THE road from Bratislava has been paved with good intentions. Gordon Strachan worst hour has been followed by months of careful construction. The result was unveiled last night. It was smooth, impressive and promises to lead to better things.

The Great Escape from the group stages of the Champions League has been attempted repeatedly by Martin O'Neill in Steve McQueen fashion. He seemed to rev up his motorbike and tilt at the barbed wire that was Bayern Munich, Juventus and Porto. It was as dramatic as it was futile. Wonderful results at Celtic Park were matched by underachievement away from home.

Strachan has a more subtle plan. He seems to be constructing a tunnel into the next stage. This ambitious route consists of a series of delicate manouevres backed by hard spadework.

When it all falls apart, it can leave Celtic buried by the deadening force of a counterattack. Lee Naylor's misplaced pass, for example in the first half, forced Gary Caldwell into a desperate foul. Then Stephen McManus' momentary lack of concentration allowed Fabrizio Miccoli to bear down on goal, fortunately without the ball, which raced through to Artur Boruc. Halftime, too, could have come with Celtic trailing when Konstantinos Katsouranis nicked his header over.

But for the most part Celtic's passing, movement and energy were impressive. Strachan has laid down a template for his team. Quick passing is allied to strikers running into channels and forcing gaps along the opposition's back line. While O'Neill's teams played to the obvious, robust strengths of a Chris Sutton or a John Hartson, Strachan has placed his faith in his players' ability to stay on the ball.

Results, of course, are the final arbiter in football. O'Neill's critics may have cavilled at the agricultural nature of some of the games at Celtic Park. They could not, however, dismiss the passion and joy of such nights as the defeat of Juventus or the neutering of Barcelona.

Strachan has followed his own path. He careered into the hard shoulder and over the cliff at Bratislava. His team stuttered, stalled, purred and roared in equal measure during the defeat at Old Trafford. But against FC Copenhagen it was almost a leisurely pull away from the lights. The Danish side, seemingly made up of rejects from the basketball league, were outpassed, outpaced and outplayed, yet only one goal separated the sides at the finish.

This is the nub of the Champions League for most sides. The margin is normally as narrow as the dying Scotman's arteries. Not last night.

Ironically, it was the oldfashioned, crude long throw that produced the first tingle of excitement on an electrifying night. Paul Telfer's long-range missile took a deflection and Shaun Maloney's acrobatic kick was well-saved.

This was the highlight of a period of sustained, controlled Celtic pressure. The ball was switched deftly and with purpose. It produced moments of excitement, even danger. Benfica, though, were harassed rather than mortally wounded. They showed, too, that they can pass and the first half, well, passed in an almost seamless roll of enterprising, attractive football.

There was a danger for Celtic that the pretty patterns would produce no tangible reward but they bravely stuck with their manager's vision. The most difficult aspect of a rainlashed Champions League night at Celtic Park must be to retain composure, to keep the faith in passing amid the bluster of the wind and the roar of the crowd.

Celtic did this. And more. A young team grew in the second half. Naylor added an edge of verve with a decisive run and slashing cross and Kenny Miller profited with a decisive finish. Then Maloney sprinted, pirouetted and found Miller who added to Celtic's tally and his burgeoning reputation. Stephen Pearson's goal merely underscored the best Celtic performance since Lyon in the Champions League just over three years ago.

The mastermind, though, was Strachan. Benfica posed some further questions. Celtic's answers were assured and made without hesitations. And with plenty of passes.