Neil Lennon’s men are facing a tricky tie against the Finnish champs — who thumped Icelandic minnows KR Reykjavik 7-0 in the first leg of their second-round qualifier.

Rantala expects HJK to be written off against the Hoops but insists the underdog tag suits them.

He said: “The mental difference is that we want to win the game, but Celtic HAVE to win it.

“If they don’t beat us, it will pretty much be a disaster for the club, so the pressure is off us.

“Hopefully Celtic will be anxious. The pressure is all on them and we hope to use that anxiety to our advantage.

“We can cause Celtic problems but you need to put things into perspective — some of their players earn in a week what our men earn in a year.

“There is a big difference between the clubs in terms of budget, squad size and expectations.

“But to face Celtic is very exciting for everyone associated with HJK. We were always going to be drawn against a top club but this is attractive for us.

“Celtic Park is one of the nicest stadiums in Europe. It will be intimidating but it’s a special place.

“I never played there but I watched Celtic play Anderlecht in the Champions League in 2003. It was fantastic.

“Our goal at Celtic Park is just to keep the tie alive after the first leg. If we do that, anything can happen.

“The draw is not official yet as we still have to play the second leg against KR — but we’d like to think we’ve done enough to progress.”

Rantala is a massive fan of British football and knows all about Celtic’s strengths and weaknesses. He reckons Greece star Georgios Samaras is the Hoops player HJK fans will know best.

But he pinpointed Gary Hooper as the biggest threat to his side.

He said: “I have followed Hooper’s career for a long time. I stayed in London a few years ago and watched him play for Southend.

“He was a teenager back then but I could tell he was going to be a top striker the first time I saw him.

“Hooper and Samaras will be a big danger but I also know about Anthony Stokes and his threat.

“Celtic don’t have the world-class players of a few years ago — guys like Henrik Larsson and John Hartson. But they are very strong.”

HJK’s star man is ex-Hearts striker Juho Makela — who grabbed a hat-trick in the 7-0 rout of KR on Tuesday.

But Rantala admits the step up from Finnish football to the top-level Euro game is not always so easy.

He said: “We are very strong in our domestic league and always have the ball — but it’s different in Europe.

“We have to change the way we play and are forced to defend a lot more. Our style is more counter-attacking.

“But we won’t go to Celtic Park just to defend. If we do that, it would be a very long night for us.

“We’ll have to be at our best to beat Celtic but there’s always a chance. We came close to beating Schalke in the Europa League play-offs last season and anything is possible.

“Celtic haven’t started their league season yet and that could prove an advantage for us.

“I will watch their friendly games over the next week and maybe even find time to fly to Scotland to see them live.”

The halfway leader from Nashville has been chilling out most evenings down at the boozer listening to his favourite tunes on the jukebox.

Snedeker shot a foot-tapping, thigh slapping six-under 64 yesterday to match the lowest 36-hole total at Lytham in The Open and prove that a couple of pints never did anyone any harm.

He said: “I enjoy the local ales and I love being over here.

“I enjoy the lifestyle and the golf and having a good time.

“Britain is extremely different from the States, but I love the culture and the heritage and their enthusiasm for golf.”

Snedeker has hardly attracted a second glace, but ‘Brandt who?’ will become the best known face in golf this weekend if he wins his first Major.

Snedeker quipped: “I’m sure a lot of Americans are also asking who I am.”

But the laidback 31-year-old has vowed not to allow success to change him after claiming that his family would never allow him to become swell-headed.

He said: “I’m a pretty happy-go-lucky guy and I’m very lucky in what I do for a living.

“I’ve got a brother and a family that keeps me well in line and a 16-month-old little girl at home who pretty much dominates me.

“That’s the kind of guy I am — very simple, not a frilly guy by any means.”

Snedeker is also likely to burst into tears on the 18th green tomorrow afternoon if he sinks the winning putt to add his name to that of his hero Tom Watson on the Claret Jug.

He wears his heart on his sleeve to the extent that he broke down in front of the TV cameras at Augusta four years ago after blowing his big chance to win The Masters, eventually finishing third behind surprise champion Trevor Immelman.

But he claimed: “The Masters was a long time ago. In golf years that’s a lot of tournaments.

“I’ve lost a lot since then and gotten used to it. This weekend I feel prepared.

“I’ve got a cushion, which is nice. While everybody calls me an emotional guy when I play golf, I’m really not. I’m probably the most level-headed guy on tour and I never make a shot out of anger or without analysing the risks involved.

“But I don’t mind telling people how I feel and showing my emotions, if I am upset or mad, and I would love to let you know what happens if I win on Sunday.”

Snedeker revealed that he has battled back from a cracked rib he suffered during a COUGHING FIT.

He said: “This sounds great but I actually cracked a rib from having a cough.

“I’ve had problems with breaking bones on minor stuff before and cracked a rib and it put me out for about five weeks.

“Unfortunately it was right in front of the US Open, so it was pretty bad timing.

“I tried everything I could to get back to play with that.

“When I realised I couldn’t play I took a couple of weeks off and made sure I was healthy and played Greenbrier back in the States a few weeks ago.”

Snedeker insists he is now 100 per cent fit and he underlined the fact by hardly putting a foot wrong.

Even if he did ride his luck at times to get to ten under, he has not been in a single one of the 206 bunkers that pepper the intimidating Lancashire links.

He said: “I’m sure everybody is in about as much shock as I am right now.

“No bogeys is getting some good breaks and playing some pretty good golf. I am making every 25-foot putt, so that makes it a lot easier for me.

“These are the best greens I’ve putted on in an Open. I have been in some tight spots in the States playing against the best players in the world so I kind of know what pressure feels like.”

Snedeker has missed the cut in his three previous visits to The Open and admits that it has taken him some time to get a feel for links golf.

But he has been helped in the acclimatisation process by his boyhood hero Watson after he played a practice round with the five-time Open champ at the nearby Royal Birkdale course.

He said: “It helped a bunch playing with him. He told me the first time he came over here he wasn’t a big fan of links golf, but the second time he played he loved it.

“You’ve got to embrace it, realise that you’re going to get good bounces and bad ones.

“It’s a case of expecting the worst and hoping for the best, and this week I am doing a much better job of it.”

Snedeker has been a Watson fan for as long as he can remember and has modelled himself on the 62-year-old legend.

He recalled: “Growing up I just loved the way he swung the club.

“He has such a classic golf swing and he went out and ripped it every time.

“He was such a great champion and watching him play in The Open was just phenomenal.”

View full sizeEllen Creager, Detroit Free Press, MCTScotland is the home of many wonderful things, especially the birthplace of golf, St. Andrews.

CLEVELAND, Ohio — Twice, I covered the British Open, which is being played in England this week. My trips came after Jack Nicklaus couldn’t play anymore and before Tiger Woods’ private life turned out to be that of Hef at the Bunny Barn, only without the silk pajamas.

Both were held in Scotland, at Troon in 1997 and at St. Andrews in 2000. It’s better in Scotland, where golf was invented, where the creeks are called burns, and where, regrettably, the food is inedible.

In 2000, some well-meaning Scots from Dundee, my neighbors in the press tent, presented me with a frozen lump of haggis after the last round. Haggis is a dish much favored there, made up of most of a sheep, excluding the “baa, baa,” but including the heart, liver and lungs. The organs are minced, mixed with oatmeal and suet, then simmered in the unfortunate animal’s stomach.

Who’s for seconds?

I feared clearing customs with microwavable contraband offal in my luggage, though, so I left the haggis ball on the desk of my room at St. Andrews University’s New dormitory. It was so named because it was, well, new, compared to the other housing units. The Scots are a very friendly, but occasionally unimaginative, people.

At last look, melting ice slivers slid on to the desk from the round lump. It looked to be suitable for use as a door-stop or in a shot put competition.

If you ever go to any of the courses in The Open’s rota, either to watch the tournament or just to play them, don’t drive.

Not on the wrong side of the road, not seated on the wrong side of a car with a stick-shift, and not on “roundabouts,” which are hazardous traffic circles probably dating to the time of Braveheart. An additional thrill is provided by roads barely wide enough to accommodate a herd of sheep headed for the haggis factory.

Buck Harvey, the respected sports columnist at the San Antonio Express News, drove around Great Britain on his honeymoon years ago. “The first night, I fell on my knees as soon I got back to the room,” he said, “thanking God that I was alive and that we were still married.”

Take the trains.

It was a straight shot by rail from Glasgow to Troon, although I had to take a winding route, involving a transfer in Edinburgh, to get near St. Andrews. Incredibly, ScotRail didn’t stop at St. Andrews. It stopped at Leuchars Royal Air Force Base, a short taxi ride way. At St. Andrews, remember this tip: Bunkers make good foxholes.

A retired Air Force pilot and former high-school classmate once told me he had commanded a squadron at Leuchars during NATO war games. “We were the aggressor force, so I decided to take my guys out over the Firth of Forth (a river estuary) and come in over this desolate point of land, low and screaming,” he said.

Seizing the initiative, he roared over The Old Course, 30 feet off the deck, sending duffers and scratch players alike diving for cover.

His superiors called him in after he achieved complete tactical surprise. Before he was confined to his barracks, his commanding officer said, “You’re not a golfer, are you?”

Get a receipt.

View full sizeSchalk van Zuydam, Associated PressSheep are great for producing wool sweaters and many other things, but haggis is not one of them.

St. Andrews is not Glasgow, a bustling city in which a wave of a visitor’s arm brings a cab screeching up to convey him to the airport. St. Andrews is a small town. Prudent visitors during Open week book roundtrips on the same taxi they took at Leuchars.

Do not wait until Saturday night to try to arrange transportation. Only off-brand taxi companies will be available then. I believe mine was called “Stick ‘em Up Cab.”

I knew I was among bandits when the pre-dawn ride to Leuchars cost 15 British pounds. It had been 10 pounds on the trip to the course, which, in a tribute to Scottish thrift, I had split with two other reporters.

A hasty check of the schedule board at Leuchars showed the train to Edinburgh from Aberdeen in the north, was running two hours late.

“How much to take me to Edinburgh?” I said to the cabbie.

“Eighty pounds,” he said.

“It was 60 a week ago. I know guys who did it,” I yelped.

“That was then,” said the driver. “This is now.”

It was cheaper than missing my flight and paying for a changed airline ticket and a hotel room in Glasgow. We sped through sleeping villages straight out of “Brigadoon” at 6 a.m. in Scotland, 1 a.m. in Cleveland. Conceivably, some Plain Dealer copy editor was checking my column one last time at that very moment.

“They’re going to kill me,” I muttered, tucking away the receipt for the equivalent of $144.

By the time I got to Glasgow, it was still four hours before my flight. I considered taking a city bus to the airport. Down nearly a hundred and a half for a single cab ride, however, I felt it was an economy that would not receive due credit on my expense account.

“Taxi!” I shouted, waving my arm, being a sport.

View full sizeEllen Creager, Detroit Free Press, MCTScotland is the home of many wonderful things, especially the birthplace of golf, St. Andrews.

CLEVELAND, Ohio — Twice, I covered the British Open, which is being played in England this week. My trips came after Jack Nicklaus couldn’t play anymore and before Tiger Woods’ private life turned out to be that of Hef at the Bunny Barn, only without the silk pajamas.

Both were held in Scotland, at Troon in 1997 and at St. Andrews in 2000. It’s better in Scotland, where golf was invented, where the creeks are called burns, and where, regrettably, the food is inedible.

In 2000, some well-meaning Scots from Dundee, my neighbors in the press tent, presented me with a frozen lump of haggis after the last round. Haggis is a dish much favored there, made up of most of a sheep, excluding the “baa, baa,” but including the heart, liver and lungs. The organs are minced, mixed with oatmeal and suet, then simmered in the unfortunate animal’s stomach.

Who’s for seconds?

I feared clearing customs with microwavable contraband offal in my luggage, though, so I left the haggis ball on the desk of my room at St. Andrews University’s New dormitory. It was so named because it was, well, new, compared to the other housing units. The Scots are a very friendly, but occasionally unimaginative, people.

At last look, melting ice slivers slid on to the desk from the round lump. It looked to be suitable for use as a door-stop or in a shot put competition.

If you ever go to any of the courses in The Open’s rota, either to watch the tournament or just to play them, don’t drive.

Not on the wrong side of the road, not seated on the wrong side of a car with a stick-shift, and not on “roundabouts,” which are hazardous traffic circles probably dating to the time of Braveheart. An additional thrill is provided by roads barely wide enough to accommodate a herd of sheep headed for the haggis factory.

Buck Harvey, the respected sports columnist at the San Antonio Express News, drove around Great Britain on his honeymoon years ago. “The first night, I fell on my knees as soon I got back to the room,” he said, “thanking God that I was alive and that we were still married.”

Take the trains.

It was a straight shot by rail from Glasgow to Troon, although I had to take a winding route, involving a transfer in Edinburgh, to get near St. Andrews. Incredibly, ScotRail didn’t stop at St. Andrews. It stopped at Leuchars Royal Air Force Base, a short taxi ride way. At St. Andrews, remember this tip: Bunkers make good foxholes.

A retired Air Force pilot and former high-school classmate once told me he had commanded a squadron at Leuchars during NATO war games. “We were the aggressor force, so I decided to take my guys out over the Firth of Forth (a river estuary) and come in over this desolate point of land, low and screaming,” he said.

Seizing the initiative, he roared over The Old Course, 30 feet off the deck, sending duffers and scratch players alike diving for cover.

His superiors called him in after he achieved complete tactical surprise. Before he was confined to his barracks, his commanding officer said, “You’re not a golfer, are you?”

Get a receipt.

View full sizeSchalk van Zuydam, Associated PressSheep are great for producing wool sweaters and many other things, but haggis is not one of them.

St. Andrews is not Glasgow, a bustling city in which a wave of a visitor’s arm brings a cab screeching up to convey him to the airport. St. Andrews is a small town. Prudent visitors during Open week book roundtrips on the same taxi they took at Leuchars.

Do not wait until Saturday night to try to arrange transportation. Only off-brand taxi companies will be available then. I believe mine was called “Stick ‘em Up Cab.”

I knew I was among bandits when the pre-dawn ride to Leuchars cost 15 British pounds. It had been 10 pounds on the trip to the course, which, in a tribute to Scottish thrift, I had split with two other reporters.

A hasty check of the schedule board at Leuchars showed the train to Edinburgh from Aberdeen in the north, was running two hours late.

“How much to take me to Edinburgh?” I said to the cabbie.

“Eighty pounds,” he said.

“It was 60 a week ago. I know guys who did it,” I yelped.

“That was then,” said the driver. “This is now.”

It was cheaper than missing my flight and paying for a changed airline ticket and a hotel room in Glasgow. We sped through sleeping villages straight out of “Brigadoon” at 6 a.m. in Scotland, 1 a.m. in Cleveland. Conceivably, some Plain Dealer copy editor was checking my column one last time at that very moment.

“They’re going to kill me,” I muttered, tucking away the receipt for the equivalent of $144.

By the time I got to Glasgow, it was still four hours before my flight. I considered taking a city bus to the airport. Down nearly a hundred and a half for a single cab ride, however, I felt it was an economy that would not receive due credit on my expense account.

“Taxi!” I shouted, waving my arm, being a sport.