And so it is over…finishing on a low, high, or sour note depending on your point of view. Having watched the last final in a B & B on Inis Mór (no seriously) I decided - this time - to enjoy the last act in the company of friends.

Having settled in with the requisite beers and salty snacks, we flicked on RTÉ’s pre-match build-up wondering whether the hyper-critical panel might find something positive to say about the two teams. Dunphy obliged by describing Cannavaro as (unless my ears deceived me) one of the greatest defenders he’d ever seen, while Johnny Giles munched on a bit of humble pie for writing off the French at the start of the tournament. Sadly (and predictably) the good vibrations didn’t last.

If Sky Sports’ represent one end of the spectrum in terms of over-exuberant “bigging-up" of mediocre matches, then RTÉ definitely represent the other. While their straight-talking has often been refreshing and compelling, this competition has seen the grumpy and curmudgeonly aspects of their coverage come (excessively) to the fore. Too often the tone of the debate has tended towards what Thomas Haden Church’s character in Sideways memorably described as “neg-head, downer shit", with Giles and Ray Houghton the most guilty in terms of scowling and incredulous head-shaking.¹ You know that things are a bit on the negative side when it’s left to Liam Brady to lighten the mood…

Anyway, despite our reservations we started out in the company of George Hamilton and Houghton…before being encouraged to reach for the remote after suffering another bout of moaning and griping by the latter.

Back in the studio the general consensus was that it was a disappointing (even boring) match - with Brady being, once again, the sole dissenting voice: arguing that it was anything but boring (Bill), being (after all) the World Cup Final, with so much at stake for both teams etc.

One begins to wonder what - if anything - gives the RTÉ boys pleasure as they seem to be disappointed by practically everything. For me, you could only consider Sunday’s match a disappointment if you’d never watched any other World Cup finals. They’re always tense, edgy, and cautious affairs, and I actually thought that this year’s was the best (most compelling and dramatic) since 1986. That’s not to say it was a great match - judged by the criteria one might apply to apply to (say) a mid-week premiership encounter² - but it was definitely an above average final (at the very least).

There was disappointment to be had of course, most of it centring around the astonishing and bizarre final appearance of the grand master Zinedine Zidane. In a tournament where he’d defied age, fading talent, and low levels of expectation, his extraordinary penalty kick looked like ensuring an exit scripted for/by romantics. It’s hard to think of a single player in world football who - presented with such a gift (it looked a very soft penalty) - would have chosen to flirt with disaster and ignominy so outrageously. Even seasoned Zizou watchers must have been rubbing their disbelieving eyes as (in a moment of demented self-confidence) he decided to gently chip the ball straight down the middle of Buffon’s goal. It turned out (of course) to be a "Panenka" (the Czech player who won Euro 1972 with a similar trick - see below) but it was mere inches from being a "Crouch".

Still, we chuckled at the time, "That’s Zizou for you!"…he doesn’t have to observe the conventions of lesser mortals. In the light of what happened later, however, it became tempting to read that penalty as indicative of a curious/unsettled state of mind…impetuosity with an edge of hysterical/perverse recklessness. While such a reading sails dangerously close to the often tiresome musings of overwrought "literary" sports writing, there’s something about Zidane - uniquely inscrutable and (ahem) "transcendent" as he is - that invites this kind of speculation. John Lichfield (in The Independent) went so far as to suggest that Zizou’s moment of lunatic aggression against Marco Materazzi might even have been some form of reaction against his iconic status as "a symbol for the reconciliation of the racial divisions of France and, by extension, the world". As Lichfield put it:

It was almost as if Zizou made a conscious decision, before one billion people, to retire, not just from football, but from the Zidane legend.

An interpretation too far perhaps…but hey, they don’t say things like that about you and me!

The image of the final for me however, was not Zidane’s mad, bullish charge at Materazzi, but rather the amazing serenity of (player of the tournament) Fabio Cannavaro as he watched his side’s penalties fly in. The ‘boyish’ glee with which he and his team-mates greeted Grosso’s decisive kick was slightly less stoic, but completely infectious all the same. Italy may have retreated somewhat into their old catenaccio shells as the game progressed, but over the course of the tournament they’ve shown more than enough ambition and commitment to make them worthy champions.

As for Zizou…well…in the long run his moment of madness might (strangely) make him an even more fondly-remembered figure - showing, as it did, that (even among the sporting gods) there are moments where cracks appear in apparently perfect surfaces. He’s still the second greatest player I’ve ever seen play live (after the bould Diego) and his sins will gladly be forgiven - I’m sure - by the majority of football-lovers worldwide.

1. Well, maybe not Giles…as he has one of the most static heads on TV. [back]
2. Or any league game of comparatively little importance. [back]