Sideline Cut: Zinedine Zidane has become well acquainted with Lionel Messi through the hypnotic turns the slouching Argentinian teenager has been giving for Barcelona all winter. But as fans and football people alike proclaim that Messi, with the untidy fringe of a skateboard kid and the precise, faultless footwork of a tango dancer, is destined to take the game by storm, it is worth pausing to think about the ebbing gifts of the great Frenchman.

France, a ghastly vision of the team that claimed the most glittering prize in sport eight years ago, played Togo last night for a place in the last 16.

They needed a victory of two clear goals to be sure to qualify, a feat they had not managed since they beat Brazil in the final of nearly a decade ago, when Zidane was approaching his incomparable best.

Raymond Domenech's team managed to get the required victory last night without Zidane, unavailable because of a second yellow card. And given the Marseille legend's mostly ordinary and sometimes clunky show against Korea, perhaps the tough French coach was pleased he was not obliged to select the man whose slowing feet and dimming magic still represent France's best hope of a tournament worthy of their reputation.

Even though France succeeded last night, their efforts so far in this World Cup - their presence in Germany secured, remember, on the strength of an isolated strike of gilded brilliance from Thierry Henry in Dublin - indicate a once-great team is in danger of becoming a parody of itself. Their apparent fragility also poses the danger that Zidane's last memorable act on the greatest football stage will have been one of rage and defiance and wounded pride at the decision of Domenech to take him off the field in the 90th minute of the Korean game, with France suddenly desperate for a victory.

After handing his captain's armband to a colleague, Zidane, the almond, elliptical face wreathed in sweat, gave his coach a long, deliberate look of naked contempt, took off his French wristband and flicked it at Domenech in a gesture of disgust. Domenech offered the faintest smile of acknowledgement at his seething captain but otherwise did not appear too bothered.

It was an unforgettable exchange in what was a generally celebratory evening in Leipzig, with the Koreans in euphoric mood and the fans generally revelling in the June warmth bathing the charismatic old town.

Although he has matured into a suited, austere figure, Domenech forged at a tender age a reputation as the hard man of the French game in the late 1970s, breaking an opponent's leg playing for Olympique Lyonnaise at the age of 16. He was the essence of the unheralded professional, fearless and hard-working, and won eight national caps. His playing career was, as with the vast majority of professional sportsmen, at a higher echelon than most people ever dream of but, in the grandest scheme of things, instantly forgettable.

He came to prominence as a coach by helping Lyon return to the first division in 1989 and four years later was offered the post of coach to the under-21 team.

Among the players on the first team he coached was Zidane, by then developing the broad physique to complement the thrilling instinct and ball control he learned over his street years in the shipping quarter of La Castellane in Marseille.

Zidane went on to have a football career as furiously bright as Domenech's was shadowy. Although his statements were steadfastly neutral, Zidane, of Algerian parentage, became a cultural hero to the French immigrant underclass as well as an icon across mainstream France, replacing the impression best characterised by Michel Platini that French football was about unfulfilled flair with six great years that stand as magnificent and permanent as the Arc de Triomphe.

Zidane is one of those who seem blessed with such a complex range of qualities that people instinctively respond to him with warmth and admiration if not outright hero-worship. Diffident and private off the football field, he never claimed to entirely understand the extent of his popularity during his years playing with France and Juventus and Real Madrid, but he grew at least to accept it. He was voted world player of the year in 1999, 2000 and 2003, and there was a romantic edge to his decision to return with the other ageing musketeers to help France qualify for this World Cup.

That is why the poisonous communication in the heat of Leipzig was so genuinely sad and so at odds with what has been a kind of blissful tournament so far.

There must have been, in the beginning at least, something close to affection or mutual respect between Domenech and Zidane, but it had long since evaporated by the time the French coach called his captain from the field. Maybe it was merely a tactical decision by the coach, but given there were just three minutes of injury-time left and his replacement, David Trezeguet, was the very player Zidane had publicly suggested should start against Korea, it seemed pointed and vindictive.

The coach has the ultimate say but surely a man of Zidane's stature, unquestionably one of the all-time great players, should be extended the grace of staying on the field until the end, however bitter.

It would have been a great pity had that furious gesture, probably aimed at the helpless realisation his wonderful skills are slowly and surely leaving him as much as at the under-fire Domenech, proved Zidane's farewell to France. And we can only be grateful the great man, albeit faltering now, is likely to have at least one more say in what has been a ravishing World Cup.

Meanwhile, time marches on, and even as Zidane struggles with the inevitable departure of his sumptuous ability with a football, a gift that was central to his personality from childhood, the world rises to applaud the nascent talents of Messi. The stage is never left empty for very long.

Messi's story has already become the stuff of inspiration. It was just five years ago that he came to Spain seeking out costly treatment for a hormone deficiency that was beyond the means of his family and his first club, Newell's Old Boys. Now he is revered in Catalonia and has a vast, expanding fan club at the World Cup, with no less than Diego Maradona as its ecstatic cheerleader.

The rehabilitation of Diego and the messianic joy the reformed Maradona can now take from a game that seemed to torment him when he was its master are among the most fascinating asides of this World Cup. It is too early to know whether Messi is going to follow Argentina's idol to the absolute zenith of the game, to the place where Zidane occupied not so long ago, but the signs are hopeful. Either way, the contenders to greatness will pop up out of the blue. And some day soon a successor to Zidane will be discovered and announced in France. It is unlikely, however, that Zizou will spend his retirement dancing with the fans and wearing his old jersey as he accepts the limitations of middle age.

No, the thing about Zidane is once the end comes, that will be that.

Soon, he will stop playing football altogether. And the likelihood is we will never lay eyes on him again.