Gbagbo will choose to ignore the importance of France to Ivoirian soccer as long as Ivory Coast keeps winning, and he has loudly publicized the extent to which his government has financed the national team. But he is likely to distance himself from another form of assistance. In 1992, the only time apart from this year that Ivory Coast played in the final of the African Nations Cup, the sports minister enlisted a battalion of fétisheurs—juju men—to give the Ivoirian team a supernatural advantage against Ghana. The story goes that when the minister reneged on promises to pay the fétisheurs, they put a hex on the team, which suffered a ten-year run of disappointing results. In April 2002, defense minister Moise Lida Kouassi approached the witch doctors to make amends, offering them bottles of gin and large sums of money. The hex was lifted, and presto: World Cup qualification.

Witch doctors scatter charms on the field or smear the goalposts with magic ointments to keep the ball out. In 1984 no fewer than 150 fétisheurs stayed with the Ivoirian national team at their hotel before a crunch game in the African Nations Cup: Each player took a bath in water treated with various potions, before being invited to make a wish in the ear of a pigeon. Another soccer club was taken to court in 1998 when, following a decisive league match in Bouake, its players admitted to drinking a concoction prepared by a juju man (the case was dismissed).

Soccer's governing body in Africa is aware of the PR damage done by juju stories and has now banned "team advisers" from being part of a squad's official entourage. But superstition, of one kind or another, has always played a large part in sport, and fetishism is sure to continue in Ivoirian soccer. Before last September's crucial World Cup qualifier against Cameroon, the gutters of Abidjan ran red with chicken blood. For better or worse this is V. S. Naipaul's Africa: a place of magic that is also on display at the many roadblocks in the north and west of the country, where soldiers are convinced that the amulets they wear around their necks will ward off bullets. War, too, encourages superstition.

Everybody—on both sides of the war—is willing the team to do well in Germany. But the mix of soccer and politics can get ugly. When the Ivoirians lost for the second time to Cameroon in the qualifiers, and it was believed their chance had gone, Drogba—who had played brilliantly in the match and scored two goals—received threats and menacing messages from fans, and was worried enough to consider not playing for the national team. In 2000 Gen. Robert Guei, who had just engineered the country's first military coup, held the national team in detention for two days as punishment for being knocked out of the African Nations Cup in the first round. He stripped the players of their passports and cell phones, publicly denounced them, and suggested they should learn some barracks discipline. "You should have spared us the shame," he said.