Nasty Italian coach: (thinks to himself) Hmm, things are not going so well, the score is tied and we're in the second overtime, if we go into penalty kicks, w we have no chance, because Zidane and Barthez are such a winning combination. We have to wrap this up now... Aha! I have it. (Whispers something to Materazzi)
(Materazzi gets close enough to call Zidane a number of expletives, one of which is clearly heard to be "terrorist!")
(Zidane responds with a dramatic head butt)
Materazzi: Aieee! Che cazzo! I die!! (falls to ground, writhing in pain, clutching his knee)
The Narrator, a serveuse de bar wearing a slinky referee's outfit paired with a crazy multicolored clown wig in bleu, blanc et rouge, steps forward, waving a glittery wand.
Narrator: Two households, both alike in dignity (though not in skill)
In fair Berlin, where we lay our scene
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny
Where bad blood makes footballer's hands unclean.
The Italian coach did seeth and did taketh his opportunity
to remove the head from the French body politic
Thus removing all reason from the remaining team
lamenting the displacèd Zidane.
Oh, woe is you, most foul Materazzi
And you, Italian coach whose name escapes me
But woe of woes to the Frenchman who
in the throes of passion
cannot keep his hotted head from butting
thus ending a noble career
in the ignominy of a carton rouge.