ZINEDINE'S PAVANE

Sometimes I feel about as subtle as a tabloid headline pun-maker when writing my Digital Renegade pieces from random jeu de mots that occasionally spring to mind and inspire my themes. Now I may be really stretching today's one but as I like the sound of it and the way it looks written down, I would attempt to force the connection between a slow processional dance and an ex-superstar footballer.

First, I should explain why, aside from the obvious homophone deployed above in the title, I've decided to attempt this conceptual dance of my own. Back in 1998 the BBC produced an exquisite opening credit sequence for their World Cup coverage which was being held that year in France.

The montage, featuring the greatest players throughout the history of football as they're reflected in the mirrors, wine glasses and on the surfaces of napkins and vintage wine labels of a French bistro, is genius and a long way from the type of generic intro rubbish we get these days that routinely fail to attempt anything anywhere near as imaginative or moving.

And it was, I suppose, my first introduction to Faure's 'Pavane' in F Sharp Minor (1887) which became a sort of Classic FM favourite ever since, though miraculously the composition has somehow maintained its sense of elegant mystery regardless of its now more overplayed 'chocolate box' status.

Football and Faure became, for many who watched that year, intertwined in much the same way as 'Nessun Dorma' did in the Italia 1990 World Cup where Pavarotti's iconic rendition of Puccini's aria from his opera 'Turandot' probably did a hundred times more for his national country's reputation than if Italy had won the actual World Cup (which they didn't).

1998 was also, of course, Zinedine Zidane's breakthrough World Cup and notable for a resurgent French national team as the destiny of both were entwined for at least another eight years until the midfielder's infamous head-butt in the 2006 World Cup Final against Italy's Marco Materazzi got him sent off and cast against type as a (sort of) villain. The mysterious midfielder had flashpoints of violence in games before which, if anything, only added to his enigma. Most of the time Zidane appeared to be like a Franciscan monk who had undertaken a vow of silence and who had taken to the field after making his descent from a monastery high up somewhere in the distant mountains. He seemed otherworldly, like a character from Tarkovsky's 'Stalker' or an Umberto Eco novel.

It was also in that same 2006 World Cup tournament that I believe we saw the greatest displays of Zidane's on-field sorcery. Having been persuaded out of retirement to captain his team and missing out on playing the third game of the group stage (due to collecting two yellow cards), France's fate appeared to hang in the balance as they prayed for the tonsured magician's full magic to return and carry them to the exalted heights of the last sixteen, quarter and semi finals and ultimately the final.

What I distinctly remember about the 2006 quarter final in particular was how it seemed as if Zidane was single handedly able to beat all eleven men of the Brazilian national team with his own distinct form of football witchcraft. There were times during that game where it genuinely seemed as if he was carrying some kind of cosmic stop watch allowing him to simply pause time while he considered his next pass or chipped cross similar similar to Professor X in 'X-Men'. The ball throughout the full 90 minutes appeared stuck like a magnet to his feet and no amount of second guessing by the opposition knew quite how to deprive him of it. Often, while watching Zidane back then, he appeared to have an impenetrable force field surrounding him - what scientists called 'peripersonal space' where the ball was protected in his orbit like a miniature planet.

It was an exhilarating turnaround for France who had been slow to find form in their first two group games which they had drawn before finally securing three points against Togo in the third game which set up a thrilling second round contest with Spain where the legend of 'Zizou' reappeared like Gandalf the White to cast spells all across the field to help France win conclusively 3-1. France were returning to vintage form, thanks to their talisman and genius-in-chief.

France's quarter final against Brazil distilled the essence of what Zidane was as a player, a sort of transcendent dance of feints, drag backs and stepovers. He seemed alone at times, playing in his own isolated sphere but could equally see everyone else around him from opposition players to teammates making him as influential a team player as anyone in the history of the game. This oscillation between individual brilliance and visionary selflessness stood him apart from many of his peers. Even some of the stars of the Brazil squad including Gilberto Silva, Roberto Carlos, Ronaldinho and Kaka seemed entranced by what they were witnessing in front of them.

And always when I saw him, I couldn't escape hearing Faure's pavane playing in my mind as if it had set the time signature for Zidane ever since 1998's World Cup. Of course, this was part creative projection by me but there are comparisons to be made here. A pavane was a popular dance in Renaissance Europe which symbolised grace and nobility and Zidane very much held both an air of grace and nobility in his style of playing on the field. Self-evidently, both the dance and the game depend upon movements, formations and co-ordination and both art forms are performed in front of audiences. But perhaps there is something even more poetic in this comparative analogy which has to do with the inherent state of grace needed to carry out such sublime movement and how that relates to the innate soul of the individual. Gabriel Faure's orchestration of his own pavane was fluid and powerful with a flowing sense of freedom in it that perfectly complimented the style of France's greatest player. Of course, Zidane probably didn't have a soundtrack playing in his mind while he was on the pitch but there was something truly symphonic about the way he conducted his game and in turn inspired his entire orchestra of teammates. I've often found that watching great players throughout the history of the beautiful game is like watching great dance or listening to sublime music. Each player from Best, Pele, Cruyff and Maradona had their own internal metronome that set their pace of play, ballet dancers of the turf and if you listen closely each has their own music. For me, George Best was undoubtedly the Beatles' 'Twist and Shout', Pele was a swaying samba by Jobim, Johan Cruyff was 17th century baroque music from the 'Dutch Golden Age' and Maradona was The Chacarera.

And of course, Zidane was Faure's Pavane.

It is said that 'music is the movement of sound to reach the soul' and I believe sublime movement can be music without sound that is informed by the soul.

Now if only we could get some proper intro sequences back again.