It was April 23, 2005 in Estadio Bernabéu and for 90 minutes, we were there with Zinedine Zidane in spirit. You could hear the grass squeak under his cleats, the rustle of his maillot, his heartbeat, his breath, his comments.
You could see Zizou, drenched in sweat, the slight quiver of his tired limbs, and his expressions. For those 90 minutes, I almost forgot where I was when I realised how strange it was that being so close to him, I could not smell his breath.

When the screen blurred or when the shots followed the ball, I wished I could close my eyes to hear the game, the noise of the crowd, and imagine myself in the stands, but I didn’t want to lose sight of Zizou, as this may be the only moment for me to be this close to him.

You see him aloof but alert. You see him make a run for the ball as a lion would his prey. Being so close then, you not only see his movements, but you also try to see what it is he is seeing. But the directors were considerate to us for a couple reasons. One, they did give us some insight into Zizou’s mind, his reality. And two, they would quickly revert to a blurry television shot of the match -- that gave us relief from Zizou’s intense presence, but what they did not realise was just as quickly as you get back to Zizou’s close-up, your emotions come back just as strongly.

As with most sports, you live that game you are watching. But being so close on the pitch, that feeling is magnified. When things aren’t going well for the team, you see Zizou’s expression and you just have this really sad feeling. But, when things are going well, you’re so wrought in emotions that you don’t even have the energy to cheer.

My memory is not very good to begin with. I honestly cannot remember if I had seen this game or not. There are many soccer matches I’ve seen, but can only remember for a moment. But seeing this game last night, seeing Zizou, reminded me of what I saw in 1998 – and of that year from those games, that’s the only thing I can remember: Zizou, 1998.

I suppose all great athletes have this innate knack of not only understanding the sport, but of also understanding the atmosphere. For me, it’s not only Zizou’s fluidity with the ball and of knowing where his teammates will be and predicting what the outcome will be. It’s that seeing him, I just have a greater appreciation for what footballers go through on the pitch and for the passionate beauty of the sport. He’s not just someone on the field kicking a ball, everything exuding from him on that field, is the sport. Even when the screen blurred, you knew which of those distant figures was Zizou.

Perhaps not everyone came out overwhelmed last night, but for me, the documentary was brilliant. The media mixtures, the music, even the headlines all came together and worked well. Coming into the exhibit at the Hirschhorn Museum in Washington, DC , there were probably five categories of people: the football fans, the Zizou fans, people who had nothing better to do, people who were curious, and people who just came because their friends were coming.

However, coming out of the exhibit, I hope each and every one of those people had a better sense of what soccer is all about and that Zizou is not just some athlete who was red-carded in the final minutes of the 2006 World Cup.

Rather, that they see why he is among the greatest athletes in the world.

What are YOUR abiding memories of Zinedine Zidane? Let Sportingo have your views.