World Cup Final: World Cup finals should be like an elegant word placed at the end of the last line of the last verse of an epic poem. The word should be just right and when it is read there should be no choice but to pause in wonder as all that has gone before makes sweet sense.

There are lots of bad poems out there and there have been lots of poor World Cup finals. France and Italy brought old European values and a sense of romance to Berlin last night and they had the class to attempt some poetry. It ended, though, in a scream, a guttural howl out of sync with everything that went before. It ended with an Italian World Cup victory, delivered through the medium of perfectly-taken penalties. It ended but there's lots more we will be hearing about.

Zizou! We had reason to think early on that Zinedine Zidane had iced water in his veins and that having iced water flowing through your veins is a mixed blessing. Zinédine Zidane with the world peering over his shoulder placed the ball on the penalty spot and decided - for a lark perhaps - to chip Gianluigi Buffon from the penalty spot. He succeeded, dinking the ball in the air as Buffon leapt excitedly away to his right. The ball hit the crossbar, bounced down over the line and up onto the crossbar again. The big screen showed the trace of anxiety in Zizou's dark eyes as he followed the bounce.

It was an astonishing penalty but Zidane's last international appearance won't be remembered for that. In the second period of extra-time having tussled with Marco Materazzi, the uncomplicated Italian defender, Zidane trotted ahead, turned like a bull in the corrida, and came at Materazzi, launching a vicious headbutt into the chest of the bigger man.

The world went crazy. The resident saint of the tournament had been caught on camera committing a horrendous assault, apparently in cold blood.

The man has form though. Zidane's career, since childhood, has been scarred by such moments. A scout watching him play for his boys' team Septemes once reassured himself that Zidane had what it took when he saw the youngster walk calmly across the width of the pitch and deliver a headbutt as retribution for an earlier tackle. He was sent off in successive Champions League matches in 2000 for acts of violence, one of them a headbutt.

Whatever the rap sheet last night brought to an incredible end a career which had length and beauty enough to reach the sky. How the legacy of Zizou will be judged remains to be seen.

As for the Italians? They went a goal to nil down early on and from the neutral heart there came a small, muttered merci. An early Italian goal would have put the game on lockdown. Now the azzuri had to chase.

The equaliser duly came. Through this tournament Italy have somehow managed to provide when needed.

Their goals have come from every department and the synergy continued when Materrazzi headed home Andrea Pirlo's corner.

The game hung there for the taking and for a while both sides declined to grasp it. The balance of the first half was as dreary as a meaningless group game. We waited for the Italians to flow but they seemed cramped with tentativeness.

After the half-time tea the gloves came off and it was good to watch. Suddenly it felt like this could be the crowning game of a great tournament. The French, asked to wring just another 45 minutes from old limbs, gave us energy and verve, the Italians, feeling perhaps that there was no point in dawdling at the threshold of history, gave it back but in lesser measure.

You could mark the moment the game changed. With 15 minutes left Italy were awarded a free about 30 yards out straight in front of the French goal. A current went around the crowd. Fifteen minutes. Something had to happen.

Some sensational deed had to separate the sides. Pirlo swished the free just past Fabien Barthez' right post but the excitement continued to roll around the stadium in waves. Endgame!

It was the French who rose to the moment. The game became a succession of assaults on the Italian goal as the French pawed and mauled their old adversaries without drawing blood. We had forgotten the depth and quality of this French squad so busy have we been describing their fractured and antique state. With Vieira gone early in the second half through injury, Alou Diarra stepped in and ran midfield with such graceful competence that Viera wasn't missed.

Right through the field the French began to ooze quality. The ball flowed up and down the wings , Henry was returned to his old sprite-like self. Makelele stormed the tackles with a vigour that matched that of Gennaro Gattuso The French owned the ball and looked like a side desperate to finish the business before extra time took it's toll on their legs. The goal never came though.

Into extra-time the pattern continued. France pushing and pushing, exploring for an Italian weakness. Tasty crosses went unmet, balls scuffed wide, mazy dribbles reached cul de sacs. The Italians were patient. Fabio Cannavaro was majestic, Zambrotta tigerish, Materazzi (whatever his role in the Zidane incident) played well and bravely.

And then one of those moments of World Cup history. Zizou and out. As the familiar bald head walked bowed down the steps and out of the World Cup you knew the French dream had ended. The moral balance had shifted.

The Italians playing against a backdrop of domestic soccer scandal will scarcely care about the post mortems ad investigations. They came through the entire tournament conceding just two goals, an own goal and a penalty and scoring twelve.

So it's over, bar the shouting of which there will be much. The Azzurri take the most astonishing final in decades. The fat lady sings and the bald guy leaves by the back door. Who says they don't make them like they used to?