Yes, yes, we got three points – finally – but again, one of the main talking points among AFC Wimbledon fans seems to be our new keeper.

What is the meaning of life? What becomes of the broken-hearted? Is it too late now, to say sorry?

You can add a new question to life’s biggest puzzlers; whither Ryan Clarke?

Goalkeepers know what they’re getting into; very little glory in exchange for a lot of scrutiny.

A mistake for a midfielder usually never results in nothing more than an interception, a stray pass, with the punishment being a “friendly little chat” with Barry Fuller.

No such luxury for a keeper. A balls-up usually results in conceding, a fact that’s becoming ever clearer in the last few weeks.

Clarke is taking a lot of heat at the moment; some for maybe not being a big enough presence at set pieces; some for not being Kelle Roos; some, bizarrely, for not shaking every fan’s hand in the Chemflow pre-game, asking how their job is, oh, Helen’s expecting is she, that’s wonderful news, little Keith is starting year 7 is he, gosh, they do grow up fast, we really must have lunch sometime soon.

Because apparently that’s important.

You know what? I get it. We all loved Kelle. We loved his enthusiastic celebrations. We loved his hair. We loved his last name because it gave us the chance to shout really guttural noises without being looked at funny.

But we don’t have Kelle. Kelle and his massive wages, a fact the “We Know Better Than An Actual Football Manager, No Really We Do, We Don’t Have Coaching Badges But We Definitely, Definitely Know Better Brigade” conveniently forget when they start whining. Kelle is never coming back.

Again, I get it. Clarke has looked a bit iffy. He could perhaps talk to Darius and Robbo once in a while.

PICTURE GALLERY: AFC Wimbledon pick up first League One win of the season

But I refuse to believe, as many people really want you to believe, that he’s at fault for every goal.

However, the big question that’s pretty unavoidable right now is; do we stick with Clarke or twist with James Shea?

You remember James Shea, don’t you? Skinny lad, constantly looks mildly perturbed. Not so long he ago he was The Chosen One, the Anakin Skywalker of Wimbledon.

But then he looked a bit iffy from crosses – familiar problem, that - and killed all the younglings. Or got banished to the bench.

I’ve become lost in my own metaphor.

Is it time for a return? A “re-Shea-ssanc”? Maybe. But that’s a decision that rests directly on Neal Ardley’s shoulders, and it’s not an easy one.

In the meantime, let’s stop the whining, the ironic cheering – I mean, come on, really? You think that will help? – and get behind Clarke.

Repeat after me: he’s not Ben Wilson, he’s not Ben Wilson, he’s not Ben Wilson…