Other teams face problems with lesser stars, though not necessarily less important players. Italy’s Gennaro Gattuso, he with the tenacity of a bulldog and the bite of a terrier, has a 15-day lay-off after straining a thigh muscle. His response was typical: “I’m going to the World Cup, even if I have to tie myself with a rope to the team bus.”

That about sums up the desperation. The last tournament saw too many stars either absent or unfit — or just plain tired — and the quality of football suffered.

This time around, with a better climate — the sun was out today, the air is crisp and clear and Friday’s forecast is a high of 19— the tournament will be back on its feet.

There is a sense of keen anticipation here, though Munich lacks the buzz of, say, Seoul or Tokyo in 2002. One explanation is that neither of the two teams playing on Friday is here. The hosts are in Berlin, Costa Rica in the southern town of Walldorf; the fans, too, are either spread out at this moment or, as in the case of the Central Americans, too few in number.

The venue of the World Cup opening match often resembles the eye of a hurricane; the teams are spread all over Germany, specialized coverage, as we get in India, is available only through expensive cable subscriptions and ticket prices keep the most passionate fans at arm’s length. Unlike its cricket equivalent, this tournament has no lingua franca to bind; before kickoff, this is more like the United Nations than a sporting event.

Yet the hurricane is closing in. The first winds were felt today, with the FIFA Congress kicking off in style. Angela Merkel, Germany’s Chancellor whose honeymoon with the public appears to be ending, was in attendance; she will be desperately hoping that Germany’s performance on the field lifts the mood off it.

Her government has left no stone unturned, pumping in $38 million for cultural programmes that are as creative as a Brazilian attack. Hamburg’s venerable Museum of Ethnology, for example, has been converted into a simulated football stadium - the toilets are the betting parlours, so you could end up spending more than a penny.

Equally big stakeholders are the 15 sponsors, each of whom have paid around $50 million to be associated with the tournament. Local journalists believe the figure could double by the time of the next World Cup, in South Africa. Add to that the cost of litigation from ambush marketing; this time around the makers of Budweiser have been forced to settle with a German brewery who said “Bud” sounded too much like their “Bit”.

Their battles are in the courts. Out in the street, in houses, in every playground, the Battle of the Billboards is between Nike and Adidas, who between them have kitted out the top teams. Their clout is legendary: Everyone knows the story (if apocryphal) of how Ronaldo was forced to play the 1998 World Cup final though he suffered a breakdown and had a fit hours before kickoff. This is Adidas’s home turf—but Nike have Brazil.

Tomorrow, Munich and the World Cup get down to serious business. The teams reach Munich and have their first feel of the spanking new Allianz Arena.

The stormclouds approach. Can football’s fickle nature behave itself?