I, for one, am salivating at the prospect.

WITH the two legs against Pep Guardiola’s Barca, a side that’s widely perceived as the paradigm of the beautiful game, sandwiched between games against Leyton Orient, Stoke and Sunderland — not to mention the trifling matter of a trip to Wembley — I guess us Gooners are set to witness the entire wonderful panoply of the footballing spectrum over the coming weeks.

I, for one, am salivating at the prospect.

Despite the significance of our glamorous encounter with the Catalan giants — as the litmus test that will either provide le Gaffer with incontrovertible grounds to continue blowing the Gooner trumpet, or which could accentuate his obstinate obsession with blowing smoke up our backsides — the surrounding fixtures might not hold the same fascinating allure. But they’ll be no less demanding for all that.

There’ll be much dancing in the streets should we manage to stifle Messi and Co. over the course of our two games. But it don’t really mean a thing unless we can also eliminate the lapses in concentration and the sort of naivety that can be undone by the pandemonium of Delap’s penetrating Yorkers, or Zigic’s growth hormone excesses. It’s the “horses for courses” astuteness of managers from these shores that makes for such competitive fare and a far less predictable brand of football than the two-team tyranny of La Liga.

However, if the Arsenal are to aspire above and beyond Birmingham and the Cup Of Many Beverages this season, then we must show our mettle as a winning machine; a side that can prevail under any circumstances. Up until now, it’s been our inability to really convince as a team capable of relentlessly notching up the victories that has most Gooners merely feeling grateful to have arrived on spring’s doorstep with everything still to play for.

Yet with each passing week, so long as the Gunners maintain the Premier League pace, the more sceptical amongst us are struggling to keep our expectations in check, trying to stave off tantalising thoughts of a nip and tuck challenge for the title.

With Van Persie hitting a long overdue purple patch, Fabregas playing like a man possessed by a ravenous appetite for success, Nasri on the mend and Wilshere intent on fulfilling the promise of a positively mouthwatering homegrown garnish, the Gunners have no cause to fear Barca, or any of the multi-million pound collections of mercenaries on the planet.

From 1 to 11 (or to 53, as is the hare-brained habit in shirt-number bingo nowadays), we’re a match for anyone on our day. It’s beyond that where our limitations might be exposed, with no obvious stand-in for the likes of Song, in the pivotal protection of two centre-backs who are short on the sort of experience that equips a defender with genuine authority, or a Robin to Van Persie’s Batman, with an equally prolific strike rate as the injury prone Dutchman. Until the likes of Denilson, Diaby, Chamakh and Bendtner prove they can cut the Wenger-ball mustard, I can’t help but feel that our challenge rests on the all too precious few.

It could be argued we’ve a better chance of surprising the Spanish champs at this stage before Barca get a scent of the trophy at the business end of the tournament. Personally, I’m eager to see us prove how far we’ve progressed, from the humiliation of last season’s defeat and I’ll gladly settle for the Gunners travelling to Spain in three weeks still with something to play for.