The plastic balls rumble around the glass bowls of destiny. Portentous music plays. There is a sense of possibility, as though the inner workings of the universe have suddenly been laid bare, a door opening to reveal the three Fates sitting by their spinning wheel, measuring rod and shears in hand.
A World Cup draw is a moment of perfection, a platonic vision before reality has had time to intervene. Everybody is fit and in form. Every nation is playing as an ideal version of itself – no injuries, no disputes over bonuses, no concerns about fatigue or the temperature or whether a player might be distracted by a possible transfer; it’s the World Cup as pure potential. With Friday’s draw, next summer will suddenly feel a lot closer.
