WHEN Lionel Messi and Argentina stepped out at the Luzhniki Stadium in November, it felt like a dress rehearsal for Russia 2018’s dream final. A capacity crowd filed past the monolithic statue of Vladimir Lenin, through the impeccably preserved Soviet-era facade and into plush, renovated stands.

Lining up on the pitch were, in one half, the best player in the world and his teammates; opposite them a team representing the host nation whose fans displayed a banner reading, “Together we are a family”.

Messi failed to score and Russia, willing but limited, were beaten by a Sergio Aguero goal.
Rather more deflating was the post-match sight of supporters queuing in their thousands to access one of the three train stations nearby, corralled by the authorities into a line that took more than two hours to clear. While it gave rise to little more than frustration, it did speak of a process yet to be properly thought through.

That is what these dry runs are for and that, essentially, is where we are with 100 days until the World Cup kicks off with Russia facing Saudi Arabia.
It will be all right on the night, certainly where the games’ staging and televised spectacle are concerned — nobody, despite the usual flickers of concern about a host country’s preparations, can seriously doubt that.

But Russia 2018 remains a tournament beset by more localised queries and concerns than most, as well as one or two fundamental issues that may shape the future face of an entire sport.

The world’s best football isn’t the World Cup — it’s competitions like the Champions League. It’s why Neymar’s fractured metatarsal, which will keep him out for a minimum of two months, will be such a big storyline. It feeds into the fact that any element of confusion and delay to proceedings will cause people to switch off from the action in Russia.

There is also the more practical and pressing matter of the engagement of supporters on the ground. FIFA have been keen to trumpet healthy ticket demand figures, with applications totalling 8.4 million globally by the end of January.
Yet only 57 957 of those had come from England, usually one of the best-supported countries at a tournament, suggesting that,\ despite the fact Russia will be more accessible this summer than at any point in its history, it will struggle to change the perception that it’s not exactly an attractive destination for football fans.

Against that, there are some more encouraging figures: the U.S. and Netherlands, neither of whom qualified for the tournament, provided 87 052 and 71 096 requests, respectively.
It was the last thing organisers needed then, when supporters of Spartak Moscow and Athletic Bilbao brawled in the Spanish city before the sides’ Europa League meeting on February 22. A policeman tragically died of a heart attack after a flare was thrown his way during the clashes.

There is no suggestion Spartak fans were responsible for his death but, after a series of Champions League meetings between Russian and English sides that went off without serious incident, this was an unwelcome return to the headlines Russia generated at Euro 2016 in France.

The ghosts of Marseille and the appalling violence around England’s clash with Russia still linger, giving rise to fear that has never quite gone away. In fact, Russia has cracked down considerably on hooliganism within its own borders and the prospect of danger around the stadiums seems remote.

One ultra, who follows the Samara-based team Krylia Sovetov and has links to some of those who participated in the Marseille violence, told ESPN FC that the intention among past troublemakers is to lie low.
The present domestic season has seen police act with force towards fans on several occasions, notably during a high-profile match between Zenit St Petersburg and Spartak Moscow in August.

But the chances of miscreants getting anywhere near a stadium this summer are remote in themselves: all supporters, domestic or international, are required to apply for a ‘Fan ID’ for which rigorous background checks are made, also helping to nullify the risk of touting.
Vladimir Putin, the President of Russia, last month signed a law rubber-stamping steep fines for those caught illegally selling tickets for the World Cup. Putin himself has kept largely quiet in relation to this summer and there is no mistaking the nature of his priorities.

The majority of supporters are likely to make whistle-stop visits to host cities and remain in FIFA-run area around the stadia, reducing the risk to potential danger or unpleasantness. Yet those not travelling with official groups may find themselves hamstrung by the exorbitant prices charged for hotel rooms and apartments in smaller, less tourist-friendly cities such as Saransk and Volgograd, where England will take on Tunisia.

The Russian newspaper Komsomolskaya Pravda recently visited Saransk, where they were quoted up to £1,275 a night to rent modest Soviet-era apartments.
A shortage of hotel rooms, and subsequent demand, is one reason; another is the fact that Portugal, and Cristiano Ronaldo, will play Iran there and that comes with a premium.
Saransk is one of a number of venues whose stadium — new, gleaming and seemingly far too big for the modest local side it will house from next season — has struggled against deadlines.

The most glaring is Samara’s dramatic Cosmos Arena, which is not expected to be ready until mid-March and will not hold a test event until April 28, seven weeks before it hosts its first World Cup tie.
The path here has, for many cities and venues, been fraught with financial and logistical issues (plans for the Cosmos Arena, to take one example, were scaled down from an 80 million high dome when costs became too high, although its 65M replacement will be striking enough).

But you can’t help feel this is a tournament Russia would like to get out of its hair. The government cut its World Cup budget by £340M — to around £7.4B — in 2015 and, although the event’s scope has accordingly shrunk, it still appears a financial millstone in difficult times.

Russia’s place in the global political landscape has changed since 2010, too, and its perception among certain other states — especially in Europe — is one of an unpredictable and unreliable partner.

Beyond the biggest clubs and cities, this is not a country with a voracious match-going culture. A survey by DW.com last year showed that only 17 percent of its inhabitants regard themselves as long-term football fans, with a third watching from time to time. They will need convincing that the event in front of them is special — whether it features Messi, Neymar, a resurgent national team or a group stage battle between Panama and Tunisia.

Tickets for locals are priced from £16 in the group stage but rise dramatically after that, with second-round tickets starting at £29. For many, these are not trifling sums. As recently as 2014 the average monthly wage in Mordovia, the republic in which Saransk resides, was just £250. Empty seats at less glamorous fixtures will be among FIFA’s worst nightmares.

Despite the lingering question marks, Russia’s tournament could be in a worse place at this stage. The biggest job over the next 100 days is to convince people of exactly that.