What was supposed to be a great swansong for a player rightly lauded as the greatest of his generation, ended in disgrace for French star Zinedine Zidane.

And his hoards of loyal fans looked on in disbelief as they watched their talisman head-butt his way -- the victim being Marco Materazzi -- into an inglorious but dramatic retirement -- more Eric Cantona than Zizou.

The wild party expected to go on late into the night never took off, the millions expected to emerge never did.

The only happy people, barring pockets of celebrating Italians, seemed to be those for whom the result bore little consequence to their reason for hitting the Champs -- trouble.

Some dejected football fans wearing the blue shirts of 'Les Bleus' sat on the kerbside, many in tears, smoking cigarettes for the most part and looking fairly lonely and isolated.

People who had watched the final at home and trundled off to the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs in search of the party found little to encourage them to stay and wandered like lost souls.

"The match was horrible and tense," lamented 24-year-old student Antoine Leclerc. "We were very expectant. There was a lot of noise throughout the match, people were singing the Marseillaise on their balconies.

"But at the end, no-one was speaking."

"Now there is just consternation," added another student, Alexandra Flick, 19. "I just want to know what was said to Zizou."

"We came here to see what it was like but there's nothing much happening," added Charlotte Leclerc, also 19.

They wandered a little way down the Champs towards Place de la Concorde, turned around and were soon making their way back home.

But while the true football fans found little to keep them from trudging back home, many on foot to distant Metro stations as that of the Champs-Elysees was closed, others were determined to make a night of it.

Crowds of blue shirted people headed one way while gangs of rowdy young men headed the other.

Youths waving flags -- not French or Italian but Algerian and Turkish -- ran around shouting and cheering.

A couple of groups of people drummed away making music, mostly it seemed to get their faces on television. Crews of cameramen and journalists quickly sparked high spirits and encouraged cheering happy faces.

But there was also a sinister side lurking in the shadows.

Other than around the Arc itself, the crowds were hardly heaving but young men loitered in darkened pockets of the Champs, just yards away from riot police.

Up by the Arc itself was the biggest police presence and it did not take long for the first baton charge to be launched.

Hundreds of young men, clearly angling for trouble, squeezed in and around the Arc. A flare was thrown in to the crowd of people, the police braced themselves and the fleeing began, swiftly followed by a charge.

It was just the first of the night and only shortly before midnight. The only crumb of comfort for the police was the lack of numbers.

This was not 1998 revisited, nor even the earlier quarterfinals or semifinals all over again. The numbers simply were not the same.

For all the disappointed football fans, there were just as many people who had found an excuse to come and do what they were really interested in: making noise and in some cases making trouble.

It was a feast of modern youth culture, crammed into one street in the heart of a bustling city.