12th of July 1998. Stade de France. Paris. France.
Zinadine Zidane is sat down in the home teams dressing room. He is quiet. cool. calm. collected. All around him there is singing, dancing, laughter, cheering, and the slow thudding hum of 80,000 Parisians celebrating in the background, and that's just in the stadium. Hundreds of thousands take to the streets surrounding the Champs Elysees and the Eiffel Tower to celebrate this once in-a-lifetime moment.
Zizou, as he is affectionately known by teammates, media, fans and the public alike, has just scored two of the three goals in the game and put in a man of the match performance against the giants of Brazil to win Frances' first world cup, the most coveted prize in world sport, named after their country man, Jules Rimet no less, and on home soil to boot.
Born to Algerian parents who emigrated to the city of Marseille in the South of France before the start of the Algerian war in 1953, Zidane's childhood was a tale of street football and mischief played out in the northern suburb of La Castellane, despite been notorious for its high crime and unemployment rates, the family lived a reasonably comfortable life by the standards of the neighbourhood. Born the youngest of five siblings, Zinadine had to learn quickly to come out of his shell and stand up for himself to make himself heard above the rest of the clan at mealtimes and moments of play and laughter.
9th of July 2006. Olympic Stadium. Berlin, Germany.
The same arena which was purposely built to stage the 1936 Olympics and where a young, quiet unassuming man from the Ohio state of the United States of America, Jesse Owens, upstaged a certain leader of the time who was looking to take the attention away the actual sporting events and use the Olympics as a platform for his own propaganda.
Back to 2006, and in the 110th minute of extra time, around 11 o'clock local time, Zizou is sat in the changing rooms deep in the base of the stadium. This time there is no singing, no dancing, no laughter, and no cheering. The stadium is eerily quiet, filled with 75,000 fans from France and Italy, looking on nervously as their teams keep battling on, against all human nature and instinct, fighting tiredness and cramp, to decide who is to follow on from Brazil four years earlier in South Korea and Japan and become the new champions of the world.
Alone. Thoughtful. Melancholic. Subdued. The same man has a moment to sit and take in what has just happened, the last moment, his last moment, this time there is no one to congratulate him, to tell him how magnefique he is, tell him he is the greatest. Alone. Thoughtful. Melancholic. Subdued.
Italy have won the world cup but unbelievably it is not the main talking point. All the worlds media, fans and public alike are talking about is what happened, what happened? A hundred and ten minutes of football played out, 1-1 a Zidane penalty and a Marco Materazzi goal for Italy has left the game stalemate. Both teams have had their chances but to no avail. Another ball flutters out and Buffon, Italy's goalkeeper has time to compose himself and pick his pass. Meanwhile just a couple of hundreds of yards in front of him, Zidane and Materazzi, the Italian defender, goal scorer, heavily tattooed and self proclaimed darling of the ultras of Internazionale, are quietly jogging back to the centre spot, or so we think. Suddenly Zidane turns and head butts Materazzi in the chest, laying him out straight. As far as violent acts go, it is something of beauty, almost poetic, it's clean, and lifts up and lays it's victim on the ground perfectly, in one fell swoop. It proves to be Zidane's last ever act on a professional football pitch.
Calm and composed. He gathers his thoughts together. Pulls himself together. Shower. Team suit on. Tie loose around the neck, there will be no need for such formalities tonight. Moments later, his teammates walk in. Wounded, heavy legged, physically drained and mentally destroyed. A defeat to the Azzuri on penalties, without their captain, talisman, and chief penalty taker. No cross words, no disappointed glances or physical alteration, nothing but hugs, tears and apologies.
Not many footballers could commit such a crime on the playing field and yet achieve so much in their playing career that the historians don't define their career by it. Arguably only Diego Maradona has achieved the fete, although in fairness his acts off the pitch were much worse than anything seen on a sporting field.
Since retirement, many predicted that Zidane would be the kind of character who would choose to disappear from the glare of the public & media and enjoy the fruits of his labour in peace, but by all accounts he has chose to do the opposite despite saying in June 2008 that he had no plans to return to football. Aside from regularly turning out for Real Madrid in exhibition and charity matches, he made the questionable decision to help front Qatar's bid for the 2022 world cup, which they ultimately went onto win despite huge opposition. Then in November 2010 he finally made the permanent return to the Bernabeu, first as special adviser and now installed as assistant manager to the Italian head coach, Carlo Ancelotti in the summer of 2013 helping with amongst other things, first team training and the signing of the latest 'Galactico' Welshman Gareth Bale.
In a similar vein to countryman Eric Cantona, Zidane achieves the remarkable achievement of been in the public eye so much yet always managing to hold something back at the same time. Private. Passionate. Volatile. Magnefique. Genius. From his early days on the streets of Northern Marseille right through his career taking in time at Cannes, Bordeaux, Juventus in Serie A, where he was loved so much by the Old Lady's adoring fans and where he enjoyed questionably his most successful period as a player and then of course his time at Los Blancos, including the defining moment, THAT goal at Hampden Park in the 2002 Champions League Final against Bayer Leverkusen. And the history making, legend defining 12 years he spent with the National team.
The greatest study of Zidane ever is possibly the film and portrait by directors Douglas Gordon and Phillippe Parreno. During a regular La Liga match against Villareal, seventeen cameras were placed around the pitch all focused solely on the three time winner of the FIFA World Player of the Year. During the 90 minutes you get chance to witness all sides of the man, the footballer and the character. The good, the bad and the ugly.
Private. Passionate. Volatile. Magnefique. Genius. Zinadine Zidane. A Beautiful Mind.
Thursday 5 September 2013
Monday 19 August 2013
Football Italia on Channel Four. 21 Years on
Growing up in the early nineties shortly after the advent of the Premier League, when Sky TV was a luxury for just the wealthy, Channel Four, tapping into the nations conscience after a memorable world cup for England in Italy just two years previously, came to the rescue with their now iconic coverage of Serie A, which at the time was the most exciting and glamorous league in the world.
During this period with Sky gobbling up all Premier League rights, the only other football on terrestrial TV was the lower leagues been played out on ITV after losing top flight football. It was a spectacular opening to the coverage of Calcio, one beyond even the wildest dreams of the chief execs at television production company Chrysalis. A thrilling 3-3 draw between Sampdoria and Lazio was played out in front of over three million viewers and that was just the start. A week later, Pescara were defeated by Europe's most feared, AC Milan in an enthralling nine goal bonanza, at the same time as Derby County were entertaining Bristol City over on ITV, granted there was seven goals that day at the Baseball Ground but Marco Gabbaldini was always going to be a tough sell when MarcoVan Basten was merely a click away.
The highlights show on a Saturday morning featuring presenter James Richardson, as always sat outside some little upmarket coffee house in the local Piazza, ushered in a new era of football presenting, proving that they could be both witty and intelligent without adhering to a tired cliché or type (back then, Sky's Keys and Gray were just a younger version of Saint & Greavsie but with more hair), and of course there was the legendary guest spots featuring stars such as Gianluca Vialli pretending to be anyone but himself, Attilo Lombardo performing a surreal version of the dance, the Lambada, Mr Nice, David Platt sending himself up dressed as the Terminator and of course let's not forget Gazza's various madcap antics. (If this all sounds quite frankly bizarre and you failed to witness them first time around, I urge you to look them up on YouTube, you won't be disappointed!).
Ultimately it was the main event on a Sunday afternoon that will forever hold the fondest memories for myself and a generation of armchair football fans. Sitting down in front of the TV set, the moment the now classic goal celebration call, Golazzo! first burst threw the speakers, you were instantly transported to another altogether much more romantic place where the football was played out in a crescendo of noise and colour in a haze of smoke as the fans and ultras competed with each other in a competition all of its own, to see who could provide the most vocal and passionate support to their respective teams.
And then there was the names, from the teams such as European giants, Juventus and AC Milan to the quite magical Internazionale and Fiorentina, playing out matches in epic arenas such as the San Siro and Stadio Del Alpi, all featuring players who were the best in the world at what they do yet were also unattainably cool, players such as, Baggio, Baresi, Batistuta, Gullit, Maldini and Signori to name just a handful.
The show was sadly dropped from out screens in the early 2000's after various networks tried to pick up on it and replicate the success but to no avail. It's fair to say Calcio has had a dip in it's fortunes in the intervening years too, with the riches of the Premier League now attracting the worlds finest players, the lure of La Liga and Bundersliga and the new riches on offer in France and Russia, Serie A has somewhat been left behind, not helped by the various match fixing, racism and violence scandals that have rocked it in recent years.
It may not reach the heights it scaled over twenty years ago but the beautiful game in Italy is still an intoxicating affair which provides one of the most absorbing operas in world football. And for Channel Four and the cult of Gazzetta, I salute you, I know I will never look back on a football show with quite as much affection as I had for yours.
During this period with Sky gobbling up all Premier League rights, the only other football on terrestrial TV was the lower leagues been played out on ITV after losing top flight football. It was a spectacular opening to the coverage of Calcio, one beyond even the wildest dreams of the chief execs at television production company Chrysalis. A thrilling 3-3 draw between Sampdoria and Lazio was played out in front of over three million viewers and that was just the start. A week later, Pescara were defeated by Europe's most feared, AC Milan in an enthralling nine goal bonanza, at the same time as Derby County were entertaining Bristol City over on ITV, granted there was seven goals that day at the Baseball Ground but Marco Gabbaldini was always going to be a tough sell when MarcoVan Basten was merely a click away.
The highlights show on a Saturday morning featuring presenter James Richardson, as always sat outside some little upmarket coffee house in the local Piazza, ushered in a new era of football presenting, proving that they could be both witty and intelligent without adhering to a tired cliché or type (back then, Sky's Keys and Gray were just a younger version of Saint & Greavsie but with more hair), and of course there was the legendary guest spots featuring stars such as Gianluca Vialli pretending to be anyone but himself, Attilo Lombardo performing a surreal version of the dance, the Lambada, Mr Nice, David Platt sending himself up dressed as the Terminator and of course let's not forget Gazza's various madcap antics. (If this all sounds quite frankly bizarre and you failed to witness them first time around, I urge you to look them up on YouTube, you won't be disappointed!).
Ultimately it was the main event on a Sunday afternoon that will forever hold the fondest memories for myself and a generation of armchair football fans. Sitting down in front of the TV set, the moment the now classic goal celebration call, Golazzo! first burst threw the speakers, you were instantly transported to another altogether much more romantic place where the football was played out in a crescendo of noise and colour in a haze of smoke as the fans and ultras competed with each other in a competition all of its own, to see who could provide the most vocal and passionate support to their respective teams.
And then there was the names, from the teams such as European giants, Juventus and AC Milan to the quite magical Internazionale and Fiorentina, playing out matches in epic arenas such as the San Siro and Stadio Del Alpi, all featuring players who were the best in the world at what they do yet were also unattainably cool, players such as, Baggio, Baresi, Batistuta, Gullit, Maldini and Signori to name just a handful.
The show was sadly dropped from out screens in the early 2000's after various networks tried to pick up on it and replicate the success but to no avail. It's fair to say Calcio has had a dip in it's fortunes in the intervening years too, with the riches of the Premier League now attracting the worlds finest players, the lure of La Liga and Bundersliga and the new riches on offer in France and Russia, Serie A has somewhat been left behind, not helped by the various match fixing, racism and violence scandals that have rocked it in recent years.
It may not reach the heights it scaled over twenty years ago but the beautiful game in Italy is still an intoxicating affair which provides one of the most absorbing operas in world football. And for Channel Four and the cult of Gazzetta, I salute you, I know I will never look back on a football show with quite as much affection as I had for yours.
Thursday 15 August 2013
Is Moyes Witchhunt Justified?
Only days remain before the start of the new Premier League season and finally we can put an end to all the talk and hype surrounding the non transfers of Bale, Rooney and Suarez and actually finally get down to the real business of football actually been played somewhere sometime.
Experts are falling over themselves to herald the start of a new era, which in many ways it is, particularly at Old Trafford where there will be a new man in the dugout for the first time since November 1986, to the younger readers amongst you, to put that into context, back then when Fergie took over, an apple was a mere piece of fruit not a life sapping technological revolution, FIFA was the governing body of world football not a life sapping computer game.. I think you can see where I'm going with this, it was quite a long time ago etc etc, whilst down old King's Road, it really isn't a start of a new ear as Mourinho returns for a second coming and an emotional reunion with an oil baron and the ever charming Mr Terry, oh you lucky man Jose.
But it's the new man at Manchester United, one has to feel for. As if following the most successful club manager of all time wasn't quite a big enough challenge, poor ol'Dave has had media and public alike lining up to take swipes at him, mock him and predict a new unprecedented period of doom and gloom for the Red Devils.
But looking at the facts, it's quite hard to really see what the Scotsman has done so dramatically wrong, ill advised moves for Thiago and Fabregas were always doomed, one was desperate to leave Barca to join his old boss elsewhere whilst the latter was so eager to join up at Camp Nou only a couple of years ago, its hard to see him leaving the sunny climes of Catalan anytime soon. And let's remember he has inherited the Rooney saga, and how does one exactly solve a problem like Wayne, apparently he wanted to leave at the end of the last season when Moyes was still in charge up the road at Everton, offers have come in from Chelsea although you do wonder if that's Mourinho's idea of trying to get the ball rolling on the mind games now 'the boss' of those has left the building, Rooney himself has been playing the poker card all summer and said well absolutely nothing to be exact. Throw in a new chief exec to deal with, Ed Woodward, who unfortunately for Moyes, is not the sophisticated, smart, business and football savvy one in David Gill that Ferguson was able to call upon but a shiny suit man from across the pond with a, ahem, shall we say limited football knowledge.
On the whole it's been a peaceful summer for Mourinho to return in, Pelligrini has quietly come in at Manchester City via the back door, spent close to £100m and hardly made a headline yet everyday in the papers, online and on TV, the cynics are circling the very air that David Moyes breathes ready and waiting to say I told you so, when he doesn't win every trophy available in his first season, is it because he is isn't a rent-a-quote like Mourinho?, is it because he doesn't ooze Mediterranean charm and sophistication like Pelligrini?, is it because he is clearly obsessive and lives for three o'clock Saturday afternoon (or morning, noon or night depending on whether your watching Sky or BT) or is it simply because he's British? Controversial thought maybe but it's got to be said we do seem to enjoy kicking down our sport stars in this country the moment they enjoy a little success or their earned riches.
No questions it is going to be a tough start and season for Moyes at Old Trafford but this isn't a sympathy call for the tough Glaswegian, he can expect little care from his old friends at Anfield and rightly so, but he deserves a little time and patience from everyone with a care for the national game on these isles', after all don't we all like to see the so called experts proven wrong once every so often..
Experts are falling over themselves to herald the start of a new era, which in many ways it is, particularly at Old Trafford where there will be a new man in the dugout for the first time since November 1986, to the younger readers amongst you, to put that into context, back then when Fergie took over, an apple was a mere piece of fruit not a life sapping technological revolution, FIFA was the governing body of world football not a life sapping computer game.. I think you can see where I'm going with this, it was quite a long time ago etc etc, whilst down old King's Road, it really isn't a start of a new ear as Mourinho returns for a second coming and an emotional reunion with an oil baron and the ever charming Mr Terry, oh you lucky man Jose.
But it's the new man at Manchester United, one has to feel for. As if following the most successful club manager of all time wasn't quite a big enough challenge, poor ol'Dave has had media and public alike lining up to take swipes at him, mock him and predict a new unprecedented period of doom and gloom for the Red Devils.
But looking at the facts, it's quite hard to really see what the Scotsman has done so dramatically wrong, ill advised moves for Thiago and Fabregas were always doomed, one was desperate to leave Barca to join his old boss elsewhere whilst the latter was so eager to join up at Camp Nou only a couple of years ago, its hard to see him leaving the sunny climes of Catalan anytime soon. And let's remember he has inherited the Rooney saga, and how does one exactly solve a problem like Wayne, apparently he wanted to leave at the end of the last season when Moyes was still in charge up the road at Everton, offers have come in from Chelsea although you do wonder if that's Mourinho's idea of trying to get the ball rolling on the mind games now 'the boss' of those has left the building, Rooney himself has been playing the poker card all summer and said well absolutely nothing to be exact. Throw in a new chief exec to deal with, Ed Woodward, who unfortunately for Moyes, is not the sophisticated, smart, business and football savvy one in David Gill that Ferguson was able to call upon but a shiny suit man from across the pond with a, ahem, shall we say limited football knowledge.
On the whole it's been a peaceful summer for Mourinho to return in, Pelligrini has quietly come in at Manchester City via the back door, spent close to £100m and hardly made a headline yet everyday in the papers, online and on TV, the cynics are circling the very air that David Moyes breathes ready and waiting to say I told you so, when he doesn't win every trophy available in his first season, is it because he is isn't a rent-a-quote like Mourinho?, is it because he doesn't ooze Mediterranean charm and sophistication like Pelligrini?, is it because he is clearly obsessive and lives for three o'clock Saturday afternoon (or morning, noon or night depending on whether your watching Sky or BT) or is it simply because he's British? Controversial thought maybe but it's got to be said we do seem to enjoy kicking down our sport stars in this country the moment they enjoy a little success or their earned riches.
No questions it is going to be a tough start and season for Moyes at Old Trafford but this isn't a sympathy call for the tough Glaswegian, he can expect little care from his old friends at Anfield and rightly so, but he deserves a little time and patience from everyone with a care for the national game on these isles', after all don't we all like to see the so called experts proven wrong once every so often..
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