Across the not so great divide

SCOUSE poet Roger McGough once expressed the dilemma of the football fan who couldn’t decide where his loyalties lay on Merseyside: “I’d be bisexual if I had time for sex/‘cos it’s Goodison one week and Anfield the next.”

I’m sure there were more than a few Irish fans who felt similarly torn on Wednesday as Glasgow Celtic and Manchester United finally came face to face in a competitive match, and proceeded to serve up the proverbial five-goal thriller in the Champions’ League at Old Trafford.

Perhaps the biggest surprise was that so many observers seemed taken aback at the visitors’ ability to make a game of it at all. In the run-up to the match there was more than a hint of condescension in the English press about Celtic’s prospects. And the Scots — people like Graeme Souness and Charlie Nicholas on Sky — weren’t far behind in fearing the worst. The consensus seemed to be that the comparatively impoverished Celts would likely receive a lesson in the realities of top-flight football from their wealthier lords and masters south of the border, the gulf between the SPL and the Premiership set to be cruelly exposed beneath the bright lights of the Theatre of Dreams.

Tommy Docherty, who should know a bit about football on both sides of the border, had even predicted that Celtic were in for a bit of a drubbing.

There’s no question that Celtic suffer from big fish/small pool syndrome, and that the SPL scarcely provides the kind of consistently rigorous test that might fully prepare a team for the step up required in Europe. But the fact remains that, by virtue of their tradition, history and fan base, Celtic do qualify as big fish, not minnows. And as new hero Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink proved on the night, the club is not exactly bereft of big names, in more ways than one. Treating the Celts as prospective giant-killers on a bit of a jolly south of Hadrian’s Wall only makes sense if one is prepared to characterise, say, Middlesbrough in exactly the same way. After all, both clubs made it to the final of the UEFA Cup in the last three years — hardly the track record of wide-eyed no-hopers.

As it turned out, Celtic were their own worst enemies on Wednesday, with Thomas Gravesen critically at fault for two of United’s goals. Admittedly, Artur Boruc had to perform brilliantly to keep United at bay, but that is no more than you would expect of a lot visiting keepers at Old Trafford.

In the end, the game was as dynamic and exciting as you could wish for, a proper cup tie played in the right spirit by both sides. But while no-one will make the mistake of dismissing Celtic out of hand for the sequel in Parkhead, neither side can come away from the first instalment satisfied that they have what it takes to emulate former glories in Europe’s premier competition.

Gravesen is a better player than his howlers made him look on Wednesday but Neil Lennon’s lack of pace was the talk of Celtic websites afterwards. “I’ve seen milk turn quicker,” was one of the kinder comments.

By contrast, Paul Scholes once more looked the part for United, his 80 minutes of industry and invention reinforcing his well-established reputation as a players’ player, one of those largely unsung figures who is simply superb at what he does. And, maybe it was Celtic’s softness in the middle or their increasing tiredness, but when John O’Shea came on he looked far more impressive in the midfield role than he has ever looked for Ireland. Hope springs eternal.

A sharper Rooney will make a big difference for United, of course, but when you see Rio Ferdinand crumble under a routine high ball and the Reds leak two at home to certified outsiders, it hardly breeds confidence in their European prospects this season. Still, if Rio is seeking consolation, he need look no further than a video of Lyon’s 2-0 win over Real Madrid on the same night, a game in which the French side’s first goal saw Fabio Cannavaro similarly embarrassed as he got caught flat-footed under a high ball. Yes, that’s the same Cannavaro who was the Player of the Tournament in the World Cup, who is widely regarded within the game as the best central defender on the planet and whose arrival in Madrid was meant to give the erstwhile galacticos a bit of old fashioned spine.

Then again, unlike Rio, it’s hard to imagine Cannavaro making the same mistake twice.

The fact that we are talking about mistakes says something else about Wednesday’s ‘Battle Of Britain’. Yes, it was pulsating, thrilling, edge of the seat stuff, but it was also riddled with errors, with Gravesen by no means the only culprit when it came to squandering possession. A classic game of British football, right enough.

Perhaps this was the real lesson of Manchester United v Celtic. They are indeed more alike than many thought, but not in a good way. And certainly not in a way that will have Barcelona quaking in their boots.