Zizou - A Tribute

 'Zidane!!! OH! OH! OH!'

I took a pretty hard-lined (if tongue-in-cheek) approach the other day on a blog, and am still feeling the aftershocks now. Some people agreed – but a vast majority didn’t. Oh well, all publicity is good publicity even if it leaves some people incandescent with rage. Some were so furious, I could imagine their hands shaking as they howled obscenities at the screen. You’ve never seen so much bile and name calling – I just stood back and took in the, hateful, scene.

     You know, if I can change, and you can change…maybe the whole damn world can change?

    Anyway, today I am going to soften my Chelsea biased and celebrate someone that everyone can agree was, the bleedin’, cat’s pyjamas.

     I am English (yes I know, fantastic), but was raised in France for ten years (I remember it all: Chirac, the World Cup, and erm…wine? Fuck it), and someone that had a profound effect on me was Zinedine Zidane.

    Though, by the time he was celebrated as the best player in the world, he was no longer plying his trade in France. We incessantly talked about him along with Anelka, who must have been a wee bairn, and at the time he played for Les Girondins, our closest Ligue 1 team.

    By 1996 Zizou had disappeared to Juventus in a cheeky £3 million deal. It’s fair to say he did OK in his first year there, he won the Scudetto and Intercontinental Cup. He helped the Old Lady retain the Scudetto the following year, and managed to get to two Champions League finals only to be thwarted by Borussia Dortmund and Real Madrid (respectively).

      This brings us to 1998, and arguably the year that we all caught Zidaneitis (that sounds more like a venereal disease you need a fine toothcomb and white spirit to get rid of). The World Cup was being held in France and if you have had the pleasure of witnessing one being staged, you’ll agree that it isn’t just a celebration of football – it is a celebration of life and culture.

     It was sweltering, Ronaldo (the fat one, not the hairdresser Cristiano) was red hot, and England, unpredictably, went out on penalties in the quarters.

     France were outsiders, but there seemed to be a spark, the country was going nuts getting behind Les Bleus. But I had decided I was going to support Brazil after England’s exit, as it would have been unthinkable to support the French team. It has nothing to do with the players, it’s the nation.

    ANYWAY, Brazil made it through to the finals beating Holland on penalties. It was expected, but they never seemed to get into full gear that tournament. As ever, there is huge anticipation anytime a Brazilian steps anywhere an object that is, even remotely, spherical.

     France had a more nail biting route; Zizou was sent off in the group stages against Saudi Arabia leaving the playmaker suspended for two games. They then had to win in extra time against Paraguay, before facing Italy in the quarters and having to rely on penalties to see them through to the semis. There, they faced a tenacious and bewilderingly brilliant Croatian side. Who had only declared independence seven years prior and somehow managed a third place spot in the tournament (black slaps all round).

    But it was only the deranged Thuram, who had somehow managed to channel the Chi and score two, late, dramatic goals to drag France through, for the time, to the finals of the World Cup.

     Now remember – I was not supporting France, it’s something to do with the thousand years of hatred between England and them. So I was surprised when France, who had gone down to ten men, dismantled Brazil in a breezy final. In a Zidane inspired win, (who netted twice from his bonce) they lifted the World Cup for the first time in their history.

     The pandemonium was, well, pandemonium. The pundit famously shouted, ‘Putain on a gagner! Putain, putain, putain’.

     The equivalent of saying ‘Fucking hell, we’ve won! Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

     People were naming their children after the 98 squad and they were heroes, none more so than Zidane.

     It was later, in 2000 when the French team repeated their success, carrying over their winning confidence into the Euros, that Zidane was heralded as the best in the world.

     Real Madrid decided that they had to have a piece of the action and lodged what was, until now, the biggest transfer fee ever seen – A nut crunching £45 million big bucks (or 76 million in Euros).

     He went to make history for Los Blancos, winning five trophies, La Liga and Champions League amongst them.

    You could talk about his balletic movement on the field, his fiercely competitive nature, his excellent leadership, his signature roulette or the work he did for charities. You could also remember him as the quiet, scary one. You know, the one you saw in the final of the ‘06 World Cup (‘Holy fuck Zidane just twatted that guy in the chest!’)

     There are excellent documentaries on him, Zidane a 21^st Century Portrait, ranks highly. It follows him in a game that seems to highlight all of his characteristics – the discipline, skill, and team work as well as his explosive nature in a 90 minute game that focuses on his every move.

    For me, I like to remember him from this video. Just look at the chilled-out, skilled, motherfucker…

     I know there are a million things I have missed but this has taken long enough. Please feel free to leave a comment with any memories or omissions you think I have made.

T.C.S