Tutti Pazzi Materazzi (all Mad About Materazzi)

The only surprise was that Materazzi wasn't one of the central figures. Just two years ago Italian columnists were labeling Materazzi an "animal" and a "delinquent" for his thuggish on-field acts: a wild studs-up challenge on then AC Milan star Andriy Shevchenko in 2003; a punch to the face of Siena's Bruno Cirillo in 2004 that drew Materazzi a two-month suspension. These days, though, those misdeeds are largely forgotten. Call it the Matrix revolution. "In the past he was seen as a bad guy," says Daniela, with whom he has two sons (Gianmarco, 10, and Davide, 6) and Anna. "People asked me, 'Does he hit you at home?' But after the World Cup, Marco became an idol. Now they say, 'You're lucky, you have the ideal man.' But I was lucky to have Marco before, and nobody appreciated that."

Including, at times, Marco's father, Giuseppe, the coach of Rome powerhouse Lazio. It was Giuseppe who advised the teenaged Marco to give up soccer and try basketball, the sport of Michael Jordan, who sparked Marco's fascination with the number 23--Materazzi's jersey number as well as the date on which he was married. And it was Giuseppe who cross-examined the young couple when Marco, after abandoning hoops, was mired in the third division at age 21: How do you think you'll live on the money he'll make playing soccer? Says Daniela, "Nobody believed in him as a soccer player except for me."

Like Rodman, Materazzi was a late bloomer, reaching Serie A at age 24 and making his first national-team appearance at 27. He attributes his fortitude to having to cope with his mother's death from breast cancer when she was 39. Materazzi cherishes his memories of Anna, who would drive her three sons as far as 300 miles from their home in Bari every weekend so they could see their father play during his pro career. "She died 11 days after my 15th birthday," says Materazzi. "It's never easy to lose your mother at 15. You have to become a man quickly."

Materazzi's most arresting tats are on his back, where a giant pair of angel's wings surrounds his name and those of his wife and daughter. "I made a promise," he says. "If I was to have a baby girl, I would call her the name of my mother, and I would have tattooed wings of protection, as if the shadow of my mother were there to protect us."

Based on his own experience, Materazzi maintains, there's no way he could have insulted Zidane's mother--as Zidane insists he did. "Everyone's got a mother, and you never know what her destiny has been," Materazzi says. "You could be attacking the heart of a person, and that's too much." Ultimately, any lingering resentment he harbors from last July isn't toward Zidane. "What hurt me the most was the media, especially the British," he says. "They offended my image by saying things that [Zidane] then said were not true. I didn't deserve that."

For all the benefits of winning the World Cup--becoming an Italian cult hero, meeting Jordan, taking the microphone at a Rolling Stones concert ("I'm as crazy as Keith Richards!")--there were significant drawbacks for Materazzi. Like, say, joining the growing list of public figures who've been targeted by Islamic extremists.

Several anonymous letters, written in French, began arriving last summer at the training ground of Inter Milan. "They were saying they wanted to see me so they could kill me," says Materazzi, almost whispering, as if he doesn't want the words to reach Anna, who's kicking a soccer ball nearby. "I reported the threats to the police because they were related to religious issues"--his erroneously reported anti-Muslim insults to Zidane. "One of my [French] teammates, Olivier Dacourt, got worried."

And you didn't? "I laughed it off. I don't believe there are people who can be that evil in life, really."

In the storm of post--World Cup media coverage, even reputable publications were quick to allege what Materazzi said. The Times of London hired an "expert lip reader" who concluded that he had called Zidane "the son of a terrorist whore." Meanwhile, The New York Times quoted Zidane's relatives speculating that Materazzi had called Zidane a "terrorist" or a "son of Harkis," an insult to a Frenchman of Algerian descent.

The reality, Materazzi now maintains, had nothing to do with Franco-Algerian relations. "I was pulling his jersey because I was afraid he'd score a goal on me," Materazzi says. "But when he looked at me, I found hate in his eyes. He looked me down from my head to my feet and said, 'O.K., the jersey is yours, and I'll give it to you at the end of the match.' All I said was, 'I'd prefer your sister.'"