Zinedine Zidane’s headbutt of Marco Materazzi has become something of a Rorschach test. In the face of his rash and perhaps inexplicable act, we pass judgment and attempt to find meaning. But, in the end, our accounts of his behavior reveal more about ourselves than they do about the incident itself.
The snarky fan of pop culture greets the headbutt sarcastically, seeing it as an opportunity for cheap laughs.
The reserved soccer purist hails it as tragedy, and bemoans the disgraced end of Zidane’s career.
The French-leaning fan awaits explanation — one that will come, apparently, later today. [update: here it is]
And the fan of the beautiful game rues the violence of the act, and condemns Zidane for a moral and ethical failure.
Of all these reactions, I find the last one — made in this case by Lindsay Beyerstein of Majikthise (though she is certainly not alone in her assessment) — to be the most grating, because it abstracts the incident from the specific context in which it occurred.
Although one might be hard-pressed to get Americans to agree, soccer is a violent sport. As fans, we tend to see the shoves, pushes, elbows, and spikings that routinely occur during games as aberrant acts, distateful sidenotes to the “real” action on the field.
But much of the game, at least on the professional level, involves that kind of physical contact. There is a game within the game, and it is one that all soccer players play: how much physical contact can one get away with without being called for a foul or receiving a card? Like it or not, moments of brute violence are part of the fabric of the sport.
Was Zidane’s headbutt so different from other acts of violence in the sport that he should be singled out for failing as “a captain, a sportsman, and a human being”? Think of Wayne Rooney stepping on Renaldo’s groin. Or think of a subtler foul — Peter Crouch’s goal against Trinidad & Tobago. Take a look at the video. Was Crouch’s violent hair-pull categorically less violent than Zidane’s headbutt? Or was it only less visible, less dramatic?
The difference, I think, has more to do with the position of the spectator and the nature of the spectacle than it does with the moral worth of the players involved.
To condemn Zidane as a human being is to turn a blind eye to the true nature of the game as it is played, rather than as it should exist on some Platonic level of existence.
Update: Here’s a terrific response to Lindsay’s posts, by Helmut at Phronesisaical, that addresses them on a philosophical level: Some thoughts on verbal taunting and violence. Helmut writes:
If we’re using a notion such as proportionality to think about the relation between verbal abuse and physical reaction, it’s simply unclear that there are not proportional degrees of verbal abuse and physical violence. Lindsay wants to draw a clearcut line there by abstracting from context. This move works only in the cool confines of the academic classroom.
Go on and read the rest.
10 Comments on "The Spectacle of Zidane"
potato:
You’re right, you don’t magically leave your experience of life behind you when you run onto a football field. If Zidane had been an educated English schoolboy I’m sure he’d have retorted to the insult using some combination of Euripides and the quotes of Churchill, but the fact is that Zidane grew up a street fighter and answered in the way he knew how.
Rod:
I’m not sure what kind of fan this makes me, but I am finding myself completely sympathetic to Zidane. I’ve been wanting to headbutt most of the Italian and Portuguese players for the last month for their histrionics and playacting, not to mention whatever verbal taunts that might have taken place that we couldn’t hear or decipher.
This is going to sound weird, because I’m going to sound like Camus or some other kind of Existentialist from long ago, but I’d been longing for some kind of authentic action at the World Cup and this was really it. A headbutt. Something real. Not rolling around on the ground pretending to be hurt, not fucking around holding someone’s shirt or holding one’s hands in mock prayer or outrage to explain away some petty act of cheating or deception, but actual physical retaliation which says, “You know what, fuck you. I’ve had enough of this.”
I’m not ashamed of this position yet, but I’m sure I will be before long. For the time being, though, I’m saying, Zidane cut through the bullshit and I’m glad of it.
Matt:
In an earlier version of this post, Rod, I linked to Barthes’ description of wrestling:
This function of grandiloquence is indeed the same as that of ancient theater, whose principle, language and props (masks and buskins) concurred in the exaggeratedly visible explanation of a Necessity. The gesture of the vanquished wrestler signifying to the world a defeat which, far from disguising, he emphasizes and holds like a pause in music, corresponds to the mask of antiquity meant to signify the tragic mode of the spectacle. In wrestling, as on the stage in antiquity, one is not ashamed of one’s suffering, one knows how to cry, one has a liking for tears.
Your description of the playacting that filled most of the World Cup games reminds me of that. There was a sense in which the real contest was between the players and the referees. And the best actors often won.
I feel as though all of this post-game rending of garments is part of the same spectacle. We’ve blown the incident up, exaggerated its proportions. Those few seconds of time now eclipse everything else that happened during the tournament.
You’re not alone in thinking of Camus. Roger Cohen has a column in the NY Times titled Camus and Zidane Offer Views on How Things End. It’s behind the TimesSelect wall, but here’s a snippet:
Zidane, it seems, lost his head. Or perhaps he kept his head and chose to write a coda to his story that would have all the complexity of a great novel. Perhaps he sought an almost unseen act of anger that would prompt a global, virtual argument about the merits or demerits of a gesture without sense.
I do not know. Nor do I believe we will ever know. Whatever comes out will remain inconsequential beside the act itself, this violence in a 21st- century glare, this strange and stimulating ending.
howard:
I didn’t want to admit it, but since you point out the violence that’s present in soccer (in any level higher than pre-adolescent leagues), I feel compelled to admit that I’m not sure what Zidane did amounts to that much more than some of the frustration fouls committed in some of the matches I was in back in high school.
If he was my teammate, or if it that had been my team he let down, I’d probably be angry, but neither of those situations is applicable, so I’m can’t see being too wound up about it.
It was certainly worth a red card, but unless FIFA is going to seriously look into what was or wasn’t done to provoke it, I don’t see the infraction as being worth too much more hand-wringing.
Rod:
And I can’t help remembering that Figo only got a yellow card for his headbutt. And Figo’s headbutt somehow makes me much more upset than Zidane’s. I think I need some counselling.
Karl:
Fact: I am not a soccer fan. I lose cool points I know. Then again, I am only a mild fan of any sport except football and basketball. If there was a Philadelphia soccer team, I’d root it on. Otherwise, bleh.
Fact: If someone insulted me and my family like that, in any face to face scenario, they’d have to receive more then a head butt.
The wrestling fan in me said ‘good form’.
And that’s from little ‘ol peace lovin’ me keep in mind.
Matt:
Hold on a second, Rod — didn’t Zidane and Figo exchange jerseys after the semi-final match? And didn’t Zidane not just take Figo’s jersey, but put it on?
I think I’m beginning to understand what happened — it was a “Freaky Friday” kind of thing.
@Karl: And his mother was in the hospital, too, when the incident happened:
source (via)
In his interview, Zidane said:
Materazzi had this to say:
Matt:
Check out this comment on Tony Karon’s Rootless Cosmopolitan blog:
What slur did the devious Mozaratti whisper in the ear of the French Moorish General? What was so awful that defending his honor was more important then winning the war? What key elevated human failings over gamesmanship?
The symbolism is undeniable: Othello and Iago duel again, and again, the dark star loses. Only those with limited imaginations see this as simply one more example of poor sportsmanship. A good playwright would engrave Zidane’s tragic flaw to the historic levels of Julius Caesar and Brutus. The Machiavellian Latin versus the heroic Everyman; the possibilities are endless.
Think how different our history would be If Caesar had possessed a stunning head butt to counter the knife blade in the hands of ‘friends’.
So don’t worry about the kiddie’s sense of sportsmanship. This morality play contains endless opportunities for learning about honor and winning at any cost. Typical soccer would have seen Zidane walk away, and then on the next play ‘accidentally’ cripple Mozaratti. No one would have called that extreme or unsportsmanlike. Only Mozaratti would know he owned Zidane’s soul.
Instead, in a scene out of High Noon, the hero turns; faces the bad guy; looks him in the eye and shoots him down. Then he accepts his punishment without comment and leaves the stage. What more could we ask of these footballers then some of the greatest real life drama in the world?
Where is the dramatist to enshrine this moment in the world’s best literature? Shakespeare, we really need you now. Or maybe we just need a great Director to stage Othello in Football shirts and shorts…
Posted by Carol | July 11th, 2006 4:08 pm
Angie:
Have you seen these video versions? :)
http://www.theregister.co.uk/2006/07/13/zidane_headbutt_outrage/
Matt:
That’s hilarious, Angie.
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