"The beer issue was a problem," said Dizer, the student, reflecting on what once seemed imponderable. "How can it be that we as the beer nation have to drink Budweiser?"

American beer is one thing, but the British press, gleefully mining obscure tidbits of World Cup-related news, can unnerve even the most seemingly impervious of Germans.

London tabloids have a penchant for tweaking this nation about the previous century's wars. This atmosphere was further riled recently when a British paper ran a picture of Chancellor Merkel, her bottom exposed, while she was changing from her bathing suit on a seaside vacation. The Germans were incensed; the Brits chuckled.

German columnist Harald Martenstein has since chided England about its World Cup prospects:

"I think when the German football team is on the pitch it is always reliving in a traumatic way the shaping event of our postwar history, the economic miracle, the surprise rise from the ruins, while the England team is condemned to constantly relive, as if it were in an endless time loop, the collapse of the British Empire."

But it is only a game, 90 minutes of fluid ecstasy and sorrow, where every goal is cherished, like a bit of magic caught briefly in a net. The bookies are busy, the saints called upon, and the fortunetellers align dates and games with stars and moons.

Those waiting for miracles often wait in vain, but sometimes human endeavor and swift feet rise to legend and a country roars with joy until angst begins anew with the next round.

Almost everywhere but the U.S., soccer is wrapped up in national identity and, even in this era of globalization, flags are waved, folklore is sung and borders are drawn inside stadiums. It is war with a ball, and occasionally it is marred by racism and ugly nationalist sentiments that governments and police have attempted to quiet for years.

In March, Adebowale Ogungbure, a Nigerian who plays for a German club, was spat on and called an "ape" and other slurs by hooligans as he walked off the field after a game. Enraged, but accustomed to such insults, he responded by lifting his arm in a Nazi salute.

A few weeks later, a black engineer in Potsdam was beaten into a coma in what police said was a racist attack. A former government spokesman said last week that blacks may not be safe in some east German cities during the World Cup.

"There are small and medium-sized towns in Brandenburg, as well as elsewhere, which I would advise a visitor of another skin color to avoid," said Uwe-Karsten Heye, who now directs an anti-discrimination network.

German officials said the comments exaggerated the problem, but the government is worried that racist incidents involving neo-Nazis will spoil Germany's image. Sixteen neo-Nazis were arrested last month in connection with attacks on dark-skinned foreigners in three German cities. A new Interior Ministry report shows that right-wing violence jumped 23% in 2005.

Dizer and Zahn are more concerned about getting tickets. Sitting the other day in a Berlin cafe, the two young soccer fanatics, listing the quirks and foibles of the

German team the way a brother assesses his sister's choice in men, were ticket-less for the biggest show on Earth. Seats to the Cup's 64 matches were awarded by lottery, except for about 500,000 given to 21 corporate sponsors. That has led to rancor across Germany, and some VIPs, wanting not to appear like Marie Antoinette, have forgone the perk.

"It's really a shame that people really into soccer can't get tickets but CEOs who don't care about soccer at all get them for free," Dizer said.

But then Dizer mentioned that he'd heard that the German beer Bitburger would be sold along with Budweiser inside stadiums. A tall man with wire-rimmed glasses, Zahn nodded the way a guy nods when he suspects that things may work out after all.