The only guarantee that a World Cup draw brings is the presence of both Pele and Johann Cryuff, smiling benignly and twirling, so to speak, their balls about in the plastic lottery containers that FIFA specialise in.
There is something of a worrying vacuum when it comes to soccer legends of the '60s, '80s and '90s showing up to do a bit of seeding and picking and choosing at these ever fascinating if utterly confusing shows of football frenzy.
The draw has become the table plan for a global dinner party with virtually everyone tuning in to see who they get stuck with. This being a Japanese and Korean gig, the structure was designed to be more baffling than ever, with interminable military like guff about 'positions', 'locations' and "call-ups." Over the years Pele and Johann have become masters at the art of twirling.
Either way, it doesn't much matter to the world at large. The aims and principles of the Japan and Korea 2002 were set out in no uncertain terms by one of the endless array of hosts that were on offer in Busan.
"It is a great step towards global unity," declared the young Oriental man gravely before adding "and a great chance to party at the same time."
Well, why not? Name the charter that decrees striving for global unity and having a good old boogie to be mutually exclusive. Bono has been doing both for years and generally simultaneously.
Regardless of the overall complications of the draw, it works on television because every country is concerned only with their own slice of the pie - a spirit which does not augur well for the chances of global unity being fully achieved next June.
We in Ireland, for instance, were pre-occupied with not meeting England and, for less obvious reasons, Mexico.
Such was the mathematical ingenuity behind the draw that Ireland's destiny was seen as beyond the fathomable, that we were quite likely to be playing against nations yet to be formed. And so it was with great trepidation that we tuned in to discover our fate.
As ever, Johnny Giles and his sidekick Eamon Dunphy were manning the front lines on RT╔. They, like the rest of us, had no clue as to what was going on but still, the craggy duo have gradually knitted to form Ireland's comfort blanket in recent years.
They are our true statesmen of the world's soccer landscape and when Eamo, peering into the connotations of a group containing Germany, Saudi Arabia and Cameroon and declared, "I give us every chance," there was nothing left to do but flick over to BBC2 and gloat at England's fortunes.
It was there, funnily, that we bumped into Mick McCarthy, beaming across the time zones with that Bobby dazzler of a smile he has been wearing since leaving Tehran. Only the worst curmudgeon could not be pleased about the fact that McCarthy is obviously enjoying the most serene phase of his life since he was a toddler in Barnsley.
Nobody in Busan could have been more relaxed. After all, when McCarthy writes his memoir of his days as Irish manager, he could well call it War and Geo-Political Dysfunction in Middle Europe 1996-2002.
There is scarcely a trouble zone that he hasn't visited and so he was, unsurprisingly, upbeat about an opening game against the Cameroon. No, Mick's main concerns were directed at the old enemy that has done us down so often before.
"The 'eat and humidity, they'll be difficult for us," he warned, giving flashbacks of a beetroot-red Jack Charlton throwing water bags to expiring Irish players in the US.
Back in the studio, Gilesy and Eamo were beginning to look upon Cameroon as the fly in the ointment. Neither had, initially very much to say about them, each perhaps privately wondering if Roger Milla might still be playing with them. By the end of the broadcast Eamo had somehow sensed a dark omen about their presence in our group.
"Dunno," he sighed.
"We play good football but Cameroon will be physical, they'll be experienced, they'll be sneaky and they'll be difficult."
'Sneaky' was a new one and a bit chilling at that. German 'efficiency', Brazilian 'class', Nigerian 'naivete', French 'flair' - all of these we could cope with but stealthy Cameroon 'sneakiness' was the stuff of nightmares.
But on went the show. Our hosts in Busan were out to demonstrate that the trip to Japan and Korea would not necessarily be the great cultural departure all soccer fans were predicting. Despite the traditional costume, there was a distinctly western bent to proceedings, complete with Beverley Hills 90210 accents and a curious pre-occupation with disco.
"What do you do to chill?" a hostess asked her colleague during one of the many pauses for spontaneous conversation.
Her companion - the same young man with the ambitious peace plans - shrugged before explaining, "I dance." It turned out to be his lucky moment as right on queue, his colleague, clearly delighted by the coincidence, revealed that we - the world - were about to enjoy " a bit of disco with Anastasia".
Indeed. Overall, the World Cup draw injected something of that anticipatory air we like to describe as 'fever'. Every single thing that happens between now and next June will be interpreted as having repercussions on the World Cup.
For Ireland, it will involve almost hourly prayer - nothing new to the veterans of Tehran - to ensure that Roy Keane makes it through Manchester United's rough season - or 'the crisis' as they call it across the water.
Keano's deployment in central defence for United's 0-3 crushing by Chelsea was enough to split the Eamo-Giles alliance on RT╔'s Premiership on Saturday evening.
Although Gilesy was all for it, Eamo was fervently against, decrying it as madness.
"You can't play him there," he said of the Irishman's midfield replacement, " because he's not Roy Keane.
"Nobody's Roy Keane, Eamon," came the reasoned reply.
And, of course, we knew what he meant. Those slip-ups can happen when you are forced to spend your Saturday mornings watching Anastasia.
