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Zidane comes to the rescue of average Cup

Thrill in this Cup has been superseded by disappointment, writes Rohit Brijnath

Alfred De Stefano once suggested that Zinedine Zidane plays as if "he had silk gloves on each foot". Considering the Frenchman's sophisticated performance against Brazil, we presume they are Ferragamo. More pertinently, in the gloved feet of Zidane lies the redemption of this Cup.

Zidane can pass a ball, an act of utter simplicity, yet infuse it with elegance. He will pirouette gracefully and disappear with the ball and leave a player confronting thin air. Occasionally opponents appear to be on the verge of applause.

His technique is so sure that it seems you could hurl a wrecking ball at him from 60 metres and he will ensure it collapses gently on contact with his instep. His skills are not foreign to us, yet he has surprised us.

He had in 2004 pulled off his French shirt, an international retirement that confirmed he knew his skills were fading. How incredible then has been this resurrection, for ageing athletes do not abruptly reassume their powers. And how ironic, for like an aging art restorer he has returned to the Cup its beauty, a feat beyond the imaginations of his youthful peers.

This Cup has cried for player like Zidane. Football's position as the greatest game is intact, yet at this Cup, this celebration of the sport, it has not adequately advertised its virtues.

No doubt Italian stubbornness has a familiar appeal, Germany's enlightenment (it is not illegal to play attacking football, they have discovered) has delighted, and Ghana's rugged style has charmed. But thrill in this Cup has been superseded by disappointment.

Great matches, where teams produce both duel and duet, have been few. So far only Argentina-Mexico has fitted that description. Portugal and Holland brawled, and Spain and Brazil were not allowed to play by France. England bored. It mostly does.

Baffling surrender

Argentina's performance was filled with music and menace, but its surrender of momentum and method against Germany was baffling, matadors abruptly losing their nerve. Against Serbia five goals were insufficient, here one they tried to defend!

For once the exit of Brazil was unworthy of mourning. The playing of Ronaldo, and the allowing of a blast-and-hope Roberto Carlos to take free kicks, suggested a team where seniority overrode sense. Never was Ronaldinho given the keys to this team, as he is in Barcelona, as if amidst so much ego, one man could not be allowed centre stage.

Goals have pleased us, two from Argentina in particular (an orchestra hitting its high note in the second goal against Serbia, and Rodriguez's swooping kick), but none has propelled us out of our seats, no one creation of individual excellence, no touch, swivel, three-man dribble masterpiece to stand alongside Maradona 1986 and Baggio 1990.

Only stuttering cameos

Perhaps one asks too much in the matter of goals; but surely, at a Cup, we are due at least a few leading men instead of stuttering cameos from $150,000-a-week players. There have been fleeting acts of beauty, Riquelme's casual art, Ribery who seems inspired by his team's visits to art galleries on off days, the wonderfully titled Zambrotta, but not one player has threatened to steal this Cup.

Ballack (prior to the semifinals), Raul, Ronaldinho, Adriano, Van Nistelrooy, Shevchenko, Cristian Ronaldo, Messi (if Pekerman played him, who knows), Rooney, Lampard, how many names are required, how much proof of form not meeting reputation.

Some heroes hiccupped, others were revealed as phoneys (other sports are sneering at diving, as if football is too precious). Amidst all this, the Cup has desperately needed an adornment. And Zidane, his face as lean as a murderous Cassius, has come strolling to the rescue.

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