SIXTEEN years ago to the very day, something extraordinary went bump in the night in Glasgow.

October 31, 2001 was the date, the Champions League was the stage. A match that continues to be spoken about to this day as one of the finest nights this ground has ever seen. There were not many tricks that Hallowe’en, but four treats that sparked the hopes and dreams of 60,000 souls. Strikes from Joos Valgaeren, Chris Sutton – remember him? – and Henrik Larsson was enough to deliver a memorable night, a 4-3 victory over super power opposition, but alas not a place in the last 16.

On the run up to this one, Brendan Rodgers sought to distance himself from chasing a dream result, a one-off high point to hang his legacy upon to cover up an otherwise failed crack at Europe. Instead, the Celtic manager stressed his want to instead build sustainability in the Champions League, buoyed by belief in his methodology and a clear hankering to show progress under his stewardship. He did concede scudding a big team would be nice as well, to be fair to him.

Sixteen years ago, it was a Juventus team filled with the likes of Pavel Nedved, Edgar Davids, Allesandro Del Piero and David Trezeguet. Here it was a formidable Bayern Munich glistening with Arjen Robben, Rafinha, Arutro Vidal and David Alaba. However, if Davie Trezeguet could be silenced then why not the mighty Bayern here?

It was clear the natives fancied their chances. Hours before kick off Glasgow city centre buzzed with anticipation, the roads to Paradise brought to a standstill, the pathways lining London Road swelling with song, bevvy, and, almost a whiff of defiance that, for all the match in Munich two weeks ago was a wallkover, that this time it would be different.

The sense of intent had not waned as kick-off neared. With the flutter of the giant Champions League ball flag, Celtic Park came alive with a roar that would have awoken the dead and startled the gods. Even the gods of a footballing variety couldn’t help but notice, Dutch master Arjen Robben glancing around him at his bubbling surroundings and a green wall of noise, a nervous grin creeping across his face.

The only thing is, there was nothing nervous about it. This was a man who had played in a World Cup final. His smile spoke of a man not fearing of what lay ahead, but an appreciation for the platform he was about to grace. At 33, the man from Bedum was the captain Bayern needed on an evening those with less miles on the clock would have been stunned by. And they were.

Make no bones about it, Celtic were more than a match for one of the favourites to lift this big trophy next May. Yes, they were without Robert Lewandowski and Thomas Muller, but to call them weakened would be disrespectful. Instead of the those two dumplins, Jupp Heynckes was forced to call on the services of 60million Euro and Real Madrid loanee, James Martinez. I’ll drink from whatever barrel he’s scraping from.

It was swash-buckling stuff. Kieran Tierney – who probably went dressed as his favourite Power Ranger to the nursery Hallowe’en party on the day of that Juve game – clattered Vidal after four minutes to send man-of-the-match James Forrest rampaging forward. His eventual cross landed perfectly for Stuart Armstrong at the back post, but the Scotland internationalist fluffed his lines. The stadium gasped as one momentarily, before the typical roar soon followed.

The opening goal came against the run of play and was hardly noticed. The travelling Germans, here in record numbers hadn’t stopped making a racket in the corner since they came in, while on the park Celtic continue to pray with bravery. Not an inch was given in the middle of the park, with Rodgers’ team being applauded off with a standing ovation at half timr9.

Fifteen short minutes later Celtic continued to come and, if we are being honest, Bayern looked shell-shocked by what was happening with the hosts holding possession and pressing. Mr Vidal seemed to be getting particularly irked, a crabbit murmur of ire in the ear of Forrest after the Scot had left him for dead to draw a foul on the near side.

Eventually, Celtic would get the reward for their efforts on 74 minutes. A wonderful piece of neat footwork and interplay unlocked a gap in the Bayern defence. Forrest’s ball was inch perfect for Callum McGregor, the shot benief Sven Ulreich sublime as the Celtic Park roof nearly took off.

Alas, it was a lead that only lasted three minutes before Javi Martinez struck with a brave header. The air punctured, the raucous scene of revelry deflating, if only briefly, as Bayern’s fans once again celebrated in the corner. With it the dream of another Juventus died, but the dream of Europa League football after Christmas and beyond more than lives on for Rodgers and this Celtic team.

This was not a performance of a team that was hammered here 5-0 by Paris St Germain, or a collective that played with fear in the Allianz Arena two weeks ago. The only team spooked by this experience would be the ones leaving in red, thankful and relieved as they clutched three points in their goody bag.

God help the team that knocks on this green door next Hallowe’en.