She was in her mid seventies, and had long ago bid adieu to the beautiful Spanish features of her youth. She wore a hideous orange wig when she went out on the town, and sat around the house wearing nothing but giant underwear fashioned from more square feet of lace than a tablecloth. She took smoke breaks from her smoke breaks and had a habit of yelling unsolicited at no one in particular. I had arranged to rent a room from her in her tiny apartment in Madrid months in advance, without any information beyond the address. The price was right and the location was central. An easy sell.

My poor Spanish, her broken English and propensity for craziness made communication between the two of us strained. In fact, during the two months I lived there we had a grand total of three actual conversations. The first took place the day of my arrival, when we kindly introduced ourselves. The second conversation came several days later, when she informed me that I was not to use the telephone or television under any circumstances. The third discussion involved football.

I asked her near the end of my stay if she supported Real Madrid. She looked at me as if I had just asked her to assassinate the Pope, like I had offended her at some moral depth I could never really understand. She said through clinched teeth in a combination of English and Spanish, "I support Atletico Madrid. I HATE Real more than anything in the world." She then paused for several seconds before a childish smile crept across her face and she added, "But I love Zidane."

And I smiled back at her. And we laughed together for a minute or two while we mimicked the wizardry of Real Madrid midfielder Zinedine Zidane, affectionately referred to as Zizou. A balding, unassuming French footballer had done in fifteen seconds what two months living under the same roof could not; my elderly Spanish landlady and I shared something, a fleeting moment of understanding that defied age or nationality.

That Zinedine Zidane had this kind of effect on us never really surprised me. He has been perhaps the greatest player of his generation, and is one of those rare athletes that transcend his sport. One could sit in front of a television and watch soccer for the first time and recognize the genius in Zidane's play, that something that separates him from other players on the field.

There will be numerous soccer storylines playing out over the upcoming World Cup summer. Will Brazil or Argentina be able to spit into the wind of history and become the first South American side to win a World Cup on European soil since 1958? Will a dysfunctional English team be able to put aside managerial disaster and a history of lackluster performances to capitalize on their wealth of talent? Will Thierry Henry bolt London for warmer Catalan pastures? All of these stories are fascinating, but what will interest me most in the upcoming months will be the final bow of Zizou, who announced recently that he is hanging up those tricky boots of his after playing for France in Germany 2006.

For anyone who has seen Zidane play this season, his decision to retire won't come as a surprise. The maestro's play has deteriorated markedly this season, as years of injuries and fixture overload have finally worn him down. Never fleet of foot even at the height of his career, Zidane now looks downright slow on the pitch. Not even his nimble mind and incredible understanding of the game can mask his physical shortcomings these days. The deft flicks and brilliant passes that have always found his teammates in stride are now frequently intercepted by defenders or roll harmlessly into touch. Never prone to emotional outbursts on the field, Zidane's frustration at his own play and that of his Real Madrid teammates has caused him to break his poker face on numerous occasions this season. In short, he has been quite unlike the football magician the world has come to idolize.

However, the deterioration in his game is nothing to harp on.  Zidane will turn 34 during Germany 2006, which is a ripe old age for a world-class soccer player. It's time for him to go, and he's making the right decision to quit now. But what we have here is a fantastic opportunity, as sports fans, to watch a true great go out on his sport's largest stage, with everything to play for, and the hopes of an entire nation riding on his back.

This isn't going to be unfamiliar territory for Zidane. His professional exploits at giant clubs Inter Milan and Real Madrid are certainly well known. But Zidane will forever be remembered for his dominant performance in the 1998 World Cup, held in his native France. Zizou took a team of unproven young players on his back, leading by example and pushing his play to a level of brilliance few would have predicted going into the tournament. He capped his journey into the annals of legendary World Cup players with two goals in a 3-0 thumping of Brazil in the final. And just to prove his performance with the French team in 1998 was no fluke, Zidane carried the team to the European Championship just two years later. He's performed under this kind of pressure before, and it will be interesting to see just how much of that late 90's magic his aging legs can muster.

Zizou lifts the World Cup trophy in 1998 while an enraptured nation looks on.

But Zidane's popularity can't be explained merely in terms of his wins and losses. When he joined Real Madrid in 2001 from Inter Milan for a then record $65 million transfer fee, he was certainly expected to provide the historic club with big time hardware for its already overstuffed trophy room. Initially it looked like his tenure with the club would be astronomically successful. Along with his fellow "Galacticos," Zidane won the 2002 Champions League, the 2002 European Super Cup, and the 2003 Spanish League title. But the club has yet to win anything since. For a Real Madrid supporter, one season spent without winning a trophy is unacceptable. Two trophy-less campaigns, a disgrace. Three seasons without winning anything? Inconceivable.

Yet that is the reality facing the stumbling Madrilenos, and the supporters aren't happy about it one bit. Former club president Florentino Perez stepped down earlier this season amid ravenous calls from fans and the media for his job. The club will be searching for a high profile manager this summer, with names like lame duck England manager Sven-Goran Eriksson and current AC Milan boss Carlo Ancelotti being bandied about as possible replacements. David Beckham, Raul, Ronaldo, and Roberto Carlos can be counted among the growing list of superstar players rumored to be on the way out this summer. In short, heads are going to roll around the Bernabeu this summer. But throughout all the tumult and upheaval, and even before he announced his impending retirement, Zidane has avoided the rumor mill. And while other players who have made significant contributions at Real over the past few seasons will be run out of town on a rail, Zidane's time at the club was wildly celebrated in Madrid over the weekend as Zizou scored the second goal for his club in a 3-3 draw with Champions League semifinalist Villareal.

Zidane at work in a recent performance for Real Madrid. Real finished behind rivals Barcelona for the second straight season.

And it all goes back to that scene mentioned earlier. The scene that took place in that tiny, uncomfortable apartment in the bustling center of Madrid. The appeal of this player that everyone seems to admire. You only need to look at him to understand a lot of it. He looks less like a virile, world class athlete than he does a garbage man. He's been bald or balding as long as he has been famous. Despite being a millionaire many times over, and having a supermodel-caliber wife, Zidane has managed to maintain an "everyman" persona that appeals to sports fans across the globe. He has excelled at the highest level of international competition by consistently being the most creative and instinctive player on the field, making plays that no one else on the planet could make, simply because no one else on the planet would think to make them.

Nowhere has his appeal been more evident than during his days at Real Madrid. The supporters of the world's richest club are a spoiled, impatient lot. They arrive late for games, and the stands are littered with white haired old men who don't seem to be impressed by anything. I witnessed first-hand as plays on the field that amazed me got nothing more than snickers or soft applause from the crowd. These fans, old and young, have been born into a football tradition that has witnessed deified players like Puskas and DiStefano, and more titles than most clubs in Europe would know what to do with. You can see it in the haughty way they watch matches. But all this cynicism melted away when Zidane did anything. Every clever touch drew oohs from the crowd. The stubborn, white haired old men forgot about their inherent disgust with the modern game for a short time, and threw their hands in the air and shouted like they did when they were boys. This was the effect Zidane had on people. I hadn't been a fan of the game a long time at that point, but watching this magician play in person did everything to cement a personal lifelong passion. And I'm sure that each rapturous response he drew from the Real Madrid faithful throughout the years went a long way toward reinforcing their love for a sport that is so distinctly important in their lives.

So if you've never had the pleasure of watching Zidane play, take advantage of the extensive television coverage of this summer's World Cup to catch him before he's gone for good. And if you're a passionate football supporter, make sure you catch his antics one last time. He'll be talked about for years to come as one of the true greats of his era, and every second of praise he gets will be deserved. I know my chain-smoking, exhibitionist, telephone Nazi Spanish landlady will be watching for sure. If, God willing, she's still with us.