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.
