THE proposition that, for the foreseeable future at least, the last 16 of the Champions League is the limit of Celtic's dream surely became unchallengeable by the comprehensiveness of Wednesday's defeat by Barcelona.
Barring a kindly draw at the first knockout stage – and that remains a possibility in any given year – the prospect of Gordon Strachan's side, without the acquisition of a clutch of top-quality players, making further progress seems remote to the poi
nt of unattainability.
If the 3-2 scoreline on Wednesday hinted at a riveting contest, it told no lies. But, even for the huge Celtic support noisily willing their team to succeed, the attention was unavoidably and almost relentlessly drawn to the sometimes mesmerising superiority of the winners.
In such mis-matches, the most immediate and striking disparity between the teams is in pace, athleticism, agility and awareness. Set beside the quick, intelligent movement and slick, incisive passing of the visitors, the Scottish champions appeared wooden and unimaginative.
Aiden McGeady was the single exception in the home team, the young winger in the first half demonstrating the kind of virtuosity that would have impressed even Frank Rijkaard, the Barça coach. That McGeady was able to reflect that "I only remember being on the ball once in the second half" was an indicator of his team-mates' failure to provide a proper service as they became pre-occupied with the Catalan team's swarming aggression.
Having started the move that ended with the header with which Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink gave Celtic an improbable lead and supplied the delicate chip from which Barry Robson restored it before half-time, McGeady thereafter was marginalised through no fault of his own.
Strachan, significantly in terms of putting Barcelona's performance into perspective, was almost nagging afterwards in dwelling on Celtic's shortcomings. Without resorting to potentially headline-making criticism, the manager nevertheless managed to convey to anyone who was paying attention that his team's collective weakness was as relevant to the outcome as the visitors' strength.
"They might have the best squad in the world, but only time will tell if they have the best team in the world," said Strachan, trying, in vain where some observers were concerned, to stress that any punter thinking of plunging on the winners for the Champions League itself should have a care.
"When we play opposition like that, we need nine, ten of our players to be at the very top of their form. We didn't have nearly enough playing to that standard. We didn't pass the ball well, we gave it away too often and when that happens, you have to chase, you get tired and make more mistakes."
These were observations that strongly suggested Strachan was not convinced of the likelihood of Barça coping with the heavy artillery they will encounter later in the tournament. That they will reach the last eight seems as near a certainty as it is possible to get in football.
Strachan's realistic post-match assessment made a welcome nonsense of some of the extravagant eulogising of Rijkaard's team, and of certain players in particular. Far from the "genius" Ronaldinho was said in some quarters to have exhibited, the Brazilian – facing a 19-year-old right-back, Paul Caddis, who was making his European debut – was seen only in fleeting moments, rarely imposing himself on the game as he once did.
When he was presented with the ball by Gary Caldwell's errant pass early in the second half, he could hardly have failed to pick out Thierry Henry, isolated just 15 yards away in the inside-left position. The France striker, predictably, completed the move with a right-foot chip that curled into the far corner to give Barça their second equaliser.
Henry, too, was acclaimed as a master for this exquisite finish, but the evidence of his overall performance simply vindicated the long-held conviction that he is a pale imitation of the force he was in his prime.
The goal he scored is Henry's party piece, as practised and reliable as a professional golfer's swing. Having scored the same goal maybe a hundred times in his career and probably a million times in training, he will still be capable of executing the shot in his street shoes when he is 60.
What he no longer commands is the explosive burst past opponents, his blinding pace diminished by the wear and tear of sciatica that has bothered him for almost two years. His goal apart, there was little sign of the great Frenchman terrorising anyone, not even a defence as pedestrian as Celtic's.
Lionel Messi, with his two goals – the first equaliser and the winner – Carles Puyol, Andres Iniesta, Deco and Yaya Toure were more impressive figures than the lavishly-feted Ronaldinho and Henry. But much more serious tests lie ahead.
For Celtic, there is only the sobering realisation that they are on a ladder from which, between their present position and the next step, two or three rungs are missing.
The full article contains 840 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
