Everyone remembers where they were on 9th of July 2006. I was at home, about a foot from the TV screen, over the moon that extra time meant there was another thirty minutes left of my first World Cup Final. And then, as was so often the case, the voice of John Motson narrated another key moment in my footballing education.
There was initial confusion as Mark Lawrenson thought it was David Trezeguet who had put his head into Matarazzi, but the replays showed us all what really happened.
“The referee has gone across now and his hand is in his pocket, he’s been told about it. He’s off, it’s red, it’s Zidane,” cried Motson, as much in disbelief as the rest of us.
I was in a daze for at least a day afterwards. I was only 9 at the time but I understood what this meant. Years of watching my own beloved Nottingham Forest play had taught me to appreciate it when a player of Zidane’s quality was free to watch on the BBC. And now he was gone. Forever. But I was obsessed.
What has fed this piece, however, was the realisation of just how little I actually understood about Zinedine Zidane; and the question of how much of this footballing paradox anyone can really understand.