Bernabéu bids farewell to first galáctico

Amid the extravagance, hullabaloo and joviality, Sid Lowe watches Zinedine Zidane bow out of Madrid as only the Frenchman could: timidly, awkwardly and without a hint of arrogance

Party time in Spain. There are still some things to play for, and there's still a week to go in La Liga - although no one quite knows when that will be, what with the league and the Federation being a pair of bumbling, incompetent amateurs - but all over the country this weekend was watershed time; a weekend of pitch invasions, celebrations and send-offs, of triumph and tears, fiestas and funerals.

A weekend when 98,000 gleeful culés packed the Camp Nou to see Frank Rijkaard speak Catalan, Henrik Larsson play his last home game for the club, and embarrassed Espanyol hand Barcelona a humiliating guard of honour and an easy 2-0 victory. A weekend when over a million more packed the streets to greet the league champions and their open-topped bus; when Amadeo Carboni departed Valencia to fireworks, a captain and a hero at the age of 41; and when Cádiz's fans took to the Coliseum - and took to the bottle - for another party despite their side going down to the Second Division. A weekend when Athletic Bilbao rescued their ever-present status in Spain's top division and Racing, Real Sociedad, Mallorca and Betis also avoided the drop with a week to spare, leaving just Espanyol and Alavés to fight over the last relegation slot.

A weekend, above all, when one of football's all-time greats danced his last waltz. And did so in style. His style. For, if there was something inevitable about Betis fans celebrating their survival by starting fires, Athletic saviour Javier Clemente taking pop shots at his enemies, Racing being rescued by Brylcreemed caretaker boss Nando Yosu, Mallorca being saved by Gregorio Manzano and Real Sociedad being dragged to safety by Mark González, the way Zinedine Zidane bowed out at the Santiago Bernabéu was classic Zidane.

Considered The Fifth Great in Spain, alongside Maradona, Di Stefano, Johan Cruyff and Pelé, Zidane arrived at Real Madrid in the summer of 2001, thanks to a napkin upon which then president Florentino Pérez had written "Do you want to play for Real Madrid?" and passed round a table at the Monte Carlo sports club - a napkin upon which Zidane then wrote "Yes", in English, and passed back. He also arrived thanks to 78m euros of course, and this weekend, after 214 games and five seasons at Real Madrid, after scoring the winner in the 2002 European Cup final, Zidane was set to play his final game at the Bernabéu. And Real Madrid were set to pay homage.

Zidane shirts were everywhere, giant screens replayed his greatest moments as a Madrid player, and banners offering thanks were dotted all over the stadium, one pleading: "Ref, don't blow the final whistle; that will be the signal for Zidane to leave us." Images of his goal from Glasgow were everywhere - an image already abused beyond belief, the subject of a lamentable piece of artwork adorning the Madrid boardroom and even more lamentable "lifel-ike" figures of the Frenchman, which somehow sell (or, more accurately, don't sell) for 30 euros a go in the club shop. As the two teams ran on to the pitch, Madrid's shirts were stitched with "Zidane, 2001-2005" and the entire stadium turned white as fans held up a paper mosaic. Over in the directors' box, meanwhile, Pérez was back playing the Don.

Yes, it was a special occasion alright. Despite the fact that, tired of Madrid's failure and struggling physically, it really was time for Zidane to retire; he has been wonderful to watch, a footballer with a touch, class and elegance that no other player has ever matched. And yet, he has always been a strange kind of galáctico, a reluctant star and even more reluctant loser. An elegant ballet dancer, capable of ludicrous skills and flicks, like the time he pirouetted round the keeper and, Pelé style, missed an open goal, he is none the less far from flash. A man with a statesman-like presence, Zidane has a quiet authority about him but it is just that - quiet.

Which is why last night was typical Zidane. It was as if all the operatic splendour, the pomposity and adulation embarrassed him. Which it almost certainly did. It was as if celebrating amidst failure shamed him. Which it, too, almost certainly did. "If Madrid had carried on winning, he would not have retired yet," said former coach Vicente Del Bosque while one columnist added, "if Madrid were a team rather than a deformed foetus, he would have stayed". The Ultra Sur's second-half show said it all: they put together a beach scene mosaic and a banner that read "after a year of holidays for you lot, now it's our turn," then spent the rest of the game playing with rubber rings, lilos and inflatable sharks.

For all the ceremony, the banners and the scoreboard projections - which, by half-time had given way to credit cards and talking sausages - Zidane bowed out of Madrid Zidane-style. Timidly, awkwardly, humbly. Without a hint of arrogance. By scoring a goal in a magnificently open match (a goal which Raúl, desperate after a 16-game drought, very nearly took off him), by departing with three minutes left, almost embarrassedly applauding the fans as he left, and by waiting quietly, patiently in the tunnel to swap shirts with Juan Román Riquelme. Above all, by needing to be literally pushed back out on to the pitch, where David Beckham was still alone in the centre-circle applauding the fans, to receive a huge ovation before turning, head down, a tear in his eye, and departing the Bernabéu for the last time, slipping quietly away from the stadium without a word.