work.
But here's the interesting point.
Bryan Gunn's man management.
For if anyone thinks that Cort's doubts are as much mental as they are physical, then in the big, team-huggy atmosphere that is fast being re-installed at Colney, then perhaps Cort might have found an ideal home.
If he always was one of those that just needed bucket-loads of TLC, then maybe the change of regime could prove to be the making of him. Or rather, the re-making of him.
In fairness, when interviewed, he comes across very well as individual; far more thoughtful and positive than you had reason to suspect.
A decent lad, in the dressing room parlance.
Who, when treated decently and when granted a positive setting on which to play on, can still play the part.
And given that six-foot plus striking individuals of his ilk don't grow on trees and rarely come on frees, so C Cort could yet have a big role to play in the court of Good King Gunn.
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