This book is dedicated to my family and friends, all who have followed me and been by my side, good days as well as bad. I also want to spend all the children out there a thought, any child who feels a little odd and differe different, nt, that does not really fit into and become seen by the wrong reasons. It's ok to not be like everyone else. Continue to believe inyourself, it all worked out for me after all. 1
Pep Guardiola, coach of Barcelona, with their gray suits and brooding faces, came up to me and looked uncomfortable. I thought he was all right at that time, no Mourinho or Capello exactly, but an okay guy. This was long before we began the war. The was the fall of 2009 and I lived in my boyhood dream. I'm the world's best team and had been received by seventy thousand people at the Camp Nou. I was walking on clouds, or maybe not entirely. entirely. That was some bullshit in the papers. I was a bad boy and all that: I was difficult to be with. But anyway, I was here. Helen and the kids liked it. We had a nice house in Esplugues de Llobregat, and I was psyched. What could go wrong? "You," said Guardiola. "Here in Barca, we have feet on the ground." "Sure," I said. "Fine!" "So here we are not having any Ferrari or Porsche to training sessions." I nodded, ran no cocky style, like: What the hell have you with my car to do? But I thought: What does he want? What is the message he send? Believe me, I do not show me tough anymore and run some cool car and park on the pavement, type. That's not it. But I love cars. It is my passion and above all did I know something else behind those words. It was a bit: do not think you are one! I had already taken to Barcelona was a bit of a school, an institution. The players were nice, nothing wrong with them, and there was Maxwell, my old friend from Ajax and Inter Milan. But honestly, none of the guys acted like superstars and it was weird. Messi, Xavi, Iniesta, the whole gang, who were school children. The world's best football players stood and bowed, and I understood nothing. It was ridiculous. If the coaches in Italy says jump, I ask the stars: Wade, why should we jump? It jumped all at the beck and call. I did not fit, if at all. But I thought: Like what's up! Not confirm their prejudices! Therefore, I started adapt to me. I was more than nice. It was not wise. Mino Raiola, my agent, my friend, he said: "What's wrong with you Zlatan? I do not recognize you. "
No one knew me, no coils, no. I was sad, and then you will know that I have ever since Malmö FF has had a philosophy: I run my style. I do not care what people think and I have never felt at home among the prefect. I like guys who drive through a red light, if you y ou understand what I mean. But now ... I did not say what I wanted. I said that I thought you would say. say. It was totally sick. I drove the Audi club and stood there and nodded as at school, or that I perhaps should have been, and nodded at school. I barked just like my teammates anymore. I was boring. Zlatan Ibrahimovic was no longer longer,, and the had not happened since I went on Borgarskol Borgarskolan an and saw girls in Ralph Lauren shirts for the first time and was about to shit on me when I would invite them out. Yet I started the season bright. I scored the goal. We won the UEFA Super Cup. I shone. I dominated. But I was one another. another. Something had happened, nothing serious, not yet, but still. I stopped and it is very dangerous, believe me. I must be mad to play well. I have to scream and live on. Now I kept it inside me. Maybe it had with the press to do. I do not know. I was the second most expensive transfer service ever, ever, and the newspapers wrote that I was a problem child and was wrong on the character character,, all sorts of rubbish, and unfortunately, unfortunately, I felt the weight of it all - that here in the Barca sticks we do not, and it, and I guess I wanted to show me, I could too. The was the dumbest thing I've done. I was still cruel on the pitch. But it was not as fun anymore. I even thought about to give up football, not that I would break my contract, I am a professional. But I lost my desire, and then came the Christmas break. We stuck to Åre and I rented a snowmobile. As soon as life is stationary stationary,, I want action. I always drive like a fool. I have burned three hundred twenty-five with my Porsche Turbo and thundered away from the cops. I've done so many crazy name that I just want think of it, and now in the mountains I heaped on with my scooter and got frostbite and had the fun any time. Finally some adrenaline rushes! At last the old man Zlatan and I thought: Why should I hold on? I have money. I do not have to tear the idiots to coach. I can have fun instead and take care of the family. family. It was a nice time. But not for long. When we returned to Spain came the catastrophe. Not directly, perhaps, it crept in, but it was in the air.
No one knew me, no coils, no. I was sad, and then you will know that I have ever since Malmö FF has had a philosophy: I run my style. I do not care what people think and I have never felt at home among the prefect. I like guys who drive through a red light, if you y ou understand what I mean. But now ... I did not say what I wanted. I said that I thought you would say. say. It was totally sick. I drove the Audi club and stood there and nodded as at school, or that I perhaps should have been, and nodded at school. I barked just like my teammates anymore. I was boring. Zlatan Ibrahimovic was no longer longer,, and the had not happened since I went on Borgarskol Borgarskolan an and saw girls in Ralph Lauren shirts for the first time and was about to shit on me when I would invite them out. Yet I started the season bright. I scored the goal. We won the UEFA Super Cup. I shone. I dominated. But I was one another. another. Something had happened, nothing serious, not yet, but still. I stopped and it is very dangerous, believe me. I must be mad to play well. I have to scream and live on. Now I kept it inside me. Maybe it had with the press to do. I do not know. I was the second most expensive transfer service ever, ever, and the newspapers wrote that I was a problem child and was wrong on the character character,, all sorts of rubbish, and unfortunately, unfortunately, I felt the weight of it all - that here in the Barca sticks we do not, and it, and I guess I wanted to show me, I could too. The was the dumbest thing I've done. I was still cruel on the pitch. But it was not as fun anymore. I even thought about to give up football, not that I would break my contract, I am a professional. But I lost my desire, and then came the Christmas break. We stuck to Åre and I rented a snowmobile. As soon as life is stationary stationary,, I want action. I always drive like a fool. I have burned three hundred twenty-five with my Porsche Turbo and thundered away from the cops. I've done so many crazy name that I just want think of it, and now in the mountains I heaped on with my scooter and got frostbite and had the fun any time. Finally some adrenaline rushes! At last the old man Zlatan and I thought: Why should I hold on? I have money. I do not have to tear the idiots to coach. I can have fun instead and take care of the family. family. It was a nice time. But not for long. When we returned to Spain came the catastrophe. Not directly, perhaps, it crept in, but it was in the air.
It seemed an insane snowstorm. It was as if the Spaniards had never seen snow before, and with us in the mountains were cars on the diagonal and tvärsen everywhere, and Mino, the fat idiot - the wonderful thick idiot may I add, if anyone would mistake it - froze like a dog in his shoes and his summer coat and persuaded me to take the Audi. It was going to hell. In down the hill, we lost control and thundered against a concrete wall and I screwed up the whole right shoulder of the car. Many of the team had crashed in bad weather, weather, but none as damned as I am. I won the crash-tion contest too, and we laughed about it, and indeed, I was still myself sometimes. I felt even decent. Then suddenly Messi talk. Lionel Messi is cruel. He is incredible. I do not know him particularly. We are totally different. He joined Barca as a thirteen year old. He is educated in the culture and have no problem with the where school shit. In the team game revolves around him, quite naturally really.. He is brilliant, but now I had arrived, and made more goals than really he said. He went to Guardiola and said: "I do not want to play on the right wing anymore. I want to Lira in the middle. " At the center high up I was. But it ignored Guardiola in. He changed his tactics. From four-three-three, four-three-three, he moved to four-five-one four-five-one with me on top and Messi just behind and I ended up in the shade. The balls went through Messi and I did not play my game. On the plane, I must be free to a bird. I'm the guy who wants to make a difference at all levels. But Guardiola sacrificed me. That is the truth. He locked me up there. Okay Okay,, I can make his situation. Messi was the star star.. Guardiola must listen to him. But come on! I had scored the goals in Barca, and been cruel to me. He could not adapt the team after a single guy. guy. I mean, why the hell he had bought me in that kind of case? No one pays that kind of money to strangle me as a player. player. Guardiola must think of us both, and of course, the atmosphere in the club management was nervous. I was their biggest investment ever, and I was not feeling well in the new lineup. I was too expensive to not feel good. Txiki Begiristain, sports director, director, was on me and said I had to talk to the coach. "Red it out!" I did not like it. I am a player who accepts the position. But yes, fine, I did it! One of my friends told me: "Zlatan, it is
as Barca bought a Ferrari and drive it as a Fiat, "and I thought, okay, okay, it's a good argument.Guardiola has transformed me into a simpler, inferior players. The whole team loses it. So I went up to him. It was on the field, during practice, and I was sure something. I would not fight, and I said to him: "I do not want to fight. I do not want war war.. I just want to discuss. " He nodded. But perhaps he saw a little scared anyway, anyway, so I repeated myself: "If you think I want to fight, I go from here. I just want to talk. " "Good! I like to talk to the players. " "Listen!" I continued. "You do not use my capabilities. Was it just a scorer you wanted, you should purchase Inzaghi or anyone. I need surfaces, and be free. I can not just run up and down in depth all the time. I weigh ninety-eight pounds. I have not the physics. " He pondered. He brooded always into hell. "I think you can play like this." "No, it's better that you sit on the bench. With all due respect, I understand you, but you sacrifice me to other players. This will not do. The is that you bought a Ferrari and drive it as a Fiat. " He pondered some more. "Okay,, maybe it was a mistake. This is my problem. I will solve it. " "Okay I was happy. happy. He would fix it. I went out with a lighter step, but then came the icy cold. He barely looked at me, and I am no one cares about such things, not really, really, and despite my new position I continued to be brilliant. I made new goals, not as attractive targets in Italy. Italy. I low to high up. It was not really Ibra-Kadabra longer, longer, but still ... Against Arsenal away at the new Emirates Stadium in the Champions League lirade we have them out completely. completely. It was a boiling atmosphere. First twenty minutes was absolutely incredible, and I did a zero-and two-nil, it was beautiful goal again, and I thought, I do not care Guardiola! I run on only! But then I switched out and then came Arsenal Arsenal again and shot one-two and two-two, it was crap, and afterwards I had a sore calf, and normally coaches worry about that. An injured Zlatan is a true and serious thing for any team. But Guardiola was ice cold. He did not say a thing and I was gone for three weeks, and not once he came up and asked: "How are you, Zlatan? Can you play the next game? " He did not even say good morning. Not a word. He avoided my gaze. I stepped into a room, he went out. What is this about? I thought. I have done something? I see errors like? Am I weird? It was absolutely buzzing in the head. I could not sleep.
I thought about it incessantly. Not that I needed love like Guardiola. He was happy to hate me. I triggered the hatred and revenge. But now, I lost focus, and I talked to the players. Nobody did anything. I asked Thierry Henry, who was a bank then. Thierry Henry is the best striker in the French national team's history. He is awesome. He was still incredible, and he also had difficulty with Guardiola. "He does not greet me. He looks me in the eye. What could have happened? "I said. "No idea," replied Henry. We started to joke about it, type: "Hey, Zlatan, received an eye today?" "No, but I saw his back!" "Congratulations, it is moving forward!" Again larva, and it helped a little. But it was really me on the nerves, and I asked myself every day, every hour: What have I done? What is wrong? I got no response, nothing. No more than that I realized that icy chill must have had to call about my position to do. Someone else There was no explanation. But that would be totally sick if so. Psyche he look like me for a chat about my position? I tried confrontation him. Go the guy and meet his eyes. He turned away. He seemed scared and yes, I could have booked a meeting and asked: What's this all about? But never in my life. I had crawled enough for him. This was his problem. Not that I knew what it was. I know there is still no, or yes ... I do not think the guy fixes strong personalities. He wants to have nice school boys, and even worse: he runs away from his problems. He pallets not to see them in the eye, and the made everything worse. It got worse. Ash from the volcano in Iceland came. No flights across Europe was and we would face Inter at San Siro in Milan. We took the bus. Something light head in Barca thought it was a good idea. I was injury-time. But the trip was a disaster. It took sixteen hours and we arrived in Milan completely depleted. It was our most important game so far, the semifinals of the Champions League, and I was prepared for WOLF WHISTLE and hysteria on my old home stadium, no problem, on the contrary, things like tags me. But the situation was otherwise worthless and I think Guardiola had a hang up on Mourinho. Jose Mourinho is a big star. He had already won the Champions League with Porto. He was my coach at Inter. He is beautiful. The first time he met Helen he whispered to her: "Helen, You Have Only One
Mission. Feed Zlatan, let HIM sleep, keep HIM happy! "The guy says what he wants. I like him. He is the leader of the army. But he cares too. He messe me all the time at Inter and wondered how I was feeling. He is opposed Guardiola. If Mourinho lit up a room, Guardiola pull down the blinds, and I guessed that Guardiola is now trying to measure up with him. "It is not Mourinho we meet. It is Inter, "he said, as if we sat there and thought we would play ball with the coach, and then pulled he is their philosophy stuff. I barely listened. Why would I? It was advanced crap, on blood, sweat and tears and stuff.Never heard a coach talk on the way! Pure filth! But now he was really up to me. It was in training at the San Siro and the people were there and watched, like: Ibra is back! "Can you play from the start?" Said Guardiola. "Absolutely," I replied. "I'm psyched." "But are you ready?" "Definitely. It feels good. " "But are you ready?" He was like a parrot and I got dodgy vibes. "Listen, it was a hopeless journey, but I am in shape. The injury is healed. I'll give everything. " Guardiola seemed to doubt. I took him, and afterwards I called Mino Raiola. I'll call Mino incessantly. Swedish journalists often say: Mino is bad image for Zlatan. Mino is such and such. Shall I tell it like it is? Mino is a genius. I asked him: "What do guy?" None of us understood. We started to leak out. But I got to play from the start and we did one-zero. Then it turned. I was replaced after sixty minutes and we lost by three to one. It was crap. I was furious. But in the past, type in Ajax, when I kneaded a loss in the days and weeks. Nowadays I am Helen and the children. They help me to forget and move on and I focused on the return at the Nou Camp. The return was terribly important and the atmosphere was built up, day by day. It was a crazy pressure. That and rumbled in the air, and we needed to win big to advance.But then ... I do not think about it, or yes, I do, it made me stronger. We won by one-zero. But that was not enough. We went out of the Champions League, and afterwards saw Guardiola at me as if everything was my fault, and I thought: Now, the bottle is
empty. Now the cards over. After the match I felt as if I was not welcome to the club anymore and I felt sick when I drove their Audi. I was feeling crap when I was sitting in the locker room and Guardiola glared at me as a disturbance, an outsider. It was not wise. He was a wall, a stone wall. I was not a sign of life from him, and I longed to get away every time the team. I was not longer, and when we met Villarreal away, he let me play five minutes. Five minutes! It really boiled within me, not because I sat on the bench. I can buy it, if the coach is man enough to say: You're not good enough, Zlatan. You sites do not! But Guardiola said not a word, not a bit, and now it was enough. I felt it throughout the body, and if I were Guardiola, I'd been afraid. Not that I'm a fighter! I have done everything possible to display. But I do not fight, yes, on the field have I, one and another. But still, when I gets angry, then it turns black for the eyes. Then you will not be around, and I'll tell you a little bit careful, I went after the match into the locker room and I had not exactly planned a crazy attack. But I was not happy, it goes well, calmly say, and there was now my enemy, and scratched his bald head. Otherwise, not many in there. Toure was there and a few others, and so on where the metal box where we put our clothes, and the box staring at me. Then I kicked it. I think it flew like three feet, but I was not ready yet. Not by a long shot. I shouted: "You have no balls", and certainly worse things than that, and so I added: "You poop on you for Mourinho. You can go to hell! " I was totally crazy, and maybe one could expect that Guardiola would say something back, something like: Calm down, so there speaks not with her trainer! But he is not like that. He is a coward coward. He just picked up the metal box, like a small monitor, an and so he went out and never talked about it, not at all. But of course spread the talking.The bus was all totally crazy: "What happened, what happened?" Nothing, I thought. Only a few home truths. But I could not talk about it. I was so pissed.Week after week, my coach and head frozen me out without explaining why. It was totally sick. I have had the earth fights before. But the day after we have sorted out there and then that is fine with it. Now just kept quiet and psych out, and I thought: I'm twenty-eight years. I've done twenty-two goals and fifteen assistant only here in Barca, and is still treated as if I was not there. Should
I take it?Should I continue to adjust myself? No way! When I realized that I would be the bench against Almeria, I remembered it there: "Here in Barcelona we are no Ferraris or Porsches to training! "What was that track anyway? I'll take what I want, at least if I can get worked up idiots. I jumped into my Enzo and gassed on, and parked outside the door to the Training Centre and it was full circus of course. The newspapers wrote that the car cost the same amount that all Almeriaspelarnas salary together. But I did not care. Medial legacy was small potatoes in this mode. I had decided me to give back. I had decided to start fighting in earnest, and you know that it's a game I can. I have been a tough guy before, believe me. But for the the sake of it, I did not skimp on the preparations, and therefore I spoke with Mino of course. We plan always smart and dirty tricks together, and so I called friends. I wanted to see things from different angles, and my God, I got all sorts of advice.Rosengard guys wanted to come down and smash things and of course it was nice of them, but it did not feel quite as right strategy in this situation, and so I discussed with Helena, of course. She is course from another world. She is beautiful. She can be tough too. But now she was driving with encouragement: "You have at least been a better father. When you do not have a team you feel comfortable in, you set up a team with us, "she said, and I was happy about it. I kicked a lot of ball with the kids and tried to ensure that all was well, and of course, I sat with my video games. It's a bit of a disease in me. I get totally engrossed. But after years of Inter when I could sit up until four or five in the morning and go to training with only two or three hours sleep in the body, I have set up some rules for myself: no Xbox or Playstation, after ten at night. I must not let time go away anyway, and this week in Spain, I tried to really devote myself to the family and just cool down our garden, and even take a Corona sometimes. It was the fine side. But at night when I lay awake, or at the training when I saw Guardiola, then brought the darker sides. The anger just pounding in my head, and I clenched his fists and planned my counter and my revenge. No, I took more and more, there was no turning back now. It was time to stand up for myself and be my old self again. For do not forget: You can take the kid from the ghetto, but you can never take the ghetto from the guy!
2
I GOT A TRICK BIKE by her brother when I was little, a BMX. I called the Fido Dido. Fido Dido was a tough little cartoon dude with spiky hair. I thought he was way cool. But the bike was twist off Rosengard bath and Dad got there with his shirt open and his arms rolled up. He is the type who says: Nobody move my children! None take their stuff. But even a tough guy that he could do something about it. Fido Dido was gone, and I was completely desperate. After that I started to steal bikes. I opened the locks. I became a master at it. Bang, bang only, and the bike was mine. I was a bike thief. The was my first thing. It was indeed innocent. But sometimes traced it out. One time I dressed in black clothes and went out into the darkness as the worst Rambon and cut a military bike with a big fucking bolt cutters and absolutely, yes, the bike was cool. I loved it. But frankly, it was more kick than the bike. I trigger to sneak around in the dark, and I threw some eggs at the windows and that kind of stuff and only sometimes, I went down. It was an embarrassing thing in Wessel's department store on the Jägersro, among others. But I deserved it, frankly. A friend and I were dressed in down jackets in the middle of summer, completely idiotic, and during those jackets, we had four table tennis bats and other crap that we picked on us. "Hörnini, how you shall pay for this? "the guard said when we got caught. I took out six ten-aurar piece from his pocket: "With these, the type." But the guy had no sense of humor and I decided to become more professional in the future, and I guess I was a right clever maniac at last. I was a little guy. I had a big nose and I lisped and received speech therapy. A woman came to me in school and learned to say, S and I thought it was degrading, and I guess I needed to assert myself. In addition, the trick in the body. I could not sit still for a second and I rushed around all the time. It was as if nothing bad could happen to me only I ran fast enough. We lived in Rosengard outside Malmo and it was full of Somalis, Turks, juggar, Poles, all sorts of blue, and Swedes. We guys played cocky all. We lit the nothing and it was not easy at home, it can not be said. We stayed four stories up when the Cronmans road, and we did not run with hugs and stuff. No one asked, "How was your day today, little Zlatan, "nothing like that. No adult helping with homework, or wondered
if you had any problems. You were on your own and it was not the time to whine if someone was shitty. You had to bite the bullet, and it was chaos and trouble, and some kind and bangs. But of course, sometimes hoped the little sympathy. One day I fell off a roof on the kindergarten. I got a big black eye and ran home crying and expecting a pat on the head, or at least a few kind words. I got a slap. "What had you on the roof to do?" It was not, "Poor Zlatan." It was: "Damn fool who climbed on a roof, here's a lusing", and I was shocked and I retreated, or so I slipped out. My mother had no time for comfort, not then. She cleaned up and ripped to feed us, she was really a Fights. But she could not manage much more. She had had it rough and we had a terrible mood all. It was no ordinary Swedish snack at home right away, no, "Honey, please hand me the butter", but more: "Get the milk you idiot!" There were doors that struck again and my mom crying. She cried often. She has my love. She has been tear of life.She cleaned the type fourteen hours a day, and every now and then we followed with and emptied the bins and stuff and got some pocket money. But sometimes broke it for my mom. She beat us with wooden spoons and it happened that those ladles broke down, and when I got my stool away and buy another, as if it was my fault that she fought so hard. One day, I remember specifically. I had thrown a brick at the nursery, which bounced in any way and smashed a window, and when my mom heard about it, she was game. All of which cost money made her mad, and she hit me with the ladle. Bang, Boom! The hurt, and maybe walked spoon down again. I do not know. Sometimes there were no things like where the ladles at home, and once my mom came after me with a rolling pin. But then I managed to escape, and I spoke with Sanela about it. Sanela is my only full sibling. She is two years older. She is a tough girl, and she felt we should run a little with my mom. Damn, bang us in head! Totally sick! So we went to Ica and bought things like where the ladles, type three for a dollar, and gave them to my mom for Christmas. I do not think she grasped the irony. She had no margin for that. There must be food on the table. All her strength was spent on it. We were many at home, my half-sisters also subsequently disappeared from the family and broke with all of us, and so little brother Aleksandar, Keki called, and
money was not enough. None lasted until the older siblings took care of us small. We could not have managed otherwise, and it was very instant macaroni with ketchup, and eat with mates or with my aunt Hanifa, who lived in the same house and was the first of us all come to Sweden. I had not even reached the age of two when mom and dad divorced, and I remembered none of it. It was probably just as well. It was not a good marriage, I understand. It was messy and disorderly, and they had been married to my father would get a residence permit, and I guess it was only natural we all ended up at Mom. But I longed for my dad. He'd be better off and it happened more fun stuff about him. I and Sanela met my father every other weekend and when he came often in his old blue Opel Kadett and we went to Pildammsparken or out on the island in Limhamn and bought hamburgers and ice cream. Once he hit the big and gave us was his pair of Nike Air Max, the cool gympadojorna which cost thousand bucks, type. Mine were green, Sanela pink. No one in Rosengard had that kind and we felt how tough any time. We had a good time with Dad, and we could get few dollars for pizza and Coca-Cola. He had a decent job and only one other son, SaPKo. He was our fun weekend dad. But the situation was tightened. Sanela was a great run. She was fastest in his age group of sixty feet in Skåne and Dad was proud that a cock and drove her to exercise. "Good, Sanela. But you can do better, "he said. That was his thing, "Better, better, do not settle," and this time I was in the car. Dad remembers it anyway, and he noticed right away. Something was not good. Sanela was quiet. She fought to not to cry. "Where is it that happened?" He said. "Nothing," she replied and then he asked again and finally told her. We need not go into details, it is Sanela story. But my dad, he's like a lion. If something happens to his children, he is wild, especially if it involves Sanela, his only daughter, and it became a full circus with interviews and social studies and custody battles and shit. I did not understand much of it. I would fill nine. It was the fall of 1990 and you made that from me. Yet did I know of course. It became restless at home. It was not the first time in itself. A of half-sister was on drugs, heavy things, and she had hidden the drugs at home. It was often fuss around her, and shady people rang and mass fear that something serious would happen. Another time my
mom had been in custody for receiving stolen goods. Some friends had told her: "Take care of these necklaces!" and she obeyed. She did not. But it turned out to be stolen and the police roared in with us and hing was tense and solemn and it began to creep into the body, and frankly, I did not understand much of it, only that it was all about mom and dad and was not nice, not at all. But now I know. Now, much later, when I kept on with this book, the puzzle pieces fall into place. In November 1990, the social worker made his investigation, and Dad had custody of me and Sanela. The environment at my mom was inappropriate, not primarily because of her, I must say. There was other stuff, but it was the earth thing anyway, the world's disapproval, and Mom was completely devastated. Would she lose us too? It was a disaster. She cried and cried and certainly, she had drämt us with wooden spoons and given lusingar us and not listening to us, and she had been unlucky with his men, and nothing went up and all that. But she loved her children. She was just grew up with tough, and I think Dad took it. He went to her that afternoon: "I do not want you to lose them, Jurkat." But he called for tightening, and Dad is not to be trifled with in that kind of situation. It was certainly hard words. "Is not it better, you'll never see kids more "and stuff, and what exactly happened I do not know. But Sanela lived with my father a few weeks, and I stayed with Mom, even though all. It was not a good solution. Sanela was not feeling well with Dad. She and I found him sleeping on the floor of the vevan, and the table was beer cans and bottles. "Daddy wake up, wake up!" But he slept on. It was a strange thing, I thought. Why does he do so, type? We did not know what we would do. But we wanted to help. Maybe he froze? We covered him with towels and blankets so he would be hot. Otherwise I did not understand much of it. Probably took Sanela more. She had noticed how his mood swung and how he flashed, and screamed like a bear and I think it scared her. In addition, missing her little brother. She wanted to mother again while for me was the opposite. I longed after dad, and one of those evenings, I called him safe and let me desperate. It had been alone without Sanela. "I would not be here. I want to stay with you. " "Come here," he said. "I will send a taxi." It became the new social studies, and in March 1991 the mother custody of
Sanela and dad for me. We parted, my sister and I, but has always been together, or rather, it has been up and down. But basically, we are incredibly close. Sanela is the hairdresser today and sometimes people come up to Her salon and say, "God, you are like Zlatan!" and when she answers always: "Bullshit, it is he who is like me." She is tough. But neither she nor I have had it easy. My father, Šefik, had in 1991 moved from the hard road in Rosengard to Värnhemstorget in Malmo, and it is your understood, he has a big heart, he is prepared to die for us. But it was not quite as I expected. I knew him as a weekend dad who bought hamburgers and ice cream. Now we share everyday and I noticed right away: it was empty with Dad. It was missing something, a woman might. There was a TV, a couch, a bookcase, two beds. But nothing extra, no comfort, and it was beer cans on the tables and low debris on the floor, and when he occasionally got a jolt and papered was just a wall made, type. "I'll do the rest tomorrow!" But it was not, and we moved often, and never managed to get some order. But it was empty also in a different way. My dad was the caretaker of hardest-call and when he came home with his carpenter pants with all those pockets with screwdrivers and stuff, he sat by the phone or TV, and then he would not be disturbed. He was inside her, and often he had headphones on and listened to the Yugoslavian folk music. He is crazy about juggemusik. He has recorded a few cassettes. He is a showman as he is on the tempers. But he was in his own world most of the time and heard my friends off, he hissed at them: "Do not call us!" I did not bring in my friends and they were looking for me, I do not know. The phone was not for me, and I had nobody to talk to at home really, and yes, it was something serious, Dad was there for me. Then he would do anything, go out on the town with all its cocky style and try to make things right. He had a way of walking that got people to wake up: Who the hell is that like? But if all that usual, about what happened at school and at football field and with his friends, he was not interested, and I had to talk to myself or to stand out. While living SaPKo, my half brother, with us the first time, and certainly I talked to him sometimes, he must have been seventeen then. But I do not remember much of it, and not much later threw Dad out to him. They had terrible trouble. There is also a sad thing, of course, and it was just me
and Dad left. We were alone at each corner, one can say, for it was strange, he also had no friends at home. He sat for himself and drank. It was empty on the company. But above all, it was empty in the fridge. I was out all the time and played football and hojade of stolen bikes, and often I came home hungry as a wolf and tore open the refrigerator door and thought: Please, please, let there be anything! But no, nothing, just the usual: milk, butter, a loaf and, at best, juice, multivitamin, gallon container, purchased in the Arab shop because it was cheapest, and so of course beer, Pripps Blue and Carlsberg, with six-pack of those plastic around him. Sometimes there are nothing but beer belly and screamed. There was a pain in it I'll never forget. Ask Helen! The refrigerator will be chock-full, I say all the time. It never goes out of me. The other day my kid was crying, Vincent, that he did not pastes and then boiled macaroni on the stove. The guy yelled that the food was not done quickly enough and then I wanted to yell: If you only knew how good you have it! I could search through every drawer, every corner, for a single macaroni or meatball. I ate my fill of toasted sandwiches. I could slap in me a whole loaf, or so I ran over to my mom. It was not always open arms. There was more: What the hell, should Zlatan come too? Provides Šefik not feed him? And sometimes I got a scolding: Are we made of money, right? Are you going to eat us out of the house! But anyway, we helped each other, and with my dad, I started to keep a little wars against the beer. I poured some of them, not all, it would have been too obvious, but a few. It was seldom he noticed something. There was beer everywhere, it stood on tables and shelves, and often I put empty cans in big black garbage bags and went out and pledged them. I got fifty cents jar. Yet sometimes I scraped together fifty or a hundred bucks. There were a lot of cans and I was happy with the money. But of course, it was not a nice thing, and that all the kids in that situation, I learned to see exactly what mood he was on. I knew exactly when it was not worth talking to him. The day after he had drunk, it was pretty quiet. Other days, it was worse. In some situations, he could ignite in a flash. Other times, he was incredibly generous. Gave me five hundred bucks just like that. At that time I collected football pictures. You had a gum and then three pictures in a small package. Oh, oh, what guys should I get? I wondered. Maradona, or? Usually, I was disappointed, especially when it was just boring Swedish stars I knew nothing about. But one day he came home with a
whole paperboard. It was pure celebration and I tore up everything and got all sorts of cool brass, and sometimes we watched on the TV together and talked. Then we had a really good time. But other days he was drunk. I have pure horror images in my head and when I was a little bigger, I took the conflict with him. I backed off not as her brother. I told him: "You drink too much dad," and we had crazy fights, completely meaningless fights sometimes, frankly. I could argue even though I looked at him that he would only shout back: "I will throw you out", and stuff. But I wanted to show that I could speak for me, and every now and then it was a terrible life at home. But he never touched me physically, never ever. Well, once he lifted me up two feet in the air and let me in bed, though it was only because I was mean to Sanela, his eye. Basically, he was the world's nicest person, and I understand now, he was not easy. "He drink to drown their sorrows, "said her brother and it was perhaps not the whole truth. But the war took him really hard. The war was at all a strange thing. I never knew anything about it. I was protected. All tried hard indeed. I did not understand Even so mom and sister dressed in black. It was totally incomprehensible, as a sudden fashion thing. But it was my grandmother who died in a bomb attack in Croatia and all mourned, all except me who did not know and would never bother me if people were Serbs or Bosnians, or what any time. But the worst was for Dad. He came from Bijeljina in Bosnia. He had been a bricklayer down there, and all his family and old friends all lived in the city and now suddenly Hell had come there. Bijeljina was raped more or less, and it was no wonder he called himself a Muslim again, not at all. The Serbs took into the city and executed hundreds of Muslims. I think he knew many of them, and all his family were driven to flight. The entire population of Bijeljina was replaced, and everywhere in the empty houses of Serbs moved in, also in dad's old cottage. Somebody else just stepped in and took over the house, and I really believe he did not have time for me, especially as he had all evening was waiting on the TV news or call where the bottom. The war for him, and he became obsessed with monitoring of the situation. He sat alone and drank and took care and listened to his juggemusik, and I made sure to keep me out of doors or stick over to my mom. It was a different world.
With dad, it was just me and him. In mother was a full circus. There were people who came and went, and loud voices and banging. Mom had moved five floors up when on the same street, road Cronmans 5A, floor above Aunt Hanifa, or Hanna as I said. I, Keki and Sanela was really close. We formed a pact. But even with my mom, it was some shit. Half Sis fell deeper into drugs and my mother pulled for every time the phone rang or there was a knock on the door: No, no, as well. Have not we had enough of accidents? What is it now? She grew old in early, and quite rabid against all types of drugs. Not long ago at all, I mean today, she called hysterical: "It's dope in the fridge." "Oh my God, dope!" I went running with me. Not again as well, and I called Keki, right aggressively: "What the hell, is the drugs in Mum's fridge! "He did nothing, but it went up a light. It was the snuff she talked about. "Do not worry, Mom, it's just snuff." "Same shit," she said. She was really marked by those years, and we should certainly have been nicer then. But we had not learned that. We could just tough. Half Sis with drug problems moved out early and went in and out of treatment centers, but always came back to shit, and eventually broke Mom with her, or it broke my sister with her. I can not quite master. It was pretty hard anyway, but we have that feature in our family. We are taking a long and dramatic, and says, "Will never see you again!" And stuff. Anyway, I remember once when I was up at my sister with drugs in her own little apartment.It may have been on my birthday. I think so. She had bought gifts. She was nice in the middle of everything. But I would go to the bathroom and when she stopped the panic me. "No, no," she cried and ran in and cleared the inside. I realized that something was wrong. That it was like a secret. There was a lot like that stuff. But as I said, you made that from me, and I had my own stuff, my bike and my football, and so my dreams of Bruce Lee and Muhammad Ali. I wanted to be like them. My father had a brother named Sabahudin in the old Yugoslavia. He was called SaPKo, big brother was named after him. Sabahudin was a boxer, a real talent. He competed for BK Radnički in the city of Kragujevac and was Yugoslav champion with his club and national team. But 1967, when the guy was married, and only twenty-three he swam out
into the Neretva river and there was some streams and stuff and I think he had something wrong with your heart or lungs. He was drawn into the water and drowned, and you can imagine. It was a hard blow for the family, and after Dad was a bit of a fanatic. He had all the big games are recorded on the old videos and it was not just Sabahudin without Ali, Foreman and Tyson, and so all of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan films on those tapes. It was the ones we looked at when we hung together in front of the television. Swedish television was not worth having. It was not on the map. We lived in a completely different the world. I was twenty when I saw my first Swedish film, and I had no idea about some Swedish heroes or sports guys, like Ingemar Stenmark, or like that. But Ali, I could! What a legend! He drove his style no matter what people said. He did not apologize and I forgot Never. The guy was cool. He did his thing. So would you be, and I took after some stuff, I am the greatest, type. They needed a tough attitude in Rosengard, and you had to hear any crap, worst was being called a pussy, which was to not back down. Though usually fought not with each other. You do not poop in his own bed, as we said. It was more we Rosengard against all others. I was by and watched and yelled at those racists who demonstrates November 30, and once in the Malmö Festival, I saw a lot bunch of guys from Rosengard, type two hundred, who chased a lonely guy. It did not look quite nice out, frankly. But since it was the guys from my neighborhood, I started running with them, and I do not think that kid felt so good afterwards. We were cocky and wild all of them. But sometimes it was not so easy to be tough. When I and my dad lived in Stenkula school, I was often late, stay with mom, and then I had to walk home through a dark concrete tunnel crossing Admiral Way and is located diagonally across from Annelund Bridge. Once, several years earlier had Dad been robbed and severely beaten there and ended up in hospital with a punctured lung. I thought about it often, though I did not want to be understood. The more I pushed it away, the more showed up, and in this neighborhood is a tågbana and a car. There is a disgusting alley too, and some bushes and two light fixtures, a just in front of the tunnel and another after. Otherwise, it was dark, and creepy vibes. That's why the posts my benchmarks. Between them I ran like a madman with the worst pounding heart, and all the time, I felt:
Sure is some scary types in there, the kind of fell Dad and I thought quite manic: If I run fast enough, it is good, and I came home completely out of breath, and was not nearly as Muhammad Ali. Another time my dad took me and Sanela for swimming in Arlöv and afterwards I was at a friend. When I was away it started to rain. It poured down and I rode like an idiot and staggered home completely soaked. We stayed at the Zenith Street where, away from Rosengard, and I was completely exhausted. I shaking and had a stomach ache. I got totally sick evil. I could not move. I lay curled up in bed. I vomited. I seizures. I Act out. Dad came in and yes, he is who he is, and his refrigerator was empty and he drank too much. But when it really counts, then there is no that he, and he called a taxi and picked me up in the only position I could be, kind of a small shrimp, and so he carried me to the car down there. I was light as a feather then. Dad was big and strong and quite mad, he was a lion again, and he yelled at the driver, there was a woman apparently: "He's my boy, he is my everything, shit in every single traffic law, I pay the fine, I'll take care of police", and the woman, she did as he said. She burned two red lights and we entered the children's department at Malmo General Hospital. The whole situation had become acute, as I understand. I would get a shot in the back, and Dad had heard shit about people who become paralyzed by the stuff, and he said some aggressive stuff, guess I. He would turn upside down the whole town if something went wrong. But he calmed down and I lay on my stomach and sobbed and had that syringe in the spinal cord. It turned out that I had meningitis, and the nurse pulled down the blinds and turned off every light. It would be totally dark around me, and I received medication and Dad watched beside me. But at five o'clock the next morning I opened my eyes and the crisis was over, and still I do not know; what caused that? Maybe I looked after me no further. I did not run with food group exactly. I was small and the poor in those days. Still, I must have been strong anywhere. I forgot and moved on and instead of sitting at home and brood, I applied kicks. I was running all the time. It burned in me, and just as Dad lit my light: Who the hell are you, type? It was a tough year, I understand now. Dad was up and down, often entirely absent or flash furious: "You should be home now and then." "You get the hell not
do so." Were you guy in his father's world and got into trouble, then you would stand up and be a man. There was never a soft style exactly, no "I have pain in stomach today. I am a little sad. "None of that! I learned to bite off and move on, but also, it must not be forgotten, I learned a lot of self-sacrifice stuff. When we bought a new bed for me at Ikea had dad can not afford transportation. Shipping costs is well five hundred extra or something. So what should we do? It was simple. Dad wore the bed on my back all the way from Ikea, insane, mile after mile, and I came after the headboards. They weighed no. Still, I hung not with: "Take it easy, Dad, stop." But he just trudged on. He had that macho style, and sometimes he appeared with all his cowboy style at parent meetings at school. All wondered: Who is that? People noticed him. He was respected with him, and the teachers dared certainly not whine at me as much as they supposed to. The old man, we must be careful, as well! You have asked me: What would I have if I did not become soccer players? I have no idea.But perhaps I had become a criminal. It was much crime at the time. Not that we went out to steal. But there was still some stuff, not just bikes. It was in and out of stores also, and often I got a kick out of the actual execution. I was triggered by the theft, and I will be glad that my dad never found out. Dad drank; yes, but it was much rules as well. One would do the right thing and that! Definitely not steal, do not stand a chance. Then he would pull down the sky, type. The time when we were arrested for Wessels department store with our down jackets, I was lucky. We had thrown one thousand four hundred dollars. It was not just the usual candy thing. But the friend's dad had to fetch us, and when the letter came to my house, Zlatan Ibrahimovic has been arrested for theft, blah blah blah, then I managed to tear it before my father saw. I was floating and I continued to steal, so okay, it could have gone bad. But one thing I can say for sure, it had not been any drug. I was totally against it, of course. I put not only the father's beer. I Throw Momma cigarettes. I hated all the drugs and poisons, and I was seventeen or eighteen when I drank my full first time and threw up in staircase like any teenager at any time, and after that there has been a lot of
fill, just a collapse in the bathtub after the first Scudetto with Juventus. It was Trezeguet, the serpent, who incited me to drink shots. Me and Sanela also ran hard with Keki in Rosengard. He did not smoke or drink because then we would come after him. It was a special thing, that about the little brother. We took care of him. With the emotional stuff, he went to Sanela. With the tougher stuff, he came to me. I stood up for him. I took responsibility. But otherwise, I was not exactly a saint, and I was not always so kind to friends and teammates. I did the aggressive stuff, that kind of stuff that made me mad today if someone did that to Maxi and Vincent. Though it is true. It should not be forgotten. I was Double even then. I was both disciplined and wild, and I thought the whole philosophy of that. My thing was that I could both talk and perform. Not only speak thus: I am the best type, who are you? Of course not, there's nothing cheesy, but do not just perform and say wimpy things Swedish stars. I would be both the best and cocky. Not that I thought I would become a superstar right. God, I came of course from Rosengard! But maybe I was a little different because of that. I was messy. I was crazy. But I had character as well. I did not always come on time to school. I found it hard to get me up in the mornings, I have still, but I did my homework, at least sometimes. Mum was a cinch. Bam, bam just, and I saw the answer. The was a bit like the football field. Pictures and solutions flashed in me. But I was good at writing down the calculations and the teacher thought that I cheated. I was not exactly the guy you were expecting good study of. I was rather the guy be kicked out of school. Yet I studied really. I slammed my facts before exams, and forgot about it the next day. I was not a monster directly. I had just can not sit still, and I threw some eraser and that kind of stuff. I had ants in the body. It was a troubled year. We moved all the time, so I do not know. But we rarely lived more than a year in one place, and it utilized the teachers. You must switch to the school where you belong, they said, not because they were finicky with the rules, but because they saw an opportunity to get rid of me. I went to different schools all the time and had difficulty making friends, and my dad had his property to date and their war and their drinking, and the hardest temporal thousand ears. It rang in his head, and I took care of me more and more myself and tried not to care about the chaos in the family. It was
always something. You know, we in the Balkans is hard. My sister with the drugs had broken with the mother,and us, and it was perhaps not entirely unexpected after all fracas with the drugs and treatment centers. But even my other half sister were removedfrom the family. Mom and just deleted her off; and then I know hardly what it was. There was no fuss about a boyfriend, a guy from Yugoslavia. He and my sister had had a fight and my mom took the boy's party for any reason, and then freaked my sister out and she and my momyelled terrible things to each other, and it was not good of course. But still, it should not have been all over the world. It was not the first time we fought in our family perfectly. But Momma was proud, and safelygot both she and her sister some form of locking. I recognize that. I do not forget yourself. I remember an ugly tackle for years. I remember the shit that made me, and I can be incredibly resentful. But this time it went over the limit. We had five siblings at home mom, and suddenly there were only three, and I, Sanela andAleksandar, and it was impossible to repair. it was as set in stone. Half Sis were no longer with us, and years passed. She was gone. Butfifteen years later phoned her son to my mom. My half-sister had a boy, a granddaughter of the mother in other words. "Hey Grandma," he said type, but my mother would not hear of him. "Sorry," she said simply and hung up. I did not think it was true when I heard it. I got a stomach ache. I can not describe the feeling. I wanted to sink through the floor. It makes not so! Never ever! But there is so much pride in my family that causes it to us, and I shallbe glad I had the football. 3
In the rose garden, we had different farms and no farm was worse than the other, yes it was called zigenargården had low status. But it was not so that all Albanians and Turks lived in one place. The farm was counted, not the country your parents came from. But they stayed on their farm, and farm at the mother's name was Törnrosen. It had a swing, a playground, a flagpole and as a football field where we lirade every day. Sometimes I did not attend. I was too small. Then I lit a second. I hated being outside. I hated to lose. Yet it was important not to win. It was great engines and the good things. It was much: "Oh, oh! Wow! Look at it! "It would impress the guys with tricks
and spins, and we would practice and practice until you knew them Best of all, and often cried moms from the windows: "It's late. The food is ready. Come in now. " "Soon, soon," we said, and played on, and it was getting late and the rain and general chaos. But we lirade only. We were tireless and there were small areas. They had to be quick in the head and the feet, especially for me as was small and frail and easily went on a solid tackles, and I learned cool things all the time.I was so badly required. Otherwise, I had no "wow" no trigger me, and often I slept with the ball and came up with the tricks I should do next. It was like a movie that all the time buzzed. My first club was called MBI, Malmo ball and sports clubs. I was only six years old when I started. We played on gravel behind some green barracks, and I hojade Training on stolen bikes and was not always so well-behaved. The coaches sent me home a few times, and I shouted and swore back, and I heard all the time: "Take then Zlatan!" It annoyed me, and I felt lost. The MBI was both foreigners and Swedes, and many parents whined to my tricks from the farm. I told them to fuck off and changed the club several times and came to FBK Balkan, and there was nothing there! The MBI was Swedish paper and shouted: "Come on, guys. Good job! " In the Balkans there was more: "I'll fuck your mom in the ass." It was crazy Yugoslavs that great smoked and threw shoes around him and I thought: Wonderful, just like home. Here I feel great! The coach was the Bosnians. He had played at quite a high level down there in Yugoslavia, and was a little like a dad to us. He drove us home sometimes, and could give me a few dollars for ice cream or something to bring order to my hunger. I stood in goal for a while. I do not really know why. Maybe I had painted out the old goalkeeper and said like, 'You are worthless, I can it better myself. "It was certainly something. But one game I released the lot of goals, and then I was mad. I yelled that they were all crap. To football was crap. That the world was bad, and that I would start with hockey instead: "Hockey is much better, your damn fools! I'll be hockey pros! Go and drown you! " It was just that: I checked it up there with hockey, and hell, all the stuff you needed! Clean protective clothing! How much it cost any time. It was just to put down and continue with that crap sport football. But I ended up being goalie and came up in the attack, and
was really cruel. One day we would play the game. I was not there and everyone shouted, "Where is Zlatan? Where is Zlatan? "It was just a minute left to start, and coach and teammates would probably strangle me, "Where is he? How the hell can he be away from such an important match? "But when they saw a madman who hojade like an idiot on a stolen bicycle, which was heading straight for the trainer. Could the maniac ride him? No, just in front of the old man slammed on the brakes I in the gravel and ran directly into the plan, and I guess the coach went crazy. He got sand in my eyes. He was totally splashed. But he let me play, and I guess we won.We were a good bunch. Once I was punished for some other shit, and the Bank's first half. We lay down with four to zero against a snobbish bunch, Vellinge, we were blue and the nice boys, there was lot of aggression in the air and I was so pissed that I was about to burst.How could that idiot to sit on the bench? "Are you stupid?" I told the coach. "Easy, easy. You come in soon. " I came into the second half and made eight goals. We won by eight-five and mocked snobs and yes, I was fine. I was technical and did game openings all the time and Mum's house, I had become a small master at finding the unexpected stuff in tight spaces. Yet I am tired on all Donald Duck characters who now goes around and says: I saw immediately that Zlatan would be something special, blah blah blah. I nursed him, kind. He was my best friend. It's bullshit. No one saw anything. Not as much as they said afterwards, anyway. No big clubs came and knocked on the door. I was a brat. It was no: Oh, the little talent we will be so nice to! There was more: who let the blue? and even then it was very up and down. I could make eight goals in one match, but then get completely out of nature. I was hanging too much with a guy named Tony Flygare. We had the same native language teachers. His dad and mom is also from the Balkans and he was a bit of a tough guy he was with. He did not live in Rosengard, but just outside the penalty Molle Street. We were born the same year, he was in January and I in October, and that meant certainly a part. He was bigger and stronger and was seen as a major football talent. It was very Tony: "Check him, the players!" And I got a little in his shadow. Maybe it was good, what do I know. I had to bite the bullet and fight at a disadvantage. But as said, at that time I was not a big promise. I was a savage, a madman, and I
really had no track of my mood. I continued to shouting at players and referees and I switched clubs all the time. I played in the Balkans. I came back to the MBI and then again to the Balkans and so to BK The flag. It was a mess and no one drove me right to the workout, and sometimes I looked at the parents at the long side. My dad was never there, neither among juggarna or among the Swedes, and I do not really know what I thought. It was just so. I passed myself. I had got used to it. But perhaps stung anyway. I have no real track. You get used to the course his life, and I held it there for distance. My dad was like he was. He was hopeless. He was fantastic. He was upside down. I did not count on him, not like other counted with their parents. But then, I hoped to secure time to time. Shit like, what if he had seen the delicious thing, the Brasse thing? Dad had moments when he was really committed. He wanted me to become a lawyer. I can not say that I believed in it. In my circles were not exactly legal. They did crazy stuff, and dreamed of becoming a tough guy; and we had no parental support directly, it was not: "Should I explain Swedish history for you?" There were beer cans and juggemusik and empty refrigerator and the Balkan War. But sometimes, in other words, he took the time to talk football with me and I was delighted whenever. I mean, he was dad, and one day he said, I forget it, there was something solemn in the air: "Zlatan, it's time you start playing in a big club." "What a big club? What is a big club? " "A good team, Zlatan. Great bunch, as Malmö FF! " I do not think I did really. What was so special about Malmo FF? I was not about that kind of stuff, about what was good and not. But I knew the club. I had met them in the Balkans, and thought: Why not? If Dad says so. But I had no idea where the football stadium was, or anything else at all in town. Malmo was perhaps close. But there was another world. I managed to fill seventeen before I was in the center, and I understood nothing about life there. But I learned the way to workout, and I hojade there in thirty minutes with the type clothing in a Icapåse, and the Of course, I was nervous. In Malmo FF it was serious. It was not the usual: Come and play, kid! Here you have to audition and places and I noticed right away, I was not like the others, and I was prepared to pack my stuff and run home. But already the second day was
I hear, it was a coach named Nils: "You are welcome in the team." "Really?" I was thirteen then, and there were a few other foreigners already there, Tony, among other things. Otherwise, only Swedes, some were Limhamn Types, upper-class kids. I felt like I was from Mars. Not just because my dad had a big fine house and was never on the matches. I talked differently. I dribble. I lit like a bomb, and I fought on the field. Once I received a yellow card because I scolded my teammates. "So where you can not do!" Said the judge. "You can go to hell too," I shouted and went out. It began to smolder among the Swedes. Their parents wanted to get me out from there, and I thought for the thousandth time: To hell with them. I switch law again. Or so I bet on taekwondo instead. It's cooler. Football is shit. Some idiot of a father in the team walked around with a list. Zlatan must away from the club, it said, and all sorts of shapes wrote on that paper. They went around and fiddle with it: Zlatan do not belong here. He must be thrown out! Write on, blah blah. It was crazy! Okay, I had fightats with that dad's son. I had a lot of ugly tackles and switched to. I had skulls him, frankly. But I was terribly remorseful afterwards. I rode to the hospital and apologized.It was a stupid thing, really, but a list! Knock it off! The trainer, Ake Kallenberg, just staring at this note: "What's this ridiculous shit!" He tore it up. He was good, Ake. Or well and good! He banged me almost a year in juniors, and like everyone else, he thought I dribbler too much and barked too much on teammates and had the wrong attitude and wrong attitude and whatever it was. I learned a important thing those years. Should a guy that I be respected, he must be five times better than Leffe Persson and all their names. He must train ten times harder. Otherwise he has no chance. Not on Earth! Especially if he's bicycle thief. I should of course have handled myself after all of that other stuff. I wanted to secure. I was not entirely hopeless. But it was far to the training, seven miles, and I often went the whole way. But sometimes the temptation was too great, especially if I saw a nice bike. Once I looked into a yellow
bike with lots of cool boxes and I thought, why not? I hojade away, nice ride as well. But after a while I began to wonder. There was no strange about those boxes, and suddenly I realized, it was a post cycle. I hojade around with the block letters, and then I jumped off and put the bike a little further away. Did not want to steal people's mail also. Another time, snatched the bike I had stolen later and I was standing outside the arena and it was far from home and I was hungry and impatient, and therefore I tossed her a new bike outside the dressing room. I opened the lock, as usual, and I liked it, I remember. It was a good bike and I be sure to park it some distance away so that not the old owner would run on it. But three days later, the team called a meeting. Even then I had a hang-up on that. Meetings usually means trouble and SERMON and I started immediately think of clever excuses: It was not me, kind. It was my brother, and sure enough: the meeting was about other coaches cycle. "Is there anyone who has seen it?" No one had seen it. Me neither! I mean, in this situation do you say no. That is how it works. You play dumb: Oh, how sad, poor you, I have also received a bicycle twist once. But anyway, I got anxiety. What had I done? And what a damn bad luck! Other coaches bike! The coaches will be of course respect. It found me. Or rather, I meant that you could listen to them and learn their stuff, zonspel, tactics and the whole bit. But not listen. As yet continue dribbling are and tricks. Listen, do not listen! That was my philosophy. But to steal their bikes? I thought not true that it was part of the concept. I became worried and went to the other coaches. "So, so here it is," I said. "I have borrowed your bike a little. It was sort of crisis. A one-time thing! You get it back tomorrow. " I pulled the worst Smilets sad, and I think it went home in any way. My smile helped me a lot of those years and I was able to obtain a joke while I was needed a. But it was not easy. I was not just the black sheep.Disappeared tracksuits, blamed on me. Entirely correct in itself. I was a pauper, too. While the other from the beginning had had recent soccer shoes from Adidas and Puma with kangaroo leather, I had bought my first in the Echo Colonnade for fifty-nine and nineties, there was a pair of sneakers that were right next to the tomatoes and vegetables, and it would have continued. I never had anything to show off
with in that way. When the team took off abroad had many others with him two thousand bucks in spending money. I had twenty crowns, type, and yet ignored Dad at some point in paying the rent for a month to send to me. He was evicted rather than let me stay home. It was beautifully done. But I still could not measure myself with friends. "Hang with Zlatan, we take a pizza, a hamburger, we go to buy it and there!" "No, later. I'm not hungry! I chill out instead. " I tried to wriggle my way and be the ball anyway. It went no further. It was no big deal. But there was something new and I got into a period of uncertainty. Not that I wanted to be like the others. Well a little, maybe! I wanted to learn their stuff, as the label and stuff. But mostly I drove my own thing, it was my arms, you might say. I saw dudes from my kind of suburbs that tried to play the upper class. It was always the wrong way they tried hard, and I thought, I do the opposite, I run my thing even harder. Instead of saying, "I have only twenty bucks," I said: "I have nothing, not a penny." It was cool. More crazy. I was a tough guy from Rosengard. I was different. It became my identity, and I liked it more with it and I never cared that I had no idea about the Swedish men's idols. Sometimes we ball boy at the A-team matches, and once met with Malmo FF IFK Gothenburg, a real big game, in other words, and my teammates were totally wild and wanted autographs of the stars, especially by someone named Thomas Ravelli, and apparently was the world's hero after a penalty kick in the World Cup. I had never heard of the guy, not because I said something about it. I did not make a fool of me, and... Of course, I had also seen the World Cup. But then, I was from Rosengard! I totally freaked the Swedes. I had been doing Brazilians, on the Romario and Bebeto and them, and the only thing that interested me with that Ravelli was his shorts. I wondered where I could steal one couples alike. We would sell bingo cards for withdrawing money for the club, and I had no idea what Bingolotto was. Had never heard of The locomotive and the old men who like that. But I went around there and knocking on doors in the area: "Hello, hello, my name is Zlatan. Sorry to disturb you. Should you not have a ticket? " It went no further, frankly. I sold about one and even fewer of Christmas
calendars we went on. That is, type zero, and finally got dad buy everything. It was not fair. We did not have the economy and not direct a need to have more junk home, and I was not much happier to be able to open every door in every calendar in November. It was purely larval, and I do not understand how to can send out guys on one of those tiggargrej. We played football and we had an awesome vintage, 80-81: models in Malmo. It was Tony Flygare, Gudmundur Mete, Matias Concha, Jimmy Tamandi, Markus Rosenberg. That was me. There were all sorts of sharp guys, and I got better and better, yet continued whining. It was parents most. They refused to surrender. "Now he begins," they said. "Now he is dribbling again!" "He is not right for the team!" I painted out on it. What the hell they were to stand there and judge me? It has snackats that I was thinking of adding to the football at the time. That's not true. But I was really inside changing club for a while. I had no dad around to defend me or bought expensive clothes for me. I got take care of myself, and everywhere they stood where Swedish fathers and their snobbish sons and explained why I was wrong. Of course I rotted! In addition, I was restless. I wanted action, action. I needed something new. Johnny Gyllensjö, boys' team trainer, heard about it and took it up with the club. "Come on," he said. "Everybody can not be water-combed. We is losing a great talent! "There was a youth contract with me as my dad signed. I got fifteen hundred a month and the was a kick, of course, and I attempted more and more. I was not entirely impossible, as I said. It was not just, do not listen! It was listening also. I worked hard to receive the ball with as little on as possible. But I shone yet not excessive, I must say. It was still a lot of Tony, and I sucked for me the knowledge to be just as good. My entire generation of MFF was on Brasse stuff and tricks. We triggered each other there. It was a bit like Mum's house again, and when we had access to computers loaded us down different tricks, stuff that Ronaldo and Romario been doing, and then we practiced until the trick was. It was very fast back and forth. How do they really? How is it there little thing to? We were all familiar with that Touch the ball. But Brazilians and pushed it with his foot and we practiced over and over again until the stuff was sitting at
end we tried the games. There were many who were doing that. But I took it a step further. I went deeper into it. I was more careful with the details. I became obsessed, quite frankly. Those tricks had always been my way to be seen, and I dribbler on, how much the father's hands and trainers than whined. No, I adapted I do not. Or rather, I did both. I wanted to be different. I wanted to be trained stuff too, and it went better and better. But sometimes it was not so easy. Sometimes it hurt, and certainly I was influenced by the situation with my mom and dad. It was very shit needed to get out. In Mourning Friskolan they put in extra teachers for me. I was sick angry. Sure, I was messy. Perhaps worst of all. But an extraordinary teacher! Knock it off! I got fifth in the picture, four in English, chemistry and physics. I was not a kid just does drugs. I had barely pulled a munbloss with a cig. I was just worried and did lot of stupid stuff. But there was talk about putting me in learning disabilities. They wanted to mark me, and I felt me as a UFO. It started ticking like a bomb in the body. Need I say that I was good in gymnastics? Maybe I was a little unfocused in classroom and found it difficult to sit still with books. But I could concentrate well, if we're talking about getting off a ball or a eggs. One day we played floorball. That one extra teacher got there, staring. The slightest thing I did, so she was there, as a patch. Then angry I was. I pulled into the world's shots and hit her straight in the head. She was shocked and just stared at me, and afterwards they called my father and wanted to discuss psychiatric help and a special school and that kind of crap, and it takes you, it was not the right thing to talk with Dad about. No one speaks ill of his children, least of all teachers who persecute them.He was mad, and went to school with all cowboy style: "What the hell are you? Come and talk about psychiatric help? You should probably enter the psyche whole bundle. But my son is nothing wrong on, he is the nicest guy, father fuck them all! " He was a crazy jugge and completely in his element, and not much later, ended where the teacher. Not surprising perhaps, and it became a little better. I got back my confidence. But still, the very thing! A special education teacher just for me!I'm going crazy on it. Sure, I might not have been
worse headman. But one must not separate out children like that! You must not! If anyone today would consider Maxi and Vincent as if they were different, I would be mad forest. I promise. I would be worse than Dad. That bias remains in me. I was not feeling good about it. Okay, in the long run maybe it made me stronger. I do not know. I became even more of a warrior. But in the short term, blew it for me. You know, one day I would have a date with a girl, and I was not very confident with girls back then. The guy with an extra teacher in heels like, how cool it sounded? Just ask for her phone number made me too sweaty! It was a cool chick in my eyes, and I managed just REEL out of me: "Do you want to be seen at some time after school?" "Yes, absolutely," she thought. "How about Gustav now and then?" Gustav is Gustav Adolf Square which is located between the Triangle and the Great Square in Malmö center, and it seemed as if she liked the idea. But When I got there, she was not there. I was quite nervous. It was not just my home and I felt insecure. Why did not she? Did she not like me anymore? It took a minute, two, three, ten minutes, and finally Pallade I do not anymore. It was the worst humiliation. She has certainly blown me, I thought. Who would like to have a date with me? And so I pulled away. I do not care well for her. I will still be football star. But it was the stupidest thing. Girl's bus had just been a little delayed. It was chaffisen who wanted to take a cigarette or something, and She arrived just afterwards and was as sorry as I am. 4
I started in high school in Borgarskolan the Society with a special football focus, and I had great expectations for it. Now everything would change! Now I would be really cool. But the whole thing was a shock.Okay, I was prepared. I had some Limhamn boys on the team. But now it was too babes and other types of guys, gliders who stood and smoked in cool clothes in the corners. Where I came from had sneakers and track suits with the worst Adidas or Nike tags. It was the most fashionable ball, thought man, and I slid around as always. What I took was that it was fully lit Rosengard about me!It was like a sign. As if that additional teacher still hanging for me. In Borgarskolan had Ralph Lauren Shirts, Timberland shoes and
shirts! Just that! I had hardly seen a guy in a shirt before, and I taken directly that I must do something urgently about the situation. It was sick very hot babes in school. Could not talk to them and look like a suburban guy. I talked to Dad about it and we fought. We received grants from the state at the time. It was ninety-five seven hundred bucks a month and for dad, it was obvious that he would take care of it because he stood for expenses, which he said. I put up it another way: "I can not be the worst geek at school!" Somehow, he bought the talking. I got the student grant and a bank account and one of those Minute Card with a tree on. The grant came twentieth of each month, and many of my friends stood there at 23:59 at the ATM the day before and just waited, completely crazy: Is it not midnight yet? Ten, nine, eight ... I was a little cooler. But the morning after I had finally picked out a lot and ran and bought a couple Davis Jeans. They were the cheapest. They cost two hundred ninety-nine, or so I pulled into a few picket shirts, three to ninety-nine. I tried different styles. None worked. It called Rosengard about me anyway. I did not fit. I felt that way. I had been small all my life. But the summer I had grown completely sick, thirteen inches in just a few months and I guess I looked rickety out.I had to assert myself, simply, and for first time in my life, I started hanging out in the city, at Burger King, in the Triangle and on Lilla Torg. I drove with some serious stuff too, not just for the kick. I needed to cool gadgets.Otherwise I would not stand a chance in the schoolyard. I cut such a guy's MP3, fattest Minidiscen. We had lockers outside the classroom with small locks with codes and a friend I found out one of those guys secret number. When he was not there, I went there and like, right five, left three, and so I rode off with it where Minidiscen and enjoy his songs and felt right cool. But of course it was not enough. I still had not much to go on. I was still suburban guy. My buddies were smarter. He got himself a girl from a nice family and chatted lodgings with her brother and began to borrow his clothes. A good trick, absolutely, even if it did not succeed all the way. We from the suburbs never really flowed. We were different. But still, dude showed up with the most expensive brands and had a cool chick and was the cocky whatsoever. Naturally, I felt the negative mode. I had to drive with my football.
But it was not good either. I had taken me into the youth team and played with them which was a year older, and that was a feat in itself. We were a great bunch, one of the better teams in the country in our age group. But I sat on the bench. It was Ake Donald's decision. A trainer should of course SEAT ONESELF who he wants. But I do not think it was all about football.When I was changed into, I did often targets. I was not bad. But I was wrong in other ways, they thought. It was said that I did not contribute enough to the team. "Your moves for the game ahead!" I heard that kind of stuff a hundred times; and I felt the vibes: That Ibrahimovic as well! Is he not too unbalanced? It was no longer lists, but not far away, and it is true, I scolded teammates. I cried and talked too much on the pitch. I could mess with spectators.Not that there was some serious stuff. But I had my mood and my style of play. I was a different kind of player and I got angry. I did not belong properly in the MFF. Many saw the it so. I remember junior championships. We qualified us to the playoffs, and it was a big deal of course. But Ake Kallenberg did not take me out of the team. I would not even sit on the bench."Zlatan is injured," he said before them all, I jumped. What? damaged? What kind of snack? I told him: "What are you talking about? How can you say something like that? " "You are hurt," he repeated, and I could not believe it. Why did he like that shit when we would play the finals? "You say it just because you do not want me." But no, he saw me hurt and I was mad at it. There was something strange in the air.Nobody said that it was. No one was man enough and the years Malmö FF won the junior championship without me, and it strengthened my confidence is not just. Absolutely, yes, I had said mass cocky stuff. As when my teacher of Italian threw me out of the classroom, and I replied: "I do not care well of you. I will still learn the language when I become professionals in Italy, "and it may sound a little funny in hindsight. Then it was just talk. I did not believe it. How could I do that when I was not even a regular in the youth team? This time is was the first team problems. Malmö FF's A-team is the finest kind in the country. When Dad came to Sweden in the seventies dominated the Club completely. Was reached through to the finals of the Champions League or European Cup as it was called then, and almost none of the juniors were
admitted. The management recruited from other top clubs instead. But this year the situation was changed. Without anyone really understand why, it went badly for the club. MFF has always been at the top of the Premier League was likely to go down.We played lousy. The economy was worthless. They could not afford to buy some players and more young people from their ranks had the chance, and you can imagine how we juniors talked about it! Who should they bring in? He or she? It was Tony Flygare, of course, and so Gudmundur Mete and Jimmy Tamandi. But I was not even thought of. I was the last in the team would be picked up. I thought so. It is believed the majority. So frankly, there was nothing to hope for. Even the junior Transbank me. Why would the first team to take me then? It was not on the map. Yet I was not worse than Tony, Metering and Jimmy. I had taught my understudy. What the hell is wrong as well? What are they doing? All that buzzing in me, and I became increasingly convinced that the low-mass policy it. As the boy was it cool to be different and a little kaxigare than the others, but in the end there was only one drawback. When it really case you do not want any blue or wild brains running Brasse stuff all the time. Malmö FF was the proudest fine club. In heyday had all players been blond and well-behaved and been called type Bosse Larsson and said fine, nice things, and since then had not picked up many of foreign origin. Okay, Yksel Osmanovski had been there. He also came from Rosengard. He was professional in Bari since. But he was a well-behaved mare type. No, no, there would be no A-lagsspel. I had my youth contract. I had to content myself with it, and U20. U20 was one thing they have created in connection with fotbollsgymnasiet in Borgarskolan. Youth team was up to eighteen. The U20 was the twentyyear limit. We were not so many that were listed there, not enough to form a team yet. But the whole idea was to prevent us from leaving club, and often we played with guys from the B team and met the divisional three-gang, and so. It was nothing fancy, but I had a chance to show me where. Sometimes we trained with the first team, and when I refused to
adapt. Normally does not take a junior forward worst dribbling in that kind of situation. He puts not in solid tackles in the close control and start screaming "Fucking sweep". He takes care of itself. But I thought: Why not? I have nothing to lose. I gave everything. I just slapped on, and of course, I noticed they were talking about me. "Who does he think he is" and stuff, and I muttered: "Go to hell!" And just went. I said the trick. I'm the tough guy, and sometimes watched Roland Andersson, A-team coach. In the beginning, I had lot of hopes: Does he think I am good, no? But that changed with all the crap that happened around me. When I saw him again one day along the plan, I just thought: Surely he has heard no whining! No complaints. That time, I felt increasingly disappointed with the football, and I had not much success elsewhere, either, especially not in school. I was still shy and insecure and often I ate only lunch at school. I ate like a maniac. But the rest did not care, I more or less in. I studied less and less, finally jumped I am out of high school altogether, and at home was the lot of hassle and trouble. It was like a minefield, and I retreated and was doing my tricks on the farm. In my room I put up pictures of Ronaldo. Ronaldo was the man. Not just above the fine limits and goals of the World Cup. Ronaldo is brilliant on all levels. He was one of those that I wanted to be. A guy who made the difference. The Swedish national team players, what was it? There was no superstar, no one there was talk about the world. Ronaldo was my hero and I studied him on the net and tried to get into his patterns of movement, and I thought I was cruel. I danced with the ball. But what I had for it? Nothing, I thought. It was an unjust world. Guys that I had not a chance, and I would not be any Star what qualities than I had. That was how it looked. I was screwed. I was wrong, and I tried to find other ways. But I could not take hold of it. I'm just. On that day when Roland Andersson stood there and stared lirade I U20 on level one. Plan one is no more. But it was a green, it was right next to Malmö Stadion, and afterwards I was told that Roland Andersson wanted to talk to me. It was what I did. I had a little panic, frankly, and I started thinking: Have I pulled a bike? I will have one? I went through everything bad I've done and it was probably pretty much. But I took not how any of it could have reached him, and I figured out a thousand
excuses. Roland is a true and noisy type with a deep voice. He is nice, but quite strict. He dominates the room, and I feel my heart pounding a little. Roland Andersson, I had heard that he played in the World Cup in Argentina. He was not only one of the old MFF stars from greatness. He had been the squad as well. An old man with respectful words, and he sat at his desk, and drew no smile. He looked serious, form, will the worst yelling. "Hey, Roland. What is the situation? Did you want something, right? " I always tried to play a little cocky like that. It was one thing that was in late childhood. You could not prove weak. "Sit down." "Okay, take it easy. No one has died. I promise. " "Zlatan, it is time for you to stop playing with småskitarna." With småskitarna? What is he talking about, I thought, and what the hell have I done little boys? "Waders," I said. "Are you talking about someone special?" "It is time for you to start playing with the big boys." I still did not understand. "What?" "Welcome to the first team, kid," he continued, and frankly, I can not describe, never ever. It was like I was lifted up ten feet, and I guess I went out and pulled a new bike and felt like the coolest guy in town. 5
MALMÖ we had a thing called Mile. The mile was a long stretch pissed. We ran from the stadium towards the water tower, down along Limhamnsvägen, past all overpriced shacks where with the worst view of the sea, especially a house, I remember, that was pink and totally awesome and we thought, like: Wow, what is the types live there? How sick much money do not they have? We went to King's Park, set in a tunnel, and so until Borgarskolan, in a perfect location for all brides and snobs. What power I got from it then! That was my revenge. Here I came, geek from Rosengard who hardly dared to talk to a girl, and then ran I with all the tough guys in the MFF, which Mats Lilienberg and them. That was how awesome that you like and I put some system in it. At the beginning chased I. I was new in the first team and wanted to show what I went for. But as I
grasped the essence of the thing: the most important thing was to impress the chicks. Therefore, I drove, Tony and Angling some tricks. We ran the first four kilometers. But on Limhamnsvägen we turned some neat at bus stop. No one saw us. We had been last in line and was able to calmly wait for the bus and get on. Of course we tanned like crazy. What a cool thing as well! But then we had to duck out of hell when we went past the second on the team. I mean, there where the bus was not at all the right attitude! At the end of that long road we jumped off, completely rested and well before the other, and hid in a corner. When the team ran past kutade we developed and had cruelest power to shine in front of the school. Wow, I thought the girls safe, those guys seem how strong any time. Another day on the Mile, I told Tony and Angling: 'This is ridiculous. We steal a bike instead. "I think they were a little hesitant about the idea. They had not the same experience I the field. But I persuaded them, and so I pulled a bike and rode off with them on the rack. Other times, tracked it out altogether. I was not the most mature guy in town right away, and besides, Tony a fool he. The fool had come in like that with porn. He went into the Kungsan and rented a roll and bought chocolate instead of running, and the chocolate we sat and ate while the others on the team jogged his mil. I'll be happy to Roland Andersson believed in our excuses. Or so he did not. He was nice.He took us young. He had a twinkle in his eye. But of course, the ferment elsewhere: What's with that guy, Zlatan? Why, he shows no humility? And I heard the same old talking: He dribbles too much. He does not think the team. Some of it was just right. Absolutely! I had much to learn. Others were jealous. The players felt the competition, and I really was not just a cheater. I was in like a ferret, and I was content not to MFF's trainings. I'm at Mum's house also, hour after hour. I had a trick. I stuck out in Rosengard and screamed SMALL FRY: "You get ten bucks if you take the ball away from me!" And it was not just a game. It honed my technology. It taught me to protect the ball with your body. When I said no tricks with small boys, I played football on the television. I could go on for ten hours straight, and often I saw solutions in the game that I brought out in real life. It was a football around the clock, one has to say.But in the MFF in training, it was not
quite easily, and perhaps batten jade me too much. It was as if they received something completely irrational in the team, a guy that they did not understand on. I mean, every damn fit into this or that situation and say this and that in that position. But I ... I came from another planet. I just showered on the whole crazy thing Rosengard. The club was much older to the younger ones. We, the youth would wear trunks and shit and suit up. It was ridiculous, and the atmosphere was lousy from the outset. At the beginning of the season, had Tommy Söderberg, coach, predicted that the MFF would win the entire series, but since then had one after another went wrong, and now in danger, therefore the club to go down in division two. It was the first time in type sixty years, and supporters were angry and worried and all the older members of the team had the Earth's pressure on his shoulders. They all knew what it would mean for the city if they did not keep still in the Premier League, a disaster, nothing else. It was like no time for party and Brass stuff. But I was still quite happy to have been picked up in the first team and I wanted to show who I was. It may not was the correct position. But there was in my blood. I was in a new thread. I wanted to get people to wake up and I refused to bow and bend. When Jonnie Fedele, goalkeeper, already the first day hissed "Where the hell are the balls?" I winced, especially when I noticed that everyone looked at me and seemed to expect that I would get those balls. But never in my life, not when he talked like that. "Will you have them, you pick them yourself!" I hissed, and it was not the standard way to respond to the MFF. It was a suburban thing again, and it did not go home. But I had the support of Roland and other coaches Thomas Sjoberg, that I felt, even if most believed in Tony, of course. He got to play and scored in his debut. I was on the bench and tried to be even harder. But it helped not, and I swore. Perhaps I should have been pleased and have not had such a hurry. But I do not work that way. I want in and show what I am going there at once. But it seemed to run, and September 19, 1999 we met Halmstad away on Örjans Vallarta. It was a ödesmatch. If we won or played in a draw, we would be left in the Premier League.Otherwise, we must continue fighting in the final rounds,
and all the team was nervous and shaky. The game locked up. At the beginning of the second half was carried Niklas Gudmundsson, our striker, out on a stretcher, and I hoped to be traded. But no, not even a glance from Roland, and time passed. Nothing happened. It was one-one then and it would be enough. But when only fifteen minutes remaining was also our captain Hasse Mattisson damaged and soon after shot Halmstad two-one, and I saw how the whole the team faded. In this situation changed Roland me, and while all the other crises kick started with the worst adrenaline rush. I was seventeen. It was Championship and ten thousand in the stands. It was Ibrahimović on my shirt. It was wow, that was great, no one can stop me now as well, and directly, I had a shot on goal which felt the bar. But then came a thing. We had penalties in the final minutes, and you get it. There was a sense of life and death. We set punishments would the club's honor saved, otherwise we risk a disaster, and all the heavy boys hesitated. They dared not beat it. Too much was at stake, as Tony the kaxen step forward: "I'll take it!" It was tough done. A Balkan stuff as well, it does not back. But afterwards, I think someone should have stopped him. He was too young to assume such a thing, and I remember how he took the kit and the whole team held its breath, and looked away. It was scary. But the goalkeeper saved, I believe he feint Tony a little bit, and we lost, and after it ended up Tony in the freezer. She felt sorry for the guy, and I know journalists who have seen it is there as a symbolic thing. It was the moment when I slipped on. Tony never came back to the top of football, and instead I got lira more. I made six appearances in the Premier League and in any interview, Roland called me a diamond in the rough. The words stuck, and soon came SMALL FRY until after the games and wanted my autograph. Not that it was a big deal so far. But I was pumped up by it, and thought: Now I become even better! I can not do the little boys down! Check this out! I wanted to cry out to them. Look at the world's most delicious thing!Actually it was a little strange, right? I had not done anything yet, not much anyway. Yet there appeared young fans from nowhere, and I got even more desire to do tricks. Those little boys gave me like right in my game. They had not come up if I had been most boring team player! I started playing for those kids, and right from the first
while I wrote every single autograph. No one should be without. Of course I was young. I did exactly what it would have felt if my friends had a Signature and not me. "Is everybody happy?" I said before I rushed away, and at all happened so much around me that I did not care so much about the team's adversities. It was crazy in a sense. I was getting a name as my club had the greatest crisis ever, kind.When we lost at home against Trelleborg, crying fans in the stands and shouted "resign" to Roland. The police had to step in and protect him, and flung stones at Trelleborg bus and there were riots and shit, and no, it was better a few days later when we are humiliated by the AIK and the disaster was a fact. We went out of the Premier League. For the first time in sixty-four years would Malmo FF did not play in the top division, and in the locker room sat people and hid under the towels and shirts, while the management tried to pep and comfort, or whatever they were doing, and everywhere pyste frustration and shame up, and some thought for certain I was the worst diva who ran around and tricks in these kinds of serious games. But I did not care particularly, frankly. I had other things to think about. It was an incredible thing happened. It was just when I had picked up in the first team. We had trained on level one and yes, we were Malmö FF. We were or had been the city's pride. But there were not many people came and looked at our trainings, especially not at that time. But that afternoon appeared an old man in dark gray hair up. I saw him from afar. I did not recognize him. I noticed that he just stared at us from the trees over there, and I felt a little weird. I kind of sensed something, and I started to drive even more tricks.But it was before I understood. I had been take care of myself during childhood, it had been empty around me, and certainly, my dad had done amazing stuff too. But he had not been like the other fathers I have ever seen. He had not looked at my games, and encouraged me with school. He had had their drinking and their war and their juggemusik. But now, I could not believe it. The old man was really my dad. He had come to to check, and I was completely flabbergasted. It was as if I was dreaming and I started playing with a totally ill effect: Shit, Dad is here! It is not wise. Look here, I wanted to scream. Look here! Check out! Your son is the world's fiercest players!
I think it's one of my greatest moments. I promise. I got him back. Not that I have not had him before. If it had been crisis, he had come rushing to the worst Hulk. But this, it was something completely new, and afterwards, I ran out and talked with him some cool like that, like it was a completely natural thing that Dad was there. "What's up?" "Well played, Zlatan." It was unbelievable. My father had some kind of crazy, I think. I became his drug of choice.He began to follow everything I did. He saw every single workout. His home became a museum of my career, and he cut out every article, every small item, and this has continued. Ask him today about any of my matches. He has recorded and every word written on it, and so all the shirts and shoes I had and prices and gold balls. You name it, everything is there and is there a disorder just as before with his stuff. Everything is in place. He can find anything on a second. He has full control. From that day on a plane, he began to live for me and my football and I think it made him feel better. He had not had it easy. He was alone. Sanela had broken with him because of his drinking and his temper and all the harsh words about my mom, and it had taken him hard. Sanela was his heart, that she will always be. But now she was no longer for him.She had said the acquaintance, yet one of those hard thing in my family, in other words, and Dad needed something new, and there he got now. We started talking every day, and all that there was a new drive also for me. It was wow, football can do cool stuff as well, and I fought on even more. What was a nerflyttning in division two when Dad was greatest supporter! I did not know what to do. Should I start playing in the BBL, which of course division two is called a bit silly, or find me on? It had snackats if the Jets were after me. But was it true? I had no idea. I did not know a shit about how hot I was. I was not even regular in the MFF. I was eighteen and should write the A-team contracts. But I shot at it.Everything was uncertain, especially since Roland Andersson and Thomas Sjöberg been fired. It was they who had believed in me when everyone else gnällt.Would I ever get to play if I stayed? I did not know and I hesitated. Both Dad and I hesitated, and how well I was anyway?
I had no track. I had written a few autographs for the kids. But of course it meant nothing, and my confidence went up and down. The first joy of intoxication at having picked up the first team started to disappear. Then I met a guy from Trinidad Tobago. It was on preseason. He was cool. He auditioned with us, and afterwards he came up to me. "You kid," he said. "What?" "If you're not pros within three years, it's your own fault!" "What do you mean?" "You heard me!" Mostly the hell I heard! But it took a while to digest. Could it be true? If someone else said it, I hardly believed it.But this guy, he seemed to know. He had been out in the world and it went like a shot in the body. Was I really the worst professional promise? I began to believe it. For first time I did it and I really sharpened me even more. Hasse Borg, the old landslagsbacken, had become sports director of the MFF. Hasse was directly a soft spot for me. I guess he realized my talent, and he talked with journalists. Hey Hey, like, you should check out this kid, and in February the following year came a reporter who worked for the Evening Post and named Rune Smith to exercise. Rune was beautiful. He would be a friend almost, and after gazed at me, we talked a bit, he and I, nothing remarkable, not at all. I talked about MFF and BBL and my dreams of becoming a pro in Italy, Ronaldo, and Rune wrote down and smiled, and I do not know quite what I expected. I had no experience of journalists at the time. But it was a big deal. Rune wrote type: "Taste this prospective headline name, Zlatan, it sounds exciting. And he's exciting. A different kind of player, a dynamite package in the attack, "and he mentioned that about the diamond in the rough again and I spoke a little cocky and un-Swedish in the article, and I... do not know. It must have been something about that story. Now, more and more SMALL FRY until after the workout and actually some teenage girls also, and even some adults. It was the start of the hysteria, all of that "Zlatan, Zlatan!" That would become my life and that was so unreal first: What is going on as well? Is it me they're talking about? I would be lying if I said that was how vehemently any time. I mean, what do you think? I had been trying to get attention in my life and
Now suddenly popped up and people were störtimpade and wanted to have my signature.Mostly it was cool. It was the world's kick. I was pumped up. I was filled with adrenaline. I flew. You know, I've heard people say: Oh, I have it so bad, people screaming outside my window. They want to have my autograph. Poor me, kind. It's bullshit. It kicks off on that kind of stuff, believe me, especially if you had it like me, and been a snot kid from the suburbs. It is the fattest headlamp is turned on. But of course, some things I did not yet, envy, and the piece, the psychological stuff that many To cut down on that stick up, especially of course if you come from the wrong place and do not behave nicely, and Swedish. I received jibes well. The was very true: "You have just been lucky!" and "Who do you think you are?" I responded by becoming even kaxigare. What else would I do? I was not raised with an apology. In my family we say not: "Sorry, sorry, how sad that you get upset!" We give back. We fight, if required, and we do not trust people anyway. All in the family has gone in their knocks, and Dad always said: 'Do not do anything hasty. People just want to exploit you, "and I listened, and I was thinking. But it was not easy. This time ran Hasse Borg after me in the worst costume and wanted me to write A-team contracts. He was amazing on, and it flattered me. I felt important. But we had a new coach then, Mike Andersson, and I was still not sure how much I would play. Micke Andersson seemed to focus on Niclas Kindvall and Mats Lilienberg in the attack and have me as a substitute, and I did not get to the BBL and sit on the bench. I discussed it with Hasse Borg, and it is understood to say many things about him. But I do not think there is any chance that he succeeded in business life. He is straightforward in its style. He's a bastard to persuade, and he drew his experiences from his own playing career and went on: "This is good, kid. We will invest in you and BBL is a perfect nursery. You get opportunities to develop. Sign in only! " I felt that I was with. I began to have confidence in the guy. He called me all the time and gave me advice, and I thought: Why not? He knows for sure. He had been a pro in Germany and all that, and he seemed to really bother me. "Agents are thieves," he said, and I
believed him. I had a guy following me. His name was Roger Ljung. Roger Ljung was an agent right, and wanted to tie me to it. But Dad was skeptical and myself, I knew nothing about the agents. What is it about? So I bought Hasse's reasoning, agents are thieves, and I wrote on his contract and got an apartment on Lorensborg, a studio not far from the stadium, and so a cell phone, which meant a lot, phone home at Dad had not been for me, and so a salary of sixteen thousand a month. I decided to really give it a shot. But it started badly. This season's first match in the BBL was away on a bunch of blueberries, Gunnilse, and we should have won big. But the locks on the team was still there, and I sat long on the bench. Damn, was this how it would be? Grandstand was boring and it was windy, and when I came in. I got a nasty elbow in the back. I cut to the opponent in the back, bang, just like that, and so I fussed with the judge also gave me a yellow card. It was quite a circus of it, both on the field and in the newspapers and Hasse Mattisson, our team captain, went on that I spread negative energy. "What do you mean negative? I'm just psyched. " "You will not let things." And then followed the frivolity that I was not at all the star I thought and that the others certainly could tricks with the ball like me. They just do not like what all the time and thought they were the worst Maradonan, and I was frustrated. There is a picture of me when I stand outside the bus in Gunnilse and looking glum. But it dropped. I started playing better and I will give Hasse Borg right; Superettan gave me the playing time and opportunities to develop. I get be grateful for nerflyttningen in some ways, and pretty soon things started happening. It was crazy really. I was not Ronaldo just yet, and the Swedish national newspapers do not usually get excited especially about the division two-football. But the tabloids were now my suggestions: "Super Divan in Superettan" and stuff, and Malmö FF Fan Club was unexpected in lot of new young female members, and all older people in the team and wondered: What is this about? What's going on? And it was certainly not easy to understand, least of all for me. In the gallery sat the people, waving placards: "Zlatan is king", and roared worst rock-star screams when I pulled my dribbling. What happened? What was that about? I did not know. I know it is still not completely. But I guess that many simply became excited about my tricks and show stuff and I heard a lot of "Wow", and "Oh, oh, oh" now, just as at Mum's house, and I kicked started. I grew it when people recognize me on the town and the girls screamed and the kids ran up with his
autograph pads, and I drove my thing even harder. But of course, sometimes it went overboard. For the first time in my life, I had some money, and the first salary payment, I took driver's license on an intensive course. For a guy from Rosengard's car right essential to be said. In Rosengard brag not about nice apartment and beach house. It boasts of fattest car, and want to show that you succeeded in life, is it with a nice trailer. In Rosengard run all, with or without a license, and when I got my Toyota Celica on the lease was me and my friends out there still with it and at that time I had calmed me down a little. The whole resurrection in the media caused me to keep me on the carpet, at least or less, and when my friends started with car theft and that kind of stuff, I said to them: "Again does not work for me anymore." But still, a little kick I needed, as when I and a friend drove up along Industrial Road where all the prostitutes in Malmö was. Industrial Road is not far from Rosengard, and I had been there and busat part as a boy.Once, I even threw an egg straight in the mind of one of the women, just like a stupid thing like that, not otherwise nice, I admit it. But back then I did not think so far, and now that I and my friend got there in the Toyota, we saw a prostitute who was bent over a car, as if she was talking with a customer, and then we said: 'Come on, we run around with the cod, "and so I slammed on the brakes just in front of him and then we rushed out and shouted: "Police. Hands up! " It was totally sick. I had a shampoo bottle in his hand as weirdest imaginary gun, and where, one old man, was totally funky and a flying start and disappeared. We thought nothing of it, it just was such a thing we did. But when we drove a bit further, we heard sirens, and behind us in a police car was sitting on that old man from Industrial Road, and we thought: What's going on? What is this? And of course, we could have pulled in and drove away. I was no stranger to that kind of stuff, after all. But oh, we had a belt on and everything and we had not done something, not really. Therefore, we stopped nicely. "It was just the larva," we said. "We pretended to be police officers. No big deal, right? We are sorry, "and the cops laughed the most, it was no big deal as well. But then came a fool up, one of those photographers who sit and listen to
police radio all day, and he slapped a picture, and my idiot drew the worst Smilets, the whole media thing was new to me. It was still cool to be in the newspaper, no matter if I made a awesome goal or been caught by the police. Therefore, I smiled like a clown, and my buddies went even further. He had framed the article on the thing and then put it on the wall, and that old man, you know what he did? He went into the interviews and said that he thought was best man from the church who just helped the prostitutes. Come on then! But that story hang there. It was said even that some clubs balked at buying me because of it. It's probably bullshit. But newspapers became even wilder afterwards, and some of the team whined and nagged at me, "He has a lot to learn," "He's very rough," and really, I understand them. It may not have been easy. They needed to safely push me down a little. Here I came intrillande from nowhere and received more attention in a week than they had throughout their careers, and to top it all showed up different types of sharp suits and fattest clocks on those boring galleries in the provinces we played in the season, guys who did not seem to belong there, and everyone stared in my direction. Afterwards I do not know when I first knew, or even thought about it. But it started talking about those guys were football scouts from European clubs, and they were here to study me. The guy from Trinidad Tobago had certainly prepared me for it, but it felt yet completely unreal and I tried to take it up with Hasse Borg. He slipped away. He did not like the topic of conversation. "Is it true, Hasse? Are foreign clubs after me? " "Take it easy, kid." "But what is it?" "It's nothing," said Hasse Borg. "And we will not sell you," and I thought, Sure, fine, what a rush it is not, after all, and I tried negotiate up my contract instead. "Do you have five good games in a row, you get a new deal," said Hasse Borg, and when I did it, I'm cruel five, six, seven games, and so we set us down and talked about the conditions. I got up my wages by ten thousand or so, and would get it up with another ten thousand later, and I thought it was okay. I had no track, and I went to my dad and proudly showed the contract. He was not as impad. He had become a changed. He was the greatest customer support now, and instead of burying themselves in the war or anything else, he sat at home all day and found out things about
football, and when he read the section on sales to foreign clubs bounced, he added. "What the hell," he said. "It says nothing about how much you get." "How much should I get?" "You should have ten percent of the transfer fee if you get sold. Otherwise, use the Just ", and I thought I would take ten or twenty percent. But I could not imagine how we would get through it. Had there been an opening for such a thing had been well Hasse Borg taken it up, or how? Still, I asked him. I did not give me that easy, after all. "Hey, Hans," I said. "Can not I get a percentage if I get out?" But obviously, I was not expecting another. "Sorry kid!" He said. "It does not work then," and I told Dad. I assumed he would surrender. It does not work, so it does not work. But it was the opposite. He was mad, and asked for Hasse's number. He called once, twice, three times, and eventually he got hold of him, and he was not satisfied with an answer on the phone. He called for a meeting and therefore it was decided, we would meet with Hasse Borg at ten o'clock the next day at his office, and you can imagine. I was nervous. Dad is Dad, and I was worried that it would be a little wild and crazy, and frankly, so very balanced, not much! Dad got out pretty soon. He began to whistle and banging his fist on the table: "Is my son a horse?" No, of course, I was no horse, thought Hasse Borg. "Why do you treat him like one, then?" "We treat him not ..." It was like that, and finally said dad that MFF would not see the smoke of me more. I would not play another minute if not contract was written on, and then began Hasse Borg fade a little bit what I understand, and I take it, frankly. Dad is not to be trifled with, as I said. He is a lion, and we got it in there with the top ten percent of the contract, and it would mean a lot. Kudos to dad for that, and all that should perhaps have been a lesson, a lesson. But the agents were still thieves and I trusted even on Hasse Borg. He was my mentor, pure extra father, kind. He invited me home to his farm in the country, its half-timbered houses in Blentarp, and I got to meet the dog, the children and lady and animals, and I asked him for advice when I bought my Mercedes Convertible in installments. But, how do I say? State became increasingly sharp. My confidence grew, and I dared more. I made several konstmål, and
all Brasse are fine, I practiced for hours began to sit. All wear the stuff which paid off at last. In juniors, I had mostly been shit for it and heard parents nag: Oh, he dribbles again! He does not play for the team, and it. But now the cheers and applause from the stands, and I realized right away, this is my chance. Many may still whine. But it's not as easy when we win games and the audience loves me. Autograph hunters and roars and placards in the audience gave me strength, and I got into a real school. In Vasteras away I got a pass by Hasse Mattisson. It was in stoppage time. The match was virtually over. But I saw a gap and chipped the ball over myself and a few opponents, Majstorović among other things, it was a wonderful little thing, and I could roll the ball into the goal. I made twelve goals in the BBL, more than anyone else in the MFF, and we qualified ourselves to the Premier League and I was undoubtedly an important guy on the team. I was not only individualist, as some said. I started to make a difference, and constantly increasing hysteria around me, and at that time I said not only the mass of boring crap. I had not gone on a few knocks in the media yet. I was as good as myself for the journalists and I told him what car I wanted and what video games I lirade, and I said things like "There is only one Zlatan" and "Zlatan Ibrahimovic is" not completely humble stuff, and I guess I was seen as something completely new. It was not the usual "the ball is round", and it. It was more freely from the heart. I just talked almost like home, and even Hasse Borg admitted that I was trendy-and that football scouts crept into the bushes. "But you must have ice in my stomach." Afterwards I learned that it rang about an agent a day to him. I was red hot, and I guess he already sensed that I could be the salvation of the club's finances. I became his nugget, as the media later wrote,and one day he came up to me and asked: "How about sticking on a journey?" "Absolutely, please!" It was a small tour, he explained, to the various clubs that were interested in buying me, and I felt, hell, therefore, it is really to happen. 6
IN A WAY I hung NOT WITH Things had gone too fast. Just now I was a problem child in the juniors. Now buzzing all around me, and Hasse Borg
and I drove out to Arsenal's Fitness Centre in St Albans, north London, and you can imagine. It was classic ground, and I saw Patrick Vieira, Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp on the plane. But the really heavy thing was that I would meet with Arsene Wenger. Wenger was pretty new to the club then. He was the first non-Englishman who got the job as coach of Arsenal and newspapers had written headlines like "Arsene Who? '. Who the hell is Arsene Wenger as well? But already the second season, he took home doubles, both the league and FA Cup, and was the size of anything, and I felt like a little boy when we step into his office. It was me, Hasse Borg and an agent, I forgot the name and I shuddered a bit of Wenger's eyes. He tried, as well as see through me, or take find out who I was, deep down. He is a guy who takes up psychological profiles of their players, they are emotionally stable and stuff? He is accurate, as all great coaches, and I did not say much truth. I just sat quietly, and was shy, but after a while I lost my patience. Something with Wenger provoked me. He flew up from time to time and Look who was outside his window. He seemed to have total carbon, and so he went on about one thing all the time. "You can get samples to play with us," he said. "You can feel it. You can get tested. " As much as I wanted to conduct myself, I was triggered by those words. I wanted to show him what I could. "Give me a pair of football boots. I'll audition. I now make it at once, "I said and then pulled Hasse Borg in and said 'Stop, stop, this we solve, you should not audition, not at all ", and of course, I understood his point: either you are interested in or are you not. To audition is a nerköp. It puts you at a disadvantage, and we said no. "We are sorry, Mr. Wenger, but we are not interested," and it has of course, talked a bit about it. But I'm sure it was the right decision, and we went to Monte Carlo, where Monaco was on, but we said no to them too and also to Verona in Italy, a sister club to Roma, and we went home. It would have been an awesome trip, for sure. But nothing concrete came out of it, and I guess it was not intended either. I would most make more how it worked down there on the continent and back in Malmö, it was cold and winter. I got sick with the flu. I had been selected for the U21 national team. But I had to cancel my
debut, and a lot of football scouts had to go home disappointed. Scouts were following me everywhere. I did not have much track of it. Just a guy, I felt a little bit. It was a Dane. John Steen Olsen was named he said. He had been checking on me so long to Ajax that I started to visit him. But I made no big deal of it. He was part of the whole circus only, and I did not know what that was just talk and what really was serious. The whole thing had certainly come closer after our trip. But I still could not believe it completely. I took one day at a time and I remember that I looked forward to going away on a training camp with MFF. We would to La Manga. It was in early March, and I felt light in the body. The sun shone. La Manga is a small stretch of beach on Spain southeastern coast, a vacation spot with sandy beaches and bars. Adjacent to the mainland is a sports center where the big clubs tend to practice preseason. I shared a room with Gudmundur Mete, Icelander. We had followed each other since boyhood team, and none of us had been in such a camps before. We were not aware of the rules and we were late for dinner the first night and got a fine. We laughed most about it, and the morning the next day we took off for training. It was no big deal. But along the plan I saw a familiar figure. It was that John Steen Olsen and then I was startled to. Has he come here as well? I said hello: Hey, hey! Further, it was not. I refused to excite me. These guys were everywhere. I had expected. But the next day was another man there. It was the head scout from Ajax, I was informed, and Hasse Borg seemed totally stressed out. "Now it happen! Now begin to happen! "He said and I said," Okay, what good then! " I just played on. But it was not easy. Suddenly there were three guys from Ajax there. Other coaches had come too, and the Hasse Borg, I heard that more were on their way. It was pure invasion, and the next day we would meet Norwegian Moss, in a friendly game. There were also head coach Co Adriaanse in place and as sports director Leo Beenhakker. I had no track of when Beenhakker. I knew nothing about football bosses in Europe at that time. But I saw right away: the guy was big shot. He wore a hat in the sun and stood outside and smoked a fat cigar. He had vitlockigt hair, and like the glowing eyes. It has snackats to he looks like the mad scientist in Back to the future, but in that case, he is a tougher version of him. Beenhakker radiated power and cold. A bit like a mobster he looked, and the like's me. It is the style I
grew up, and it did not surprise me at all that Beenhakker had been training Real Madrid and won the league and cup with them. It seemed that he dominated and determined, and it was said that he could see the potential in young players like no other, and I thought: Wow, this is it! But of course, there was much I did not know. Beenhakker had repeatedly tried to get Hasse Borg to put a price on me. Hasse had refused. He did not want to tie themselves to a sum. "The guy is not for sale", he said, and it was probably smart. But it was a good game.Beenhakker had announced: "Do I get no price I will not to La Manga!" "That's your problem. Forget it then, "said Hasse Borg, at least he says so, and Beenhakker gave way. He had flown to Spain, and the first thing he saw was thus our game against Moss.Afterwards, I have no memory of him along the plan. I only saw John Steen Olsen, and coach, Co Adriaanse, over by the opposition under. But apparently Beenhakker had climbed up on a shed along the short side for better supervision, and of course, he must have been prepared for a disappointment. It would not have been the first time he traveled far to see a talent that did not live up to expectations, and the match was not important. There was no reason for any devoted to it, and maybe everything would just be a tough haul. No one knew. Ajax guys talked to each other now and then and I felt a bit nervous. It tricks the body. But quite early in the first half, I got a pass from the right. I was then just outside the penalty area, and we wore our blue costumes. The time was 15:37 if we are to believe the flapping video recording that is out there on YouTube. It was hot, but the wind was blowing pretty good from coast, and it did not look like a dangerous situation. It was a cautious game. But I saw a gap, an opportunity. It was one of those images that only shows up in my head, one of those flash scenes that swishing in mind and that I have never been able to explain properly. Football is of course no one thinks out. Football just happens, and directly on receiver chipped my ball over a defender, one of those little lob that you know directly is great, and so I slipped away. I accelerated past two defenders and met the ball a few yards into the penalty area and was when the stuff position that it was perfect with a heel. I heeled it over another opponent and ran up and shot with the left on the volley, and a moment of wonder, there is time
think even though it involves only a tenth of a second: Is the Case? Miss it? But no, it just whistled into. It was among the most beautiful I have done, and I rushed out on the pitch with his arms outstretched and roared. The journalists on the spot was assured that it was "Zlatan, Zlatan". But come on, why should I scream my name? I yelled "Showtime, Showtime!". It was a showtime goals, and I can imagine what Beenhakker thought. He had been playing. He could hardly have seen anything like it. But later I know that he too was worried. He had found what he was looking for: a tall player who was målfarlig and technical, and the pure order made all time goal. But he was not dumber than he realized I was with that shot the show my worth in the highest, and a few other big clubs had spies in the plan would be a crazy bidding, and Leo Beenhakker decided to go away immediately. He jumped down from the where the shed and went to Hasse Borg. "I want to see this guy now, at once," he said of you know, in football it's never just about the player: it is the person behind also. It does not matter if the kid is amazing, if he has the wrong attitude. That's the whole package you purchase. "Do not know if it will go," said Hasse Borg. "What can not?" "We may not have the time. We have lots of activities and stuff like that! " Beenhakker lacquered to, for of course he took. There was no talk about some fucking activities. Hasse Borg have pretty much always had an orgasm. The guy had suddenly got all the trumps, and now he wanted to work hard and play every single one of their tricks. "What, what are you talking about? He's a young guy. You are in training camp. Clearly it's time. " "Possibly, a brief moment," said Hasse Borg, or something like that, and so they agreed that we would meet at Ajax gang hotel was some distance away. We drove there. The car went Hasse Borg on about how important it was that I was a good and positive attitude. But I was calm. Ajax might like buy me and yes, absolutely, it was great, and in another position I would probably become nervous. I was not accustomed to foreign threats shots at that time, or even less for large transactions. But after a goal like that you own the world. Then it easy to be charming way whatsoever, and I and Hasse Borg step in to their hotel and shook hands with the whole gang, "How do you do" as well,
and we talked a little general like that, and I smiled and said I really wanted to bet on football and I knew it was hard work, all that snack. It was a small theater where everyone showed their good will. But of course, there were serious and suspicion under there. All examined me: Who is he? Above all I remember Leo Beenhakker. He leaned forward and said: "If you fuck with me I'll fuck you two times back", and therefore, it impressed me. That was exactly my kind of snack, and Beenhakker had a twinkle in his eye. But of course, he and his guys had probably done his research. They could probably all about me, including stuff on Industrial Way. Not that I thought about it then. But his words were of course be interpreted as a warning, or how, and I remember we went back to our hotel just fifteen minutes later, and I remember that I could hardly sit still. It's a game on the pitch. There is another in the transfer market, and I like them both, and I know a lot of tricks. I know when I should keep quiet and I know when I'm going to war. But I've learned the hard way. In the beginning I knew nothing. I was a kid who wanted to play football only, and after the meeting at La Manga, I heard not a word about Ajax, not for a while. I went home, and at this time, I drove around in a blue Merc Cab, not the one I ordered, but a lånebil I received in anticipation of the real, and I do not think I was going somewhere. I just went around and felt like a cool guy, and in the back seat was a mini-ball if I would like to trickery. It was an ordinary day in Malmo, in other words. There was even a few weeks to the season premiere in Allsvenskan, and I would play an Under-21 international in Boras, but otherwise it was quiet. The was just training and that, and hang with friends and play video games. Then the phone rang. It was Hasse Borg. Nothing unusual about that. We rang all the time. But he sounded different. "Are you busy?" He asked, and I could not exactly say I was busy. "But are you ready? Are you ready? " "Jora. What? " "They are here now." "What?" "Ajax. Come to the Hotel St. Jorgen. We are waiting for you, "he said, and yes, of course, I drove there.
I parked outside and it is clear, his heart pounded. I understood that it was going on now, and I had told Hasse Borg, I wanted to be sold for record sums. I wanted to be historic. There was a Swedish player who moved to Arsenal for forty millions, it was a lot then, and so a Norwegian John Carew, who paid seventy of Valencia. It was a record in Scandinavia, and I had some hopes to surpass the there. But my goodness, I was nineteen. It was not easy to be tough when it came, and do you remember? We are from the suburbs have track suits, and yes, I had tried other styles in Borgarskolan. But now, I drove with a Nike set again and a little cap on his head and it was totally wrong. When I step into the St. Jorgen I was met by John Steen Olsen, and of course, I understood that everything was super secret. Ajax is a publicly listed company, it would be inside information about some came out. But just then I saw Cecilia Persson, and I bounced to.What did Cecilia there? At St. Jorgen expected I me not to meet people from Rosengard. It was a different world. It was far from suburbia.But there she stood. She and I had grown up in the same staircase, she was the daughter of my mum's best friend. But suddenly I remembered, she cleaned the course of the hotel. She was a maid just like Mom, and now she looked at me suspiciously: What do Zlatan here with those kinds of guys, like, and I shushed against her: Do not say anything, type, and so I took the elevator up and went into a conference room, and there was some costume helpers, it was Beenhakker, his finance guy, and so Hasse Borg of course and I knew right away, something was fishy about the atmosphere in there. Hasse was completely eyed and nervous, he was throughout his adrenaline, but of course, he played cool, "Hey, kid! You see, we must not say a word about it yet. But would you go to Ajax? They want you, "and although I had it a hunch, it was like a stampede of me. "Absolutely!" I replied. "Ajax is a good school", and then nodded in all, it became a lot smile and stuff. But still, there was still something strange in there, and I shook hands and was told that I would negotiate my own personal contract, and for some reason went Beenhakker and his boys at that time and I was alone, with Hasse Borg. What the hell was that with the Hasselblad? He had Earth snus pouch under the lip, and he showed me a block. "Check here. This, I have arranged for you, "he said, and I looked at that block. There were one hundred sixty thousand a month on it, and Of course, there was a lot of money, it was, wow, I get it? But if it was good
pure market, I had no idea and it said I also. "Is this good?" "Damn, it's clear," said Hasse. "It is four times as much as you earn today," and I thought, okay, he's probably right, it's very much money, and I knew how stressed out he was. "Go to", I said. "Excellent, Zlatan! Congratulations! "So he went out, he would negotiate a little more, he said, and when he came back he looked proudly out. It was as if He arranged the world thing. "They stand for your new Mercedes, too, the pröjsa it" and it was cool with it, I thought, and I said "Wow, cool". But I still knew nothing about business, or thinking about it there with the car maybe was just a trivial issue, because frankly, what do you think? I was prepared for the hearing? I was not prepared for a damn thing. I knew nothing about what footballers earn, or what passes away in tax in Holland, and I really had not had someone who spoke to me and represented my interests. I was nineteen and from Rosengard. I knew nothing about the world. I had the same track as Cecilia out there about, and as you know, I thought that Hasse Borg was my friend, my extra dad, type. I never realized that he only thought of one thing: to make money for the club, and indeed, it would be long before I even realized what that pumped up the mood in the room was all about. But of course, suit the elves were in the midst of its negotiation. They had not yet determined a price for me, and that they ever called me was of course because it's easier to get a shuttle if you first signup player and set his salary, because then you know what money you have to move you along, and you are also so polished that you look for that guy earns worst of all the whole team, then it is easier to get really good money for him. I simply utilized in the strategic game. But if that which I knew nothing then. I just stepped out into the foyer and attracted by a cry of joy or something, and I think I was pretty good at shut up. The only person I told was my dad, and he was wisely skeptical of everything. He relied not on people. But selfI let it just happen, and the next day I traveled to Boras to play under-21 international against Macedonia. It was the European Championship qualifiers and my debut
youth squad, and it should have been a big deal. But I had understood her thoughts elsewhere, and I remember I met Hasse Borg and Leo Beenhakker again and signed the contract. They had negotiated clear then. Still, we had to keep it a secret until two o'clock in the afternoon when the news was published in Holland, and I was told that a whole bunch of foreign agents had come to town to look at me. But they had gone in vain. I was ready for Ajax. I was walking on clouds, and I asked Hasse Borg: "What sold me for?" And the answer, therefore, that I forget not. He had to repeat it. It was as if I did not understand, and maybe he mentioned it first in gold, and there was no exchange I had on hand. But then I realized how much it was and then I kicked up such a hell. Okay, I was hoping for a record sum. I had wanted to go for more than John Carew, but it was another thing to get it in black and white. The was staggering. It was eighty-five cursed million! But above all, no Swedish, no Scandinavians, not Henke Larsson, not John Carew, had been sold for anywhere near as much, and of course, I realized that it would be much. I was not unused to publicity. But still, when I bought the newspapers the next day - it was insane. It was Zlatan Orgies in the press. It was the guy with the gold pants. It was Zlatan the incredible. It was Zlatan everything, and I read and enjoyed, and I remember when me and Chippendale and Kennedy Bakircioglü in U21 team went out and had coffee in Borås. We sat in a cafe and took a soft drink and a bun, and suddenly it came up a few girls in our age and a of them said, a little timidly, "Is it you who is eighty-five million guy?" I mean, what do you answer that? "Absolutely," I said. "It is I," and constantly ringing cell phone. People buttered and congratulated and were generally envious, all but one that is to say, Mom. She was completely away. "My God, Zlatan, what have happened? "she cried. "Have you been kidnapped? Have you gone and died? "She had seen me on TV and not really understood what they said, and typically So, are you from Rosengard and ports in the media tends to be bad news. "It's okay mom. I have just been sold to Ajax, "I said, and then she became angry instead."Why did not you say something? Why should you get hear things like that on TV? " But she calmed down, I can be really moved when I think about it, and the day after I left, and John Steen Olsen off to Holland and I wore that pink shirt and brown leather jacket that was the coolest thing I had, and I held a press conference in Amsterdam. It was pure
uproar with photographers and journalists who were and sat down everywhere, and I glow.I looked down. I was happy and uncertain. I was big and small at the same time, and tasted the champagne for the first time in her life and made a face, like: What is this crap, and I was number nine shirt by Beenhakker, the worn by Van Basten. It was almost too much and this vevan made some guys a documentary about me and MFF called True Blue, and these the guys came with the Amsterdam and filmed me with the club's sponsor in a Mitsubishi business and I go around there in my brown leather jacket and look at all the cars. "Strange that just come in here and choosing. But you'll have to get used to, "I say, and so I shine. It was that first had the feeling that everything has suddenly become possible. It was pure fairy tale, frankly, and it was spring in the air, and I went to Ajax home stadium and stood on the empty gallery with a lollipop in his mouth and thought, and always was the journalists ever wilder. They ran the story about ghetto boy who must live out his dream and the next day they wrote to Zlatan got taste of professional life, luxury life, and this was when the Premier League would begin. Hasse Borg had negotiated that I would stay in the MFF for another six months, and therefore returned I have to exercise direct from Amsterdam. It was a bit chilly that day, I remember. I was newly cut and happy and had not met with teammates at a time. But now they all sat there in the locker room with the newspaper in his lap and read about my "luxury". You can see the scene in True Blue. I step inside, laughing and pulling off my jacket and scream for joy, a little game "Jiiaa" and then they raise their eyes. I almost feel sorry for them. They look sad all. They are totally green with envy, of course, and the worst part is the Hasse Mattisson, who fought with me in Gunnilse. He looks completely destroyed, but still, he's a nice guy. He is team captain and he wants to.He tries anyway: "You just have to congratulate. It's great! Just jump on, "he says, but he fool no one, least of the camera. The camera glides from his sad eyes to me, and I sit there on the bench with a grin, happy as a child, and maybe, I do not know; I hit a bit of mania these days. There must be things all the time. I wanted action, action.Like keep the drama and the show and Therefore, I made lot of stupid stuff. I got blonde highlights in her hair, and I promised myself, not that it was particularly foolish to get engaged
with Mia. It was a good girl, she studied web design and was blonde and beautiful, and beyond. We had been to Cyprus before the summer where she worked in a bar and exchanged phone numbers, and started hanging out in Sweden and had fun together. But there was a fever in that engagement, and because I have not had any lock with the media, I told him about it for Rune Smith Evening Post. That is when he asks: "What she got in engagement present?" "What a gift? She did get Zlatan. " She did get Zlatan! It was such a comment that just came, a replica that bounced out of me, and that sounded cocky, completely in the style of my media image, and that still pulled up all the time. It was just that: a few weeks later, Mia nothing. I broke the engagement because an imaginary friend me that one must marry within a year, and at all I was doing a lot of that kind of sudden stuff. I was full speed. It was too much about me, and the premier premiere approached, and you can imagine, it was then that I could prove I was worth those eighty-five million. The day before, Anders Svensson and Kim Källström made two goals in their opening matches in the Premier League and the Discussion was informed that I would not stool with my new celebrity status. Perhaps I was even just an overrated teen. As so often those where years was talk that I was just overblown by the media, and I felt so bad had to perform.There was much to carry on, and I remember that the whole Malmö Stadion cooked. It was the ninth April 2001. I had my blue Merc Cab and was the pride whatsoever over it. But when Rune Smith interviewed me before the game, I did not let me plates with it. I did not want to seem too cocky. It felt as if I would eat it up, and I heard some doubts: the press will becoming too large, and stuff, and it was not easy to handle. I was nineteen, and all had gone fast. Yet I was triggered by it. It was on a different level now. But that feeling to want to retaliate against those who believed in me and signed the register, and whatever it was, I had a long time. I had been driven by revenge and anger ever since I started playing and now there was lot of expectation and anxiety in the air. We would meet with AIK. It was not an easy opening.
The last time we met them we had been humiliated and sent down into two divisions and is now before this season saw AIK many as one of favorites for the final victory in the Championship, and really, what were we? We had just taken us up from Superettan without even being number one in the series. Still, the pressure seemed to be on us, and it was said due to me in large part, eighty-five million guy. It was crowded at Malmö Stadion, nearly twenty thousand people, and I ran there in the long corridor with the blue floor out towards the plane and heard the thundering outside. This was great; it took me, this was his return to the Premier League, and yet, it was barely understandable. It swirled pieces of paper inside. People held placards and banners, and when we set ourselves the screaming something, I did not hear first. It was "We love Malmo", but also my name. It was the worst of the choir and in the headlines where it said "Good luck Zlatan 'and stuff and I stood there on the plane and just pumped into everything with his hand to the ear, type: Gimme more, gimme more, and frankly, all the doubters were right at least in a thing. It was set for a flop game. It was too much. The time eight forty-five blown the match started, and the noise rose even more. In those days it was important not to score. It was the show, artistry, all that I practiced over and over again, and early on I hit a tunnel on an AIK-back and did some dribbling. Then disappeared I am out of the game and AIK took over the match and had a chance to chance, and while it did not look good for us. Maybe I wanted too much. There was no I already knew. If you want to unlock it very easily. But I tried to relax, and in the thirtieth minute, I had a ball outside the penalty area by Peter Sorensen. It felt like no wonderful chance first. But I am fine. I pulled the ball with his heel, and advanced forward and fired a broadside into goals and my God, I experienced it as a shock: now comes the explosion, now it is happening, and I went down in a målgest on his knees while the whole stadium roared 'Zlatan, Zlatan, Zlatan super ", all sorts of things, and afterwards it was as if I was worn out. I did the thing the thing, and in the ninth minute of the second half, I got a nice new ball from Sorensen. I was on the right wing and then rushed down the short line, it seemed to be no location for the shot, not at all, and
everyone thought, he makes a speech, he fits. But I shot on goal yet. IN that impossible angle, I got the ball and the audience went completely crazy, and I went there quite slowly on the floor with your arms stretched, and the mien I do then, then! There is power: it is: Here I am, motherfuckers who just whined at me and tried to get me away from football. It was revenge, it was pride, and I guess that all those who thought that they where eighty-five million was excessive ate it up now; and I will not forget the journalists afterwards. It absolutely shone on them, and one of them said: "If I say Anders Svensson and Kim Källström, what answer you?" "I say Zlatan, Zlatan," and people laughed and I step out into the spring evening, and there stood my Merc Cab, and it was great just that. But a long time, I'm not up to it. Everywhere were the young guys and girls who wanted my autograph, so I held on for ages, no one was supposed to be but, it was part of my philosophy. I would pay back, and only then I walked into my new car and blew away while the fans screaming and waving their autograph pads, and it could well have been enough with it. But it was not over yet, it was just the beginning; and next day the newspapers, and what do you think? They wrote something? They wrote it into hell, and apparently I had said when we went out of the Championship: "I want people to forget me. One should not know that I exist. Then when we get back I'll beat down like lightning on the football field, "and the replica pulled the papers out. I was struck by lightning. I got all sorts of awesome and they even started to talk about Zlatan Fever in the country. I was everywhere, in every media, and it was said that it was not just young boys and teenage girls who read. It was the lady at the post office, it was the old man on systems company, and I heard jokes like "Hey, what's up? How are you? '"I think I got Zlatan Fever", and I went as the clouds. It was absolutely incredible. Some guys even made a song that was pure agony country. You could hear it everywhere. People had it as a ringtone to their mobiles: Ohiya, Zlatan and I, we e from the same city, they sang, and I mean, how do you handle such a thing? They sing about you. But it is clearly, there was the other side of things too, and I saw it in the third round of the Championship. It was April 21. It was in Stockholm and we would meet Djurgarden away. Djurgården was a team that fell down with us in the BBL, which also took
up the same time as us, Djurgarden as number one in the series and we second place, and frankly, they had beaten us firmly on the BBL, the first time with two-zero and the second with four-one, so in that way, certainly, the had a psychological advantage. But anyway, we had beaten both AIK and Elfsborg with two-zero in our first matches, and above all, Malmo FF had me. Everyone talked about it, Zlatan, Zlatan, I was hotter than lava, and there was talk that coach Lars Lagerback was sitting in the stands to study me. But of course, even more annoyed with it now: What the hell's the big deal with that type?One of the tabloids went to see the whole back line of the Royal Canal. There were three strong guys, I remember, standing with arms folded on centerfold and above them was entitled: "Here we are intending to put an end to the hyped diva Zlatan," and I guess I expected a true and rancorous atmosphere on the pitch. It was a prestigious appointment, quite clear that it would be hard beats, and yet, I shuddered when I step into the Olympic Stadium. Djurgården fans pyste of hatred, or if it was not hatred, it was in all cases the worst psych why I have been involved: "We hate Zlatan, we hate Zlatan! "It just roared around me. The whole crowd incited against me, and I heard lots of other chants, mass nasty shit about me and My Mom. I had never experienced anything like it, and okay, I realized it somewhere. The fans could not run down and play ball themselves, so what did they? They left in the opponent's best player, trying to break me down, it is natural in a sense. That's what happens in football. But this was over the limit, and I was pissed. I would show them, and somewhere, I played more to the audience than the actual team. But just like against AIK it did before I came into the match. I was tough guarded. I had those leeches from the newspaper at me, and Djurgarden dominated the first twenty minutes. We had bought a guy from Nigeria. Peter Ijeh was his name and he had a reputation for being a brilliant goalscorer. He won the premier league top scorer years after. But then he was still in the shadow of myself. Who was not there as well? In the twenty-minute game, he got a pass by Daniel Majstorović, our central defender, who would later become a close friend. Peter Ijeh was one-zero, and then in the sixty eighth, he played beautifully by Joseph Elang, the other African recruitment we made it years, and Elang tackled off a defender and shot two-nil. The audience
booed wildly, shouting, and of course, I was rejected, I was a nobody. I had not made a goal, just as they where the defenders said that I would not do, and yes, until then I had not been very good. I had done some tricks and as a heel tion near the corner flag, but otherwise it was more Ijehs and Majstorovićs game than me, and it was no magic in the air when I am two minutes later got the ball at about the median plane.But that would change, because suddenly I pulled a guy, it just happened and then another, and I felt: Wow, I'm easy, I have control, and I continued. It was like a dance, and although I was not aware of it when the dribbler I passed every single one of those slopes from the newspaper and tåade into ball into the goal with left foot, and frankly, that feeling, it was not just joy. It was revenge.This is to you, I thought, this is for your rhymes and your hatred, and I assumed that my war with the audience would continue when the final whistle went. I mean, we had degraded Djurgården, it was four-nil in the end, but you know what happened? I was surrounded by Djurgården fans, and no wanted to fight or hate anymore. They wanted my autograph. They were like mad at me, and frankly, when I look back at that time, it's very right about that kind of stuff, about how things were going to turn it all with a goal or a show gadget. You know, no movie I loved when more than Gladiator and there is a scene there, everyone knows it, or how, when the emperor comes down in the arena and ask Gladiator to take off his mask and the gladiator making it and says: "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius ... And I will Have my vengeance, in this life or the next." That's how I felt, or wanted to know me, I wanted to stand there before the whole world and show everyone who doubted me who I really was, and I could not believe anyone could stop me. 7
IT WAS HIGH CHAPARRAL, as I always say. It was full circus, and I said all sorts of silly things, such as the national team had won Euro 2000 with me! Maybe it was cheeky and fun then, I do not know, but it was not as smart as I really was selected. It was in April too. I had just made that goal against Everton, and the newspapers were completely mad. They had me on the headlines all the time,
and I'm guessing that those who read not just thought I was the worst humble guy and I had little fear of it. Would the heavy guys who Patrik Andersson and Stefan Schwarz, think I was a cocky shit? It was one thing to be the star of Malmö FF. But come on, the national team was a different thing! There were guys who won the Bronze Medal, and faith it or not, I had very good eye on changing that in Sweden you do not really stand out and there, especially when you are new in a gang. God, I had of course gone on my bangs in the boys' team, and I wanted to be liked. I wanted to float into the crowd, but it was not very good. We went off to a training camp in Switzerland and journalists just buzzing around me all the time. It was almost embarrassing. Damn, I wanted to say, Henke Larsson over there, go to him instead, and yet, I could not resist. At a press conference in Geneva, I was asked if I thought I recalled some other big players in the world. "No," I replied. "There is only one Zlatan," and how humbly it was on a scale, and I knew immediately, I have to repair it there. I tried to keep a low profile after that, and frankly, I did not have to exert myself in particular.I felt shy in front of all the heavy names, and apart from Marcus Allbäck, which I shared room with, I spoke with not many. I stood on the side. "He's an eccentric. He going for himself! "wrote the papers and yes, it sounded exciting. The very interesting artist like Zlatan. But in fact, I was just unsure, and I did not want to antagonize any further, especially Henke Larsson, who was pure god for me! He was professional in Celtic now and just this year, 2001, he received Golden Boot as top scorer in all the European leagues. Henke was how cool any time, and when I heard that I and he would start at the top of the international match against Switzerland, it felt great. There was even one of those surreal thing, and before the game, several newspapers long story about me. They wanted to introduce myself properly now before my international debut, and in which the articles were no studies from Sorgenfri there, you know, school stuff where they put in a additional teachers, and she said I was the most crowded student she had on thirty-three years or something: I was tough on Sorgenfri. A one man show. The was blah blah, but there were also other things, mass hopeful that I would make the Earth's success in the national team. They really wanted me to both Tough and star, and I felt the pressure.
But there was no further success. I was replaced in half, and I was not out to the important World Cup qualifying games that year, against Slovakia and Republic of Moldova. Lagerback and Soderberg went for Henke and Linseed on the top instead, and it ought to have made me a little more anonymous. I was hardly regular in the team. But nothing worked as it should for me. I remember the first time I played with the national team in Stockholm. We would meet in Azerbaijan Rasunda, and I was still pretty lost in the gang. Stockholm was a different world for me. It was like New York. I was lost and uncertain, and it was sick very hot babes in town. I just like looking around. I would start as a substitute, and Rasunda was full or nearly full. It was thirty-three thousand there, and all the big boys seemed confident and familiar with the whole thing, and I sat down on the bench and felt like a little boy. But one quarter into the game, something happened. The crowd started screaming. They yelled my name and I can not explain, I was so pumped up. I got goose bumps. Out there on the pitch was all the heavy guys. It was Henke, it was Olof Mellberg, it was Stefan Schwarz and Patrik Andersson. But they did not scream their names. They screamed in the middle, and I'm not even. It was almost too much, and I did not. What had I done anyway? Some games in the Premier League only! Yet I was more popular than guys who have played major championships and winning World Championships bronze. It was crazy; and all the team looked at me. But if they were happy or broken, I have no idea. All I know is, they did not understand either. This was something completely new. This had not happened before, and after a while the audience began shouting "Come on Sweden, come on!", The usual drop open, and just when I bent down to tie your shoelaces, just for want of other things like that or because I was nervous. It felt like an electric shock. The audience thought I would warm up, and yelled "Zlatan, Zlatan" again, completely mad now, and of course, I removed his hand from the shoe. I mean, I sat on the bench and in the state take over the show, it would be a total violation and I tried to make myself invisible. But secretly I enjoyed. I felt the worst shudder. Adrenaline just pumped, and when Lars Lagerback actually asked me to warm up
I rushed into the plane, very happy, honestly. I floated around, it was "Zlatan, Zlatan" from the stands, and we led by two-zero and I lobbied with the heel, one of those wonderful little thing from the farm, and I got the ball back and shot in the goal, and the whole Rasunda and evening shone up, and even Stockholm felt like my city. It was just that: I did as well with me Rosengard. Once that year I was with the squad in Stockholm. We went out on Undici, Tomas Brolins nightclub, and there we sat quietly. Then began one of my buddies from suburbia nag: "Zlatan, Zlatan, I get your hotel key?" "Waders?" "Give me only!" "Okay, okay." He got it and I thought nothing of it. But when I got home that night his friend was there and he had shut the closet and appeared secretive and excited. "What have you there?" I asked. "Nothing special. And stir it, "he replied. "What?" "We can make money from it, Zlatan!" Do you know what it was? It was totally sick. It was a whole bunch of Canada Goose Jackets he twisted away from Undici. So frankly, I did not always the most reputable company, and Malmö FF began to go a little up and down. It was a strange thing that, to stay in a club when you already is sold to another, and I was not always harmonious worst guy. Sometimes I lit obliquely. I exploded. I had always done it, of course, but it was also the whole situation around me, and that about the bad boy bit her now fixed. When we met hackers, I had been warned before the match because I scolded the judge, and there was some anxiety in the air. Would that madman Zlatan find something again? Hacken coached by Torbjörn Nilsson, the former big star, and the team included Kim Källström I knew from the Under-21 national team and it was Early some ugly games, and early in the game I dropped Kim Källström from behind. I elbowed another guy and was sent off and then came the actual outbreak. On the way to the locker room kicked me down a speaker and a microphone, and thus, sound technician who set up the that other stuff did not really Initiative. He called me an idiot, and then
cross, I turned and came towards him: Who the hell is the idiot, as well? But our author came between matter and there was a circus and newspaper headlines, and about seven million the advice of all sorts: I need to change behavior, blah blah. Otherwise, it may go bad in Ajax ... bullshit, bullshit! Express interviewed and even a psychologist who said that I should seek help, and I responded immediately, of course: Who the hell is he? What do the figure? I did not need a psychologist. I just needed peace and quiet. But it is true, it was not fun to sit off the bench and see the IFK Gothenburg humiliate us with six-zero. Our float from season beginning disappeared and there was some criticism also against our coach, Mike Andersson. I really had nothing against him, and we did not have much contact. I had a problem, I went to Hasse Borg. But there was one thing that started to annoy me. I thought Mike had too much respect for the elderly in the team. He was scared, simply, and He was not particularly happy with me since I pulled on me yet another penalty against Orebro. There was some tension and we played match at the training. It was summer then. Mikael Andersson was acting judges, and there was no confrontation with Jonnie Fedele, the goalkeeper, who was one of the oldest in the team and of course, Fox ruled in favor Jonnie, and I saw black, and rose up to Mike. "You are afraid of the elderly. You are damn scared of ghosts too, "I shouted. In flat low-mass balls, and I kicked them, buff, buff, buff. They flew as projectiles and landed on the cars out there so that the car arm went up, and it began to howl and the sound and everything just stopped and I stood wild and suburban cocky while teammates glared at me. Micke Andersson tried to calm me down and I screamed him: "Are you my mom, right?" I was furious and went off to the dressing room and emptied my cupboards and tore down my name, and explained that I never would come back. It would have to do now! MFF Goodbye, goodbye your idiots, and so I left off with my Toyota Celica and did not show up on training more, but played Playstation and hanging with friends instead. It was as if I played truant about, and of course, called Hasse Borg and sounded hysterical. "Where are you? Where are you? You must come back! " And yes, I was not impossible. After four days I popped up and was kind and charming again, and frankly, I did not like my outburst was such a big deal really. It happens in football, it belongs to, it's much
adrenaline in the sport.In addition, I had not long left the team, I was on their way to Holland, and I'm not actually there was talk of a few sentences or ridiculous after games. Rather, I thought about how they would like to thank the me. Just a few months ago it would have been a crisis in Malmo FF. It had been missing ten million in cash, and you really had not been able to afford to buy some top players. Now the richest club in Sweden, I had given them the worst of the capital, and even Bengt Madsen, MFF's president, had declared in newspapers: "It is born only a player Zlatan was fifty years!" So no, it was no wonder that I thought they planned a nice resignation, or at least a "Thank you for the eighty-five million," especially when they are only a week ago had celebrated by Niclas Kindvall before thirty thousand spectators in the match against Helsingborg. But of course, I noticed that they were all a little afraid of me. It was only me who could fuck the deal with Ajax by doing something even more insane, and the days approaching my final premier league match. It was the twenty-June 6 away against Halmstad and I charged for making a nice farewell show. It was no big deal for me, do not believe it. I was ready to Malmo. I thought I was already in Amsterdam. But anyway, one time in my life drew to a close, and I remember looking on that list on the wall of who would with to Halmstad. So I looked again. My name was not included. I would not even sit on the bench. I would stay home, and of course, I did. That was my punishment. It was Mike's way of showing who was in charge, and okay, I bought it, what else would I do? I was not even angry when he explained to journalists that I was "under pressure and off balance" and "needed a rest", as if he poked me because he was such a decent guy, and In fact, I was naive enough to believe that the club management yet planned anything, one thing the fans maybe. Shortly afterwards, I was also named to Hasse's office, and you know, I do not like that. I think I'll be uppläxad or something. But then happened so much all the time that I just stuck there without expecting a thing, and there in the office was Hasse and Brian Madsen and seemed a bit generally tight and bloated like that, and I wondered, what's going on, is the burial, type? "Zlatan, our time together draws to a close." "You're not ..." "We want to tell you ..." "So you should thank of me in here?" I said and looked around. We were on Hasse's fucking boring office, and we were three people
inside. "So you should not do that to your fans?" "So," said Bengt Madsen. "They say it gives bad luck to do so before a match." I just looked at him. Is it bad luck? "You thanked by Niclas Kindvall to thirty thousand people, and it went pretty well anyway." "Yes, but ..." "What but?" "We want to give you this gift." "What the hell is this?" It was a ball, a memento of the crystal. "It's a memory." "So this is your gratitude for the eighty-five million?" What they imagined? I would have it in Amsterdam, and the type to cry when I saw it? "We want to express our gratitude." "I do not want it. You can keep it. " "You could not ..." I could. I put crystal thing on the table. Then I left. It was my resignation from the club, nothing more or less, and yes, I was not happy about it. But anyway, I shake it. I mean, I was going away, and frankly, what was Malmö FF anyway? My real life would begin now, and the more I thought about it, the bigger it became. I would not just to Ajax. I was the club's most expensive player, and Ajax was perhaps not Real Madrid or Manchester United, but it was definitely a big club. Just five years ago had Ajax Champions League Final. Six years ago the club had won the tournament and Ajax had guys like Cruyff, Rijkaard, Kluivert, Bergkamp and Van Basten, especially he, he had been cruel way whatsoever, and I would wear his shirt number. It was crazy really. I would make goals, and determine, and of course, that was cool, but also, it took me increasingly, it was a fucking press. Nobody spends eighty-five million without wanting to get something back, and it was three years ago, Ajax won the league. For a club like Ajax, it was a small scandal. Ajax is the finest team in Holland and supporters require the team to win big. They had to deliver, and certainly not run a cocky style and punishing out right away, definitely not start with something "I am Zlatan, who are you?". I would float in and learn the culture,
it was just that: things continued to happen around me. On the way home from Gothenburg, in Bottnaryd outside Jönköping, I was interrupted by the police. I had blown on to a hundred and ten on a sjuttioväg apparently, not much of a speeding just because of what I would find at a later date. But driving smoke and the newspapers did not just large headers. They took the opportunity to pull the thing on Industrial Way as well. They made the entire list of my scandals and expulsions and all that spread to Holland, of course, and although club management certainly felt for the most part already, joined journalists in Amsterdam now under way as well. As much as I wanted to be a good boy, I became a bad boy before I started. It was me and another guy, an Egyptian named Mido who had previously made a success in Belgium KAA Gent. We were both directly reputation for being wild brains, and to top it all, I heard more and more about the coach in which I met in Spain, Co Adriaanse. He would be the worst gestapon who knew all about his players, and it was some sick stories about his punishments, including a story about a goalie who happened to answer the phone during a tactics meeting. As punishment, he was sitting in the club's switchboard all day, without to any Dutch. It was like "Hey, hey, do not understand" all day, and it was a thing with three guys in the youth team has been out and partying. They were lying on the floor while the others went over them with their studded shoes. There were some things, not because it worried me. There are always lots of talk about the coach, and I've actually always liked guys with discipline. I like guys who have a distance to their player and not get too close. That's how I grew up. No one has ever been at it: "Poor little you Zlatan, clearly you are going to play." No Dad has come to training sessions and butter and demanded that it should be nice to me, not a chance. I've got take care of myself and I will a thousand times rather yelled at, and an enemy to coach and get to play because I'm good, than friends with him and get lira because he likes me. I do not want anything gulligull. I will just staring out of it. I want to Lira football, nothing else.But of course ... I was still nervous when I packed my bags and went off. Ajax and Amsterdam was something completely new. I did not know a thing about the city and I remember the flight and landing and the woman from the club that met me. Her name was Priscilla Janssen. She was a factotum in Ajax and I
attempted to be really nice, and I greeted the guy she had with them. There was a guy my age who seemed shy, but who spoke pretty good English. He came from Brazil, he said. He had played for Cruzerio, a famous team, I knew for Ronaldo had lirat there. Just as I was kid new in Ajax, and he had a long name that I did not catch really. But apparently, I could call him Maxwell and we switched phone numbers, and so drove Priscilla me out in his Saab convertible into the small terraced club arranged for me in Diemen, a small town far away from town, and there I sat with a bed of horse and a sixty inch TV and nothing else, playing Playstation and wondered what would happen. 8
It was not a thing to be on their own. I had learned something while growing up was to take care of myself, and I felt still the coolest guy in Europe, kind. I had become a pro and was sold for quite sick sums. But it was also empty in my townhouse. It felt far away and I had no furniture or anything else that gave it a feeling of a home, and frankly, pretty soon began to be refrigerator empty, too. Not that I hit by the worst of the panic of it and got back all my childhood or something. It was quiet. I had empty refrigerator in my apartment in Lorensborg. I got used to everything. But in Malmö, I had on the other hand, never had to be hungry for it, not just because I its like an idiot on the ball, MFF's restaurant, and often won with a little extra in overalls, Risifrutti and stuff that kept me on the legs of evenings, but also because I had my mom on Cronmans road and coils. In Malmö, I did not have to cook most of the time, and worry about empty refrigerator. But now in Diemen, I was back to square one. It was ridiculous. I would be a serious guy. But I had not even cornflakes at home, and barely a span, and I sat there in my townhouse to my Horse Bed and called almost everyone I knew, my friends, Dad, Mom and little brother and sister. I called also Mia, even though we broke up: Can you not come here, type? I was lonely, restless and hungry, and eventually I got hold of Hasse Borg. I thought that he could arrange a deal with Ajax, and lend me a bit and make sure that Ajax paid back later. Mido had done something similar to his old club, I knew. But it did not work. "I can not do so," said Hasse Borg. "You have to manage yourself," and I was mad at it.
He had sold me. Would he not help me in a situation like this? "Why not?" "You can not." "And where are my ten percent?" I got no answer, and I was angry, but okay, I admit, I had myself to blame. I had not realized that it takes a month before you must pay, and so I had a bilproblem. It was my Merc Convertible. It was svenskskyltad.I did not run with it in Holland. I had just received it, and the central idea was to slide around with it in Amsterdam, but now I had to sell it and instead ordered a Another Mercedes, an SL 55: a, and it would not have made me richer exactly. Therefore, I was now in Diemen, broke and hungry, and were told by dad that I was an idiot who bought such a car when I had no money; and it was certainly true. But it did not help. I still had no cornflakes at home, and I hated still empty refrigerator. That's when I came to think of the thymus, where the airport. We had some new players this season. It was me, it was Mido, and so was that he, Maxwell and I had hung some of them both, not just because we were new to all three. I was happiest among black boys and The South Americans. They were fun, I thought, more relaxed and less envy. The Dutch guys wanted nothing more than to get from there and end up in Italy or England, so they watched each other all the time - who is the frontrunner, type? - While the Africans and Brazilians were most pleased to be here. It was: Wow, we get to play in Ajax? I felt more at home with them, and I liked the humor and attitude. Maxwell was certainly nothing like the other Brazilians I would know. He was certainly not a party animal, not a guy who needed to party head off on a regular basis, but on the contrary, he was incredibly sensitive, a family guy who phoned home all the time. But He was straight through the sympathetic, and I'll say anything bad about him is that he is too nice. "Maxwell, there is a crisis," I said on the phone. "I have not even cornflakes at home. Can I stay with you? " "Obviously," he said. "Come here at once." Maxwell lived in Ouderkerk, a small community with only seven or eight thousand inhabitants, and to him I moved now and sleep on a mattress on the floor for three weeks until I got my first paycheck, and it was not a bad time. We cooked together and talked about the training, the other players and our old life in Brazil and Sweden. Maxwell spoke good English. He talked
about his family and his two brothers as he stood near, it remembers I particularly, for one of those brothers died not much later in a car accident. It was terribly sad. I really liked Maxwell. With him, I got some order on myself, and it began to fall off after that. I got back the feeling that this really was something fantastic, and I also started the preseason well. I spat in goal against the amateur teams we met, and I did lot of tricks, just like me thought I would. Ajax was known to play fun, technical football, and the newspapers wrote Wow, wow, he seems to host their eighty-five million, which players, type, and although I noticed that the coach Co Adriaanse was hard on me. But I just thought it was his way. I had heard so much about him. After each match, he reviews for us, the top ten and once when I made lot of goals, he said: "You shot five goals, but you hit two felpass too. It will be a fifth. "Okay like, I get it, it's tough demands. But I drove on, and actually, I thought nothing could be stop me now. Among other things, I remember that I met a guy who had no idea who I was. "Are you okay then?" He asked. "Not me to answer that!" "Do opposing team's fans booing and whistling at you?" "So into hell." "Okay. Then you are cruel, "he said and where I have not forgotten. Anyone who is sharp, he gets boos and bullshit. That is how it works. In late July began the Amsterdam Tournament. Amsterdam Tournament is a classic pre-season tournament in Holland at a high level, and this years would, except we, Milan, Valencia and Liverpool to participate, and it was awesome of course. It was my chance to introduce me to Europe, and I noticed right away, my God, this was anything other than the Premier League. In Malmö, I had had all the time in the world with the ball. Now slapped it away. Everything went so much faster. In the first match we met Milan. Milan had indeed been a little heavy for some time, but the club had dominated European football in nineties, and I really tried not to bother me that they had jaws that Maldini. I ran hard and got me free kicks, and applause, and did some beautiful stuff. But it was tough and we lost by one-zero. The next game we met Liverpool. Liverpool had won three cuptitlar that
year, and had Premier League Perhaps the strongest defense of Finn Sami Hyypiä and Swiss Stephane Henchoz. Henchoz had that year not only been sharpened. He had done a thing which it snackats on. The FA Cup Final, he blocked a shot on the goal line with his hand, and the rascal who never saw the judge had helped Liverpool to win. Both he and Hyypiä was on me like leeches. But part way through the match I fought me to the ball near the corner flag and went into the penalty area and there stood Henchoz. He blocked me on the short side, and I had of course many possibilities. I was under pressure but I could hit a post or play home or try to go at goal. I tried to make a enfotsfint, a cool thing to Ronaldo and Romario ran a lot and who was one of the tricks I saw in the computer as a junior and practiced hour after hour until I could sleep and no longer had to think about picking up. It just came naturally. The snake called it, made it attractive is that a snake that winds along the foot.But it is not easy. You must have outer side behind the ball and push it quickly to the right and then suddenly rotate it with the left toe, and work by, bam, bam and, witty as hell, and with total control with the ball glued around the foot, as a hockey player makes a spin with the puck. I had used tricks many times in Malmö and in the BBL, but never against a world that Henchoz back, it was just that: I had known it is already against Milan, the whole atmosphere triggered me. It was fun to dribble against a guy like him, and now it just slammed into. That said, whoosh, whoosh and Stéphane Henchoz flew to the right. He could not keep up with at all and I rushed past, and the whole of Milan who was sitting along the sidelines stood up and screamed. Entire Amsterdam Arena screamed. It was a full show and afterwards, when reporters surrounded me, I said those words, and I promise, I never plan what to say. The just happens and it happened often in those days before I was wary of the media. "First I went left," I said, "and he did well. Then I went right and he did well. Then I stuck my left, and then he went and bought hot dogs, "and which was quoted everywhere, there was a fame thing. There was even a commercial about it and there was talk that Milan was interested in me. I called the new Van Basten and everything, and I was like: Wow, I'm cruel. I'm thymus from Rosengard, and really, it should have been the beginning of a brilliant season. But still ... a heavy time was about to enter, and with hindsight, there were
warning signs from the outset, and of course my own stuff, I took care of me. I went home too much and started to lose weight and look skinny, but it was also the coach, Co Adriaanse. He criticized me publicly, not so serious so far. It got even worse later when he got fired. Then he said that I had something wrong in the head. At the beginning it was just the same old, that I'm too much of myself, and I began to realize that even such a thing as against Henchoz not necessarily appreciated in Ajax if it does not lead to anything concrete. Rather, it can be seen as an attempt to excel, and ice cream for the audience instead of Lira for the team. In Ajax played it with three attackers instead of two as I was used. I would find myself in the middle. Not flutter towards the edges and run lots of individual things. I would be more of a target player, who moved up there and took the ball and above all scored a goal, and frankly, I began to wonder if it there with the technical, fun Dutch football did not fit properly anymore. It was as if you decided to become more like other Europe, but it was not easy to interpret signals. There was much that was new, and I did not understand the language and culture and the coach was not talking to me. He was not talking to anyone. He was pure rock face. It felt wrong, I just looked into his eyes, and I lost my fluency. I stopped scoring goals, and then I had no longer much use of my fine pre-season, rather the contrary. All those headlines and comparisons with Van Basten only turned against me, and I began to be seen as a disappointment, a felköp. I was replaced in attack by Nikos Machlas, a Greek, I was hanging a lot with, and in that kind of modes when I poked and loses its form, then complete the buzz in me: What am I doing wrong? How do I get out of this? I have the plant. I am really no one who goes around and liking: I am Zlatan, and wow! On the contrary, it is like a movie that constantly is on and I wonder again and again: Should I have done this or that? And so I look at others: What can I learn from them? What is it made with me? Every moment almost, I think of my mistakes and my good stuff for that matter. What can I improve? Always, always, I take with me something home from the competition and training, and that's tough course. I never really satisfied, not even when I should, but it helps me be developed, it was just that: in Ajax, I got stuck in those thoughts, and I had nobody to talk to, not really. I talked to the walls at home and thought that people were idiots, and of
course, I called home and whined. It Osada about me. Yet I really can not blame anyone else. It just felt more and more sluggish, and I felt no further. It was as if I did not pallets life in Holland, and I went to Beenhakker and asked, "What does the coach about me? Is he happy, or what is it? "And Beenhakker, he is a different type from Co Adriaanse, he would not only be obedient soldiers. "It's cool. Things are going well. We have patience with you, "he replied. But I was homesick, and I did not feel appreciated, not the coach or the journalists, and certainly not by the fans. Those Ajax supporters are not to be trifled with. They are accustomed to winning, it's kind: What the hell, you only won by three-zero? When we only got a draw against Roda threw the stones, iron bars and glass bottles at us, and I had to stay in the arena and seek shelter. The was shit all the time and place of all that "Zlatan, Zlatan" which I heard in the beginning also in Ajax, I now whistles and boos, then not by the opposing team's fans. It had been quite normal, but by our own supporters, and it was tough. It was: What the hell is this? But at the same time, you may like certainty in this sport, and somewhere I understood them. I was the club's most expensive investment. I would really not be substitutes. I should be the new Van Basten and scoring goals after goals, and I attempted everything I could. I attempted much, frankly. A football season's long, and you can not show everything in a single match, as I said. But that's what I tried. As soon as I came in. I wanted to show the works at once, and therefore locked it himself, I think. I wanted too much, and therefore it was too little, and I guess I learned that handle the pressure just yet, after all. Those eighty-five millions began to feel like a fucking backpack, and I sat at home in my townhouses in Diemen. I have no idea what journalists thought about me at the time, certainly imagined many that I and type Mido was out partying at the town. In fact, I sat home and played video games, night and day, and we were free on a Monday, I flew home Sunday night and returned with sexflyget Tuesday morning and went straight to training. There were no night clubs, nothing like that, but I was not professional for that. I was completely unserious, frankly, and I was careless with his sleep and food and made lot of nonsense in Malmo. I drove with airbombs and stuff, illegal firework bombs we threw into the gardens, there was a lot
of crazy stuff to get off on adrenaline. There was smoke and grästovor and shit that flew in the air. There was a lot of wild car for that is how I works.Nothing happens in football, I must ensure that other kick started me. I need some action, I need speed, and I took care of me. I continued to rage in weight, and as the center of Ajax, I would be bitig and shut me up.But I was down to seventy-five kg or less and even. I was quite narrow, and probably I was worn out. I had not had a vacation. I had two pre-season in the space of six months, and diet, what do you think? I ate junk. I could still just toast, type, and cook macaroni, and the whole in which positive flow in the papers had disappeared. There was no "Success again for Zlatan." It was "Zlatan was given out," "He is out of balance." He is the and there, and so we talked about my elbows. It was a fucking talk about them. It started in a match against Groningen when I elbowed a back of the neck. The referee saw nothing, but the slope steeping in the grass and were carried out on stretcher, and it was alleged that he had a concussion. When the guy came back after the break, he was still groggy, but worst of all, Football Association got the idea to study the television pictures and decided to turn me in five games. It was not what I needed, it was crap, and no one can claim that it began well after I served his penalty. I elbowed a new guy in neck, and of course, he was carried out on a stretcher with his. It was as if I started a new stupid thing, and even if I slack off on time I did not play much after that, and it was heavy, and the fans were not happy, it is easy to say, and I called Hasse Borg. It was idiotic, but it was such a thing you do in hopeless situations. "Damn, Hasse, you can not buy me back?" "Buying back up? Are you serious? " "Take me out of here. I do not pallets with it. " "Come on, Zlatan, there is no money for it, that you understand well. You must have patience. " But I was tired of being patient, I wanted to play more, and I had such a longing for home, it was totally sick. I felt completely lost, and once again I began to call Mia, not because I knew it was her or something else I missed. I was alone and I want it back my old life. But what I got? I got a new stone. It started when I discovered that I served the worst on the team. I had it marked a time, and finally it became quite clear. I was most expensive guy, but my salary was lowest. I was bought to be the new
Van Basten. Yet I made the worst, and I mean, what was this? The was not hard to figure out. You remember Hasse's words: "Agents are thieves" and that, and as an angry flash, I understood: he took me behind my back. He pretended be on my side, but really, he worked exclusively for Malmo FF and the more I thought about it, the angrier I became. From the outset, Hasse Borg made sure that no one came between us, no one to represent my interests.Therefore I had to stand inside the hotel St. Jorgen has a fool in my track suit and had costume elves with their economics courses sniffles me, and it felt like a slap in the the stomach. Making it right now! Money has never been the big thing for me, but being betrayed and abused, being seen as stupid falafel guy that you can cheat and make money, it made me mad, and I went straight to the point. I called Hasse Borg. "What the hell is this? I have the worst contract in the club. " "What do you say? " He played dumb. "And where are my ten percent?" "We have put them in an insurance policy in England." In an insurance policy? What the hell was that? It told me nothing, and I said okay, it can be anything, an insurance policy, a plastic bag with notes, a bucket in the desert. "I want my money now." "Can not," he said. They were bound, they were invested in some way I had not a clue, and I decided to go to the bottom of it. I got an agent, for so much, I had begun to take: agents are not thieves. Without an agent, you have no chance. Without help you stand there and get blown by costume elves again, and through a friend, I got hold of a guy named Anders Carlsson and who worked at IMG in Stockholm. He was okay, not much speed in him indeed. He was one of those guys who never spit out their gum on the street or going across the border but who still want to be a little tough that way, but without that it feels natural. But, then, Anders helped me a lot the first time. He tweaked until those insurance papers, and then came the next shock. It was no longer ten percent of the transfer fee. It was eight percent and I asked: "What is this?" They had paid something they called out cat on salary, I was told, and I thought: What kind of crap? Enlarge Cat on a salary! I have never heard about it, and I said right away: This is not true. It's a new trick, and what
do you think? It was enough to Anders Carlsson was a little bit about it, so I got back those two percentages. Suddenly there are no cats on salary anymore, and then dropped the whole thing, then I was finished with Hasse Borg. It was a lesson I will never forget. It noticed me, honestly, and imagine you are not a second that I have not received an eye on my money and my terms. When Mino rang some time ago he asked: "What got you now for your book to Bonnier's?" "I do not really know." "Bullshit! You know exactly, "and of course, he was right. I have complete track. I refuse to be exploited and cheated again, and I try to always stay one step ahead of the negotiations. What are they? What they want, and what are their secret tactics? And then I remember. Stuff sticks, and yes, Helen used to say that I will not dwell on it much: "I'm tired of hating Hasse Borg" type. But no, I forgive him, not a chance. You do not do that to a young guy from the suburbs who do not have a track of things like that. It do not pretend to be extra dad while looking for every loophole to blow him. I had been the guy in the juniors who are not believed in, I was the last one was expected to be picked up in the first team. But then ... when I was sold for big money, which was the attitude of another. Then would be milking every drop out of me. One moment I was barely in the next, I would use.The forget me not, and I often think: Would Hasse Borg have done the same if I had been a nice guy with a lawyer dad? I do not think so, and even then in Ajax, I expressed myself about it. I said something like: He should beware. But I guess he did not really, and later in his book he wrote that he was my mentor, he was the man who took care of me. It was just that: I think the latter was a candle for him. We met namely in an elevator for a few years ago. It was in Hungary. I was there with the squad, and stepped into the elevator, and on the fourth floor, we stopped and then from nowhere came to him. He was in town on no fuss travel, and he was tying his tie and he saw me. Hasse is: "Hey, Hey, what's up?", The style, and he said something like that and held out his hand. He was not a movement back, nothing, just chill and black eyes, and of course, he was quite nervous. He just stood there, psyche, and I did not say a word. I stared him out, and down in the lobby, I went out quite chilly, and left him behind me. It is our only meeting since then,
so no, I will not forget. Hasse Borg is one person I can split in two, and then in Ajax ached all that in me. I felt cheated and hurt, I was the worst paid, and their fans booed me. It was the one and the others. There were elbows. It was crap, it was the list of my mistakes, police thing on Industrial Road for ninety-eighth time, and I was off balance, it was said. It missing the old Zlatan. There was a lot of talk day after day, and tanks grind into me. I searched for solutions every hour, every minute, no, I did not give up, not a chance. I'm not grown up to be easy, many forget it. I am not a talent that just danced out in Europe. I have fought an uphill battle.Parents and coaches have been against me from the first moment, and much of what I learned, I learned at odds with what others said. That Zlatan just dribbling, they gnällt. He is so and so, He is wrong. But I continued, I have listened, I have not listened, and now in Ajax, I tried to really understand the culture and learn how to thought and thought. I wondered what I should improve. I trained hard and tried to learn from others. But at the same time, I did not abandon my style. No one would get banging away the stuff from my game, not that I was defiant and rowdy, I just struggled on, and when I wear out the plan, I can work aggressive. It's part of my temperament. I demand as much from others that I demand of myself. But apparently angered the Co Adriaanse at me. I was a difficult person, he said later, full of himself: I just ran my own race, blah blah blah and of course, he may throw out what he wants, I'm not going to give again. I buy what's up. The coach is the boss. I can only say that I really struggled to places. But it will not come loose. Nothing happened, nothing except that we heard that Co Adriaanse would be fired, and it was good news, after all. We had been beaten to the Henkes Celtic in the Champions League qualifying and against FC Copenhagen in the UEFA Cup, but I do not think it was the results which felled him. We were good for the league. He fumes because he could not communicate with us players. None of us had contact with him. We had lived in a vacuum, and it is True, I like tough guys, and Co Adriaanse was really hard. But he crossed the border, there was no point in his dictatorial style, no glint in his eye, nothing, and we were of course all curious: Who will post? The snack was a time for Rijkaard, and it sounded good, not because a good player will automatically become a good coach, but still, with Van
Basten Gullit and Rijkaard had been a legend in Milan. But it was Ronald Koeman, and the guy I knew well, he had been a fantastic frisparksläggare in Barcelona. With him was Ruud Krol, another great player, and I noticed right away, they knew me better, and I began hope that it would now turn. It got worse. I bench were five games in a row and one of the trainings Koeman sent me home. "You're not on," he cried. "You do not all. You get to go home. "Sure, I left, I had thoughts elsewhere. It was no big deal, but obviously, it was big news. Even the Lars Lagerback arrived in the newspapers and said that he was concerned for me, and the talk was that I could lose my national team place, and it was not funny, not at all. It would be the World Cup in Japan that summer, and it was something I lived for a long time. I was also worried that my sweater, number nine in Ajax, would be taken from me, not that I cared much. I do not care what it says on the back. But it would be a sign that they are not believed in me anymore. In Ajax, we talked about the numbers all the time. Number ten to do so. Number eleven si, and none were as nice as ninth grade, Van Basten old. It was a special honor to wear it, and held you do not measure you got rid of it, that's how it worked, and now it was said repeatedly that I did not bring enough, and unfortunately, it was must be something in it. I had only made five goals in the league. There were six in total and for the most part, I had been sitting on the bench and I got more boos from their own the fans. When I was warming up and would enter yelled out, "Nikos, Nikos, Machlas, Machlas." It did not matter how poor he was, they did not want into me. They wanted to keep him, and I thought: Shit, I have not even begun to play, but they're already against me. I hit a felpass it became a crazy life up there, boos, or the same shit again: "Nikos, Nikos, Machlas, Machlas." It was not only did I not lirade good. I had the thing to tackle as well, and yes, it looked as if we were to win the league. But I could not really happy about it. I had not been part of it seriously, and it could not ignore it anymore. We were too many of my position in the club. One of us must be removed and it appeared to be me, it felt in my stomach, and it was said often that I now was only
Center number three, after Machlas and Mido. Even Leo Beenhakker, my friend, went out in the Dutch media: "Zlatan is often the player who will start our attack. But he can not finish in front of goal, "and he added:" Should we sell him, we help obvious to so that it is a good club. " It was in the air, and it came more and more statements. Koeman himself said: "Zlatan is purely qualitative our best striker, but to succeed in position nine in Ajax you should have other qualities too. I doubt that he can achieve them ", and indeed, war headlines were:" Notification of night, "it said. "Zlatan posted on the transfer list!" And while it did not really know what was true or not, the fact remained: I had been purchased for a lot of money and become a disappointment, and it felt, believe me, it was as if I were to be revealed as the one in which hyped diva, after all. I had not lived up to expectations. It was my first big setback. But I refused to give me. I would show them. The idea lashed into me, day and night, and frankly, I was so bad had, whether I would be sold or not. I have to show that I was good what that happened. It was just that: how could I do that when I got to play? It was a leghold trap.It was hopeless and I sat and jumped on the bench: Are they stupid or what? It was like the MFF's youth academy. That spring we qualified for the finals in Dutch Cup. We would meet Utrecht at De Kuip in Rotterdam, the same arena where the European Championship finals was recorded two years earlier, and it was an incredible pressure in the audience. It was the twelfth May 2002. There were fires and stuff, and roaring in the stands. Utrecht is Ajax the great enemy. No team is more important to defeat, and the fans were mad with hatred and revenge for our league victory. The went right to it, and for us it was an opportunity to grab the doubles and show that we really were back after a few tough years. But of course, I would hardly be a part of it either. I sat on the bench the entire first half and much of the second and looked Utrecht make two-one on penalty and believe me, it felt like. The air went out us while Utrecht supporters became wild and crazy and not far from me depressed Koeman in his suit and his red tie. He seemed completely dejected. Bring me, I thought, and indeed, in the seventy eighth minute, I got to play.Something must surely happen, and obviously, I was impatient. I was
psyched and wanted it all at once as usual that year, and we lay on and on, but the minutes passed and it seemed to run. We did not get into it and I remember that I fired a shot that I really thought would go in goal, but it took the crossbar. It was short and it became full-time and a few minutes' allowance, but even then, it was hopeless. There would be no Cup gold and Utrecht fans cheered in the stands. All over the stadium waved their red banners, and you heard their songs and roar and saw their fires; and there were thirty, twenty seconds left. Then came a long post into the penalty area that passed several Utrecht defenders and reached Wamberto, one of the Brazilians in our team, and probably he was offside, but the linesmen did not see it, and Wamberto set foot on the ball and shot the target, and it was not wise. We were saved in the final seconds of additional time, and Utrecht fans made their way to the head, totally desperate. But it was not clear yet. It was renewed, and many extensions of the cups was determined at the time, golden goal or sudden death as they say in hockey, and it would be now. The team that scored won the match right away, and just five minutes into the extension, a new post, Now, from left, and I jumped up and nodded, and soon after I got back the ball. I took it down on the chest, I was pretty hard under pressure, but I turned and fired with the left, not a brilliant shot, not at all. The ball bounced on the the grass. But my goodness, it was well positioned and crossed the line and I tore off my shirt and ran out to the left, crazy with joy and as thin as a scream. You could see my ribs. It had been a tough year. It had been a bloody pressure and my game was locked up for long periods. But now I was back. I had come again. I had shown them all, and the whole scene was crazy. The full vibrated with happiness and disappointment, and above all I remember Koeman, he ran up to me and yelled in my ear: "Thank you very much! Thank you very much! " It was such a joy, it can not describe it, and I just ran around there with the whole team and felt all let go. 9
I WAS A TYPICAL FUCKING JUGGE, she thought, with a gold watch and fleet car and I'm to loud music, I was definitely not for her. But I knew nothing about it.
I saw myself as the cool any time, and I sat there in my Merc SL outside Forex at the central station in Malmoe, while little brother, Keki, were inside and exchanged money. The season was over in Holland, and it may have been before or after the World Cup in Japan, I do not know, it does not matter, there was me and that chick ran out completely insane from a taxi. She was angry about something. Who the hell is that? I thought. I had never seen her before, and then I had still pretty good track of Malmo. I had been there as soon as I had had the chance and I thought I knew most things in town. But the girl was ... she had been? She was not just pretty. She had a cool attitude, like, arguing with me, and she was older, and that was exciting. I asked: Who is she? What's the girl? Of an acquaintance, I was know that her name was Helen. Okay, Helen, I thought. Helena. I could not forget her. But there was no more than that. There was so much around me, and I was restless and moved on, nothing really stuck, but one day I went to Stockholm again with the squad, and that the city thus: where will all the gorgeous babes from? It's crazy, they are everywhere, and I and some friends went out at Café Opera, and of course, there was commotion, and as usual finders my situation with that look, I grew up with: are there any problems on the way? Does anyone kaxar itself? There is always something. Yet it was better then. This was before all photographed me with their cell phones, and many do not even ask. They just bang of an image on the face at me, and sometimes I see black. But when the time I just looked around and suddenly I saw her, wow like, that's she from Forex and I went over and talked: Hey, hey, are you also from Malmo, and she pulled his stuff, I work there and there, and I did nothing. People like Career stuff was totally incomprehensible to me then, and probably I was pretty arrogant. I was like that when I was out then. I would not let anyone too close. But afterwards I regretted it, I should have been nicer, and I was happy when I saw her in Malmo again. I began to see her all the time. She had a black Mercedes SLK, and it was often parked at Lilla Torg, and where I slid often overlooked. On the time I had no longer my Mercadante SL, but a red Ferrari 360th The whole town knew that I had one. It was very "Look, there goes Zlatan," and it's true, I wanted to hide myself, was that car is no good idea. But you should know that the guys who sold the Mercedes to me had promised: You are alone in the country about it! It was the sales pitch. It
was bullshit. I saw one like the city that summer and knew right away: They can go to hell. I do not want the car anymore, and so I called a few that sold Ferrari and asked: Do you have inside? Absolutely, they said, and when I went there and picked one and gave up my SL as part of the payment. It was stupid, I went back on it and I did not have the best economy in those days. But I ignored it. I was proud of my cars, it was a matter of principle, simply, and so I drove around with a Ferrari and felt quite cool, and sometimes I saw her thus in his black Merc, she named Helena, and I thought as well: Must do something about that, I can not just watch, and of my acquaintance, I got her mobile number, and I thought for a while. Should I call? I sent a text message, type "Hello, hello, what's up? Think you've seen me sometimes, "and so I concluded by saying:" The one with the red, "he with the red Ferrari, and actually, I got an answer, "She's with the black," she said, and I thought: Maybe it's a beginning, a start, what do I. I called and we met, no big deal at first, it was lunch and so and I hung out at her mansion in the country, and I checked at her home furnishing, wallpaper and tile stoves and all that, and frankly, it impressed me.It was something completely new. I had never met a lonely girl who lived in that way, and I did well still not sure what she did. She was doing marketing in any way at Swedish Match, but I realized that she had high status in their industry and I liked it. She was not at all like the young girls I've met. Nothing was as hysterical, not at all, she was tough. She liked cars. She had been stabbed from home when she was seventeen and worked his way up, and I was not exactly the worst superstar for her, as she said: "Come on Zlatan, you was not exactly Elvis has landed. "I was a crazy guy for her only, who dressed ugly and was quite immature, and sometimes she teased me a bit. Evil bitch super de luxe, I replied, and Evil Super Bitch Deluxe in one word, in a single breath, for she used to run around in the worst stiletto heels and tight jeans and fur coats and stuff. She was like Tony Montana in Scarface, the girl, while I stumbled around in the lining again. The whole thing with us was so wrong that it felt right somehow, and we had fun together. "Zlatan, you are completely stupid. You are so damn fun, "she said, and I really hoped that she meant it. I liked her. But still, she came from a nice nuclear family in Lindesberg, such a family
that says "Honey, was kind enough to give me milk," while we I said basically threaten each other to life over the dining table, and many times she did not even know what I was saying, and I could nothing about her world, and she knew nothing about me. I was eleven years younger and lived in Holland and was a lunatic with criminal friends. It was not just perfect location. When I and some friends that summer went down to infiltrate us up at a party she hosted in the best during tennis week with all possible celebrities and big shots, they wanted the door do not let us, in any case they would not let my friends and it was a little circus around it. There was stuff all the time. I'm International in Riga, for example, and landed in Stockholm in the evening and with Olof Mellberg and Lars Lagerback, I took a taxi to Scandic Park Hotel. Our game had not been much to cheer about. We had just received a zero-zero against Latvia in World Cup qualifiers and I have always difficult to sleep after games, especially when I played poorly. My mistakes are buzzing in me, and with some buddies, I decided to go out on the town and check out Spy Bar at Stureplan. It was late and I walked up one flight of stairs. But I had not been there long before a girl came up and was very much on, and of course, I had friends nearby. Do you see me out of the turn, you can be sure that I have some friends somewhere. Not just because of the uproar around me. I have one of those nature of the thing. I end up easily with the bad guys. We are drawn to each other, and it does not bother me in the least. They are as nice as everyone else. But of course, it can burn to, and this girl, she came close and said something frivolous, she began to provoke, and suddenly appeared her brother up and pulled at me, and, therefore, that he should not have done. My friends are not to be trifled with. One of them took my brother and another took her, and I knew right away, no, this I do not want to experience. I wanted out, but then, it was the first time I was at Spy Bar, and it was late and messy and I could not find. I went to the bathroom instead, and over there where I stood was full riot already and I was stressed. I had played international. This will be the headlines, I thought, there will be no scandal, and then came a new guard up and was now no longer equal tjenis.
"The owner wants you to leave instead." "Health of the pig that I do not want something better," I snarled, and so he followed and some others I like and so I slipped away. It was half past four in the morning apparently, I know, because I got stuck on an image from a surveillance camera, and what do you think? Treated the photograph with the privacy and stuff? Not directly. It ended up in Aftonbladet and on all the headlines, and you can imagine, it was as if I killed seven people. All over the newspapers screamed out stuff and myself, I was notified of molestation, it was said. Molestation? Can you believe? Completely sick, and as always, those who happened to brush against me did media career. I went back to Amsterdam. We would play the Champions League against Lyon, among other things, and I refused to speak to journalists. Mido was out and talked to me instead. We are problem children had to help each other. But frankly, had enough now, and it did not surprise me when it turned out that it was Aftonbladet themselves who made sure that that girl signed up, and I declared publicly: I'm going to bust it there the newspaper. I will sue them. But what do you think? I did not give a shit, just an excuse and I was getting more and more on my guard. I started is changing. It would have been too boring in the newspapers and of course, I never just wanted Blaj mass media: Zlatan train, Zlatan is good, Zlatan takes care of itself. Not at all. But now it had gone too far, and I wanted to get attention for my football again. It was a long time since there was no positive about it. Although the World Cup had been disappointing. I had that kind of expectation, and for a while saw it like I would not have come up with at all. But Lagerback and Soderberg took me out in the end and I liked them both, mainly Soderberg, of course, the entire team's teddy bear. At a training lifted I got up and hugged him of pure joy. I broke two of his ribs. He could hardly walk, but he was nice. I shared a room with Andreas Isaksson. Andrew was the third goalkeeper then, a good guy, I guess. But then, the habits! He slept at nine o'clock at night and where I lay and rotted, and of course called my mobile, it was "Yeah, nice, finally someone to talk to!" But Andrew just snorted and I hung up. I did not interfere. I'm nice really. But the next evening the phone rang the same time and then he slept well, or pretended to sleep.
"But what the hell Zlatan," he sputtered, and then bet me away, away, I mean, what is it? Sleep at nine o'clock? "If you open your mouth again I throw out your bed through the window." It was obviously a good replica, not only because we lived in the twentieth floor, but because it had an effect. The next day I had a single room, very nice, but otherwise I would not have so many success purely personal. We were in the group of death, as the called, with England, Argentina Argentina and Nigeria, and it was such a mood, that kind of arenas, like that perfect plan, and I wanted to enter and play more than ever.. But I was seen as too inexperienced. I was on the bench. Still, I was ever elected to the MVP in a phone vote. Completely crazy! I was seen at its best on the pitch even though I have not even got off my overalls. It was that old Zlatan fever again, and really, really, I played only five minutes against Argentina Argentina and a short time against Senegal in the eighth finals when I actually had some chances. No, I thought that Lars and Tommy ran for much of the same eleven and did not give us young people a chance. But it was now so it was and I ran away and returned to Amsterdam. I had a strategy. strategy. I would not bother me as much about what others said, just drive on. That was the goal, goal, but it did not much, not first. It began much like it ended - on the bench. The battle for places up front remained hard, and I had my Critics, including Johan Cruyff who always talked shit about me, and that was already there and had opinions on my technique. But other things also happened, Mido, my friend, declared publicly that he would be satisfied, not very tactical, quite frankly, frankly, he was no Diplomatic exactly, he was someone like me or even worse. Later, when he sat on the bench against Eindhoven, he came into the locker room and called us all miserable cunts. It was a hell of life on him and not just pretty words, and I responded by saying that if someone was a pussy, it was he, and then he took a pair of scissors lying on a bench there and threw it at me, completely crazy, frankly. It where the cutter swished past my head, straight into the tiled wall and opened a crack and of course, I stood up and gave him a lusing, one stone. But after ten minutes we walked out, arm in arm, and much later I learned that our team manager saved it with scissors as a memory,, like, something to show for the kids as well, it was this Zlatan memory almost got in the face.
Anyway, it was a bit up and down with Mido, and now he had thus made a Anyway, fool of himself again. Koeman had been fined and freeze him out, and so there was another guy. Rafael van der Vaart was his name, a Dutchman, a right arrogant type that many of the white guys on the team, although he did not was no upper-right. He had grown up in a trailer and lived a GIPSY LIFE, he said, and he had played football in the street with beer bottles as poles and it had sharpened his technique, he said. Only ten years old, he had written into the Ajax youth academy and training hard, and certainly, certainly, he had been good. Just a year before he had been elected to this year's European talent or something. But he tried to be a tough guy and he wanted to be seen and lead, and from the beginning, there was a competition between us. Now he had injured his knee, and with both him and Mido gone, I would play from the start at home against Lyon. It was my debut in Champions League - I had only played in qualifying earlier - and it was awesome of course. Champions League was a dream and it was a damn press arena. I had got over a bunch of friends and arrange tickets for them far down on the long side in front of goal, and I remember I Early was a ball of Jari Litmanen, Finn. I liked him. Litmanen had played for Barcelona and Liverpool and now just come to us, and immediately had a push effect on me. Many guys in Ajax played mostly for themselves. They wanted nothing more than to be sold to a bigger club, and often felt like we were competing against each other more than against the other clubs. But Litmanen L itmanen was truly a team player. player. He stood for the real thing, I thought, and when I got the ball of him, I slipped down the sideline and front by two runs, one in front of me and another to the right. I had been in similar situations many times, and analyzed them back and forth. It was a bit the same position as against Henchoz of Liverpool match, but it was two guys now, and I took a dribble to the left, a bipeds, and slopes were on me both. It looked like a dead end, but then I sensed a gap between them, a small corridor, and before I even had time to think about it, I was through and came in front of goal and saw another opening, and shot, a low shot that hit the post and went in, and I was like crazy. It was not the only goal, it was beautiful too, and I ran like an idiot to my mates on the long side, and rejoiced with them, and for me got the whole team, totally crazy, crazy, and not much later did I have a goal. It was crazy really.There were two goals in my debut in the Champions
League, and it began talking about Roma was after me, and Tottenham Tottenham for that matter. I was going on, and normally if it comes off with the football, there is not a problem in the world. But privately, it was still quite fun. I had not come into life down there. I was in a kind of vacuum. I was at home too often and did stupid things and so I kept contact with Helen, mostly through income, without really knowing what we were doing.Was doing.Was it just a crazy thing, or was it something else? In October, October, we played the European Championship qualifier against Hungary at Rasunda.It felt great to be back. I had not forgotten the cries of the year before, but it did not start well, and some of the Stockholm newspapers had written the type that I was an inflated figure just elbowed my way. way. It was a important game. We lost was the European Championship dream to be smoked, and both I and the team had something to prove. But Hungary was one-nil after only four minutes, and it did not seem to matter how many chances we had. We did not sign, I felt driven and seventy fourth minutes came a loud speeches by Mattias Jonson and I went up to nod. The goalkeeper threw himself at me and tried to punch the ball away; I do not know if he hit the ball in particular particular.. He knocked at least me, and everything went black. I sank to the ground. I was gone five or ten seconds, and when I woke up to the players stood in a circle around me and I did nothing: What is the question about? What's going on? It was a fucking life from the stands, and the guys looked both happy and worried. "It became a goal," said Kim Källström. "Really? Who did it? " "You, you nod in goal." I felt groggy and nauseous, and it came up a stretcher and I lay down on it. National team doctor was there and I was worn out, but then heard I cry again: "Zlatan, Zlatan." The whole stadium was screaming, and I waved to the audience. I really was lifted up, and the whole team lit. Okay, that was not more than one-one and we should have won. Kim Källström had including a crystal clear penalty in the final minutes as the referee did not want to see. But I remembered that, to feel so bad and still feel as good, and not much later, later, I became ill in a different way, in the worst of the fever which only affected two hundred and fifty people in the country, and even then came an unexpected thing that changed a lot.
It was the day before Christmas Eve. I was with my mom. Perhaps I had not made a brilliant season start, but I was quite happy, after all. I had five goals in the Champions League, actually more than in the Dutch league, and I remember Koeman had told me: "Hörrudu, Zlatan, there is a league too, "but I worked it in any way way.. Better resistance triggered me, and anyway, anyway, now I was back home in Rosengard. We were off until the beginning of January when we were in training camp and play the match in Cairo, and I really needed rest. But it was crowded with mum, and people were screaming and making noise, and came at loggerheads. Nowhere was any real peace. It was me, mom, Keki and Sanela, and we used to have a Christmas as any other, other, a simple Christmas dinner at four o'clock and afterwards Christmas delivery, delivery, and absolute, it could have been really nice. But now I could not with it. I had a headache and body aches. I needed to get away and get some peace, or at least talk to someone outside the family family.. It was just that: Who could I call? Everyone has her on Christmas. Christmas is sacred. But Helena, perhaps? I tried. Not that I hoped it much. She worked all the time and probably she was with her parents in Lindesberg Lindesberg.. But no, she replied, she was in the yard.She did not like Christmas, she said. "I feel so bad," I said. "Poor thing!" "I can not cope with the circus at home!" "Come on then," she replied. "I'll take care of you", and frankly, frankly, it was a bit surprising. We had the best coffee, and Messer, earlier, I still had not slept with her, but certainly, it sounded perfect, so I stuck: "Sorry Mom, "like," I gotta go. " "So now, now, do not celebrate Christmas with us, either?" "Sorry," "Sorry ," and outside the country Helena bedded me down, and outside was calm and quiet, that was exactly what I needed. It was real nice and it did not feel strange at all to be with her instead of the family. family. It was natural, and exciting all at once. But I was not healthy healthy.. I was pretty driven and the next day was Christmas Eve, and I had promised my dad to watch over. Dad does not celebrate July He sits alone as usual and keeps on with his. He and I had been an incredible contact since that day on level one in Malmö. The whole this thing from childhood when he did not really cared were gone, and several times he had been down and checked on my matches, and partly as a tribute to him
I had switched from Zlatan Ibrahimović to the club shirt. But then he was dead drunk again and I could not cope with it, not one second, and I stuck directly back to Helena. "Are you back already?" "I'm back." That was basically what I could say. Then I became so ill, forty-degree fever about. I promise. Never been so messy in my life. It was a super flu. I was decked in three days and Helena had a shower and bathe me and change the sheets were soaked with sweat, and I raved and whined, and there was something about it. I do not know. But until that moment, I had most been that cocky juggen for her. He has played mafioso in flashy cars and admittedly pretty fun, at least I hoped so, but that may not directly was the guy for her. Now, I was completely broken, clean the wreck, and she liked it in some way, she says. I was human. My entire surface cracked, and afterwards when I RECOVER a little bit, she stuck to rent movies, and that's when I first saw Swedish detective as Beck, and it became a bit of a ahaupplevelse for me. It was wow, Sweden can do things like this! I was completely bitten and we sat together and watched movie after movie and had it is really nice, not that we were together at once, if at all. She came and went in those days. She went off to work and returned again and took care of me, and certainly, we did not understand each other sometimes, and we still did not know what we wanted and we were still totally different and totally wrong, and whatever it was. But it started there, I think I am, it felt good to hang with her, and when I'd cut back to Holland, I longed for her, like, where is she? Can not you come down here? I said, and she did. She visited me in Diemen. It was great. But no one can say that she was impad of my townhouse. I had begun to thrive quite well out there and made sure that the refrigerator was full. But she claims she was scrubbing my floors, and it looked a mess out of everything and that I had about three dishes at home and everyone was odd, and that the walls were insane, purple, yellow and apricot in a mess and that the green carpet really does not suited to something and that everything was a disaster. In addition, I dressed for the sad of course, and just lay in bed with my video games, and there were wires and shit everywhere, and no order at all. Evil super-bitch, I said. Evil Bitch Super Deluxe, in a single breath.
I missed her when she was stuck, and I began to call and mess more often, and I think I calmed me down a little. My God, this was course, a girl with class. She taught me things, like, how fish cutlery looks like, and how to drink wine! At the time, thought I type that you would wrap vintages as a glass of milk. But no, no, you would apparently sit there and sip. I began to understand. But of course, I was not ready for it. I continued to go up to Malmo all the time, and not just for the gold. One day me and some buddies to Helena's house and spun around on her gravel paths, and she got mad and yelled that they had been raked and fine and that everything was ruined now, and of course, I had a bad conscience.I have to do something about it, I thought. I sent little brother. He got there and got a rake in his hand, but then, we have no track of rakes and stuff in our family. My brother was not a success directly, and I was told that I was completely stupid again, but pretty fun then its better. Another time I had given her a Sony Vaio, a notebook. But we were at loggerheads, and then I thought no longer she would have that the computer. So I gave Keki, little brother, a new mission. Get back there, I said, and Keki usually obey it, at least sometimes, so he stuck there, but what do you think? We could eat poop, 'said Helen. She would not return anything, and not much later we became friends again. But it was a mess. It was those airbomberna among others. We bought them from a guy who made them illegal at home, it was real powerhouse and back then we had a friend who owned a hot dog stand in Malmo, no evil in him, quite the opposite. But we agreed that we should blow up a bit with him, just for fun, and for that we needed a car that was not related to us, and since Helena had some contacts, I asked her: "Can you fix a jeep?" Absolutely, she arranged a Lexus, she thought that we would be doing something right nice, after all. But we went to the booth and into a bomb in the mailbox there, and the box, therefore, it flew in the air. It just roared and it went to seven million bits, and the same night, while we were walking, we called Keki. "Do you want to have some fun?" He would probably not, but we drove to his girlfriend, where they slept, and threw two bombs in her garden. It was Earth bang there too and lot of smoke and shit and tufts of grass flying and of course, the girl bounced up: "What the hell was that?" and Keki, he played dumb: "Oh my God, what could it be? What wonder? What scary.
"But he knew, of course, and therefore, it makes you, that was a prank, things like that I always had and still going on actually, but it is clear, Ajax Time was my craziest period. That was before Mino Raiola and Fabio Capello got some order on me. I remember when I bought furniture for big brother at Ikea. He got to choose what he wanted. I had already started to help my family quite a lot. I bought a townhouse for my mom in Svågertorp and a car to my dad eventually, although he understood was how proud any time and not wanted to receive something. But this time at Ikea, I had a buddy with me and we had all the stuff on that kind of shopping carts. One of the wagons came a little too far out. It happened to pass through checkout and my friend direct coupled, of course, he was smart, and I pushed on: "Just go, go, go!" In this way we got a lot of that other stuff for free, and we liked the course. But do not think it was about money. There were high. It was the adrenaline. It was like childhood in department stores. Though it is clear, absolute, sometimes it was a little hard too. The thing about the Lexus Jeep for example. It was seen in some weird place and it was reported back and forth, and it was embarrassing for Helen, type: "Hörrudu, the where the car you rented, it was seen in connection with any blasting! "She was in a bad light because of me, sorry Helen, and it was a Porsche Cayenne. She had fixed it for us in the same way. But we happened to run it down in a ditch and crashing it a little on the way home from the best, and she became crazy for it, and it must be understood also, and to top it all she had to break. Helen had worked hard, not only as marketers but also additional to the pub to buy the farm in the country, and a lot of nice stuff, furniture, a motorbike and stereo equipment. She had torn hard to get up to them, and therefore it must have hurt when any one day broke into and stole her Bang and Olufsen Things and mass other. I understand that. But Helen thought I knew who did it. It makes her still. But I have no idea. I promise. The talk will certainly continue in my old circles. We'll find out everything weird that happens. One night when I was parked outside my mom was the one guy who tossed the tires for my Merc CL. I found out at five o'clock in the morning and then had already been rumored and it was the police photographers out there and journalists, and I stayed indoors. But I began to sniff, and it was not long before I knew who it was who wrapped them, and after a
weeks I had regained those tires. But who broke in with Helen, I'll never know and frankly, sometimes I do not understand that she had such a patience with me. It was a little mad she got on her neck. But she was, it was strong, and I think she got to see some results also. Previously I had been quite alone and had no sounding board, not the stuff of everyday life or if it has pushed me. But now I routines and something to crave, and Helen came down with increasing frequency, and we became a bit of a family, especially when she acquired that fat pug Hoffa, which we fed with pizza and mozzarella in Italy. But before it happened a lot. That was when my career took off, and I got revenge again. 10
It would have been Marco van Basten. I had inherited his shirt number and would imitate him on floor and all that, and yes, it was flattering. But I was getting tired of it. I did not want to be a new Van Basten. I was Zlatan, nothing else. So no, I wanted to scream, came not with that guy again. I've heard about him enough. Though still, of course, that's how cool any time when he showed up in person, was wow, is he talking to me? Van Basten is a legend, one of the best strikers ever, not on a par with Ronaldo maybe, but still, he had made over two hundred targets and dominated completely in Milan. It was then about ten years ago he was elected to the best of FIFA, and now he had just left a tränarkurs the Football Association and would become an assistant in the Ajax youth team, a first step for him on the track. Therefore, he was next to us in training. I was like a little boy before him, at least initially. But I got. We talked almost every day, and had some fun stuff together. Before each match he triggered me. We talked and played and what joke. "Well, how many goals will you do now? I think it will be one. " "A? Are you crazy. There are at least two. " "Crap. Want to bet? " "How much you bet?" We kept on like that and he gave me a lot of advice, and he was really nice. He drove his own thing and he ignored completely in what bosses did. He was totally independent. I had been criticized for not working enough back, or even because I just
leaning on the pitch when the opposing team attacked, and I had thought a part of the course, and wondered what I could do about it. I asked Van Basten about it. "Do not listen to the coaches!" He said. "Waders?" "You should not waste your energies on defending. You should use them to attack. You earn your team the best way to attack and score goals, not to run out at you backwards, "and it became a thing where I picked up: you have to save their energy to score goals. We went to Portugal for a training camp and at that time had Beenhakker resigned as director and replaced by Louis van Gaal. Van Gaal was a good type. He was a bit like Co Adriaanse. He wanted to be dictator without having the slightest glint in his eyes. As a player, he was never remarkable, but in Holland, he had great status because he as a coach has won the Champions League with Ajax and received the words of the government for it. Van Gaal liked to talk about the game system. He was one of them in the club who talked about the guys that number. It was very fifth grade goes hit and sixth grade there and I was happy when I did not have him. But then in Portugal, I did not escape. I was going into the van Gaal and Koeman and listen on how they looked at my effort first half of the season. It was such a review meeting with the grades that they loved in Ajax and I Step into a room there, and sat down in front of van Gaal and Ronald Koeman. Koeman smiled. Van Gaal saw the scowl. "Zlatan" said Koeman. "You played great, but you only get one eight. You have not worked back well enough. " "Okay, well," I said and wanted to go. I liked Koeman, but could not with van Gaal, and I thought: Great, an eight's good enough.Can I take a break now? "Do you know how to play defense?" van Gaal put himself in, and I looked at Koeman that he was annoyed too. "I hope so," I replied. Then began van Gaal explain and believe me, I had heard it before. It was the usual about how number nine, that I, defends the right when tian goes to the left, and vice versa, and he drew lots darts and finished with a pretty hard: "How do you understand? Do you understand this? "And I took it as an attack. "You can bring every single one of the players at three o'clock at night," I
said, "and ask how to defend and they rattle off in his sleep, nine running here and there tian. We can be there and we know it's you who invented it. But I've been training with Van Basten, and he thinks the opposite. " "Pardon?" "Van Basten said that the number nine to save his forces to attack and score goals, and frankly, now I do not know who to listen to. Van Basten is a legend or van Gaal? "I said and stressed in particular the words van Gaal, as if it were a completely insignificant figure, and what do you think? Were van Gaal happy? He completely cooked. Who should I listen to, a legend or a van Gaal? "I gotta go now," I said and stuck out. The snack was once again that Rome was after me, and Roma were trained by Fabio Capello, a real tough guy, it was said, which could easily be bench or scold any Star. It was just Capello who coached Van Basten in Milan during its heyday, and led him to become better than ever, and of course, I spoke with Van Basten about it: "What do you think?Were not Roma cool? Would I do it? " "Stay in Ajax," he said. "You have to be developed as a striker before coming to Italy." "Why?" "It is much tougher there. Here you get maybe five or six chances to score in a match, but in Italy it will be just one or two and then You can use it ", and certainly, at one level, I agreed with. It had not quite come off for me yet. I was still too few goals, and I had lots to learn. I needed to be more effective in target area. Still, Italy had been a dream from the beginning and I thought my style would fit there. Therefore, I went to my agent, Anders Carlsson: "What happens? What are you on? "Of course, Anders did well. He checked the situation and came up again. But what he had to come up with? "Southampton is interested," he said. "What the hell! Southampton! Is it my level? " Southampton! This time I had bought a Porsche Turbo. It was wonderful, but quite deadly, quite frankly. It felt like a go-kart. I was as a fool in it. Me and a friend had been driving with it in Smaland, Vaxjo outside, and then I gassed on. I came up in two hundred and fifty. It was nothing unusual in those days. It was just that: when I slowed down, we heard police sirens.
The cops were after us, and I thought, Okay, real-life situation, what to do? I can stop and say sorry, here you have my license. But honestly, the headlines? I wanted them? Should a debate about Zlatan like a maniac on the road to help me in your career? Hardly huh! I looked back. We was on a single-lane road with oncoming traffic, and the police was a four cars behind us.They came out of nowhere, they were locked, and I had Dutch plates. They could not trace me, and I thought: They do not have a chance, and when we came out on a major road put me into second gear and accelerated. I drug in such a hell and it reached three hundred, and those sirens were heard, of course, wee, wee, but weaker and weaker. The police car disappeared further and further away, and finally when we did not see it more in retrospect we turned in under a tunnel and waited there like in a movie, and made it away. There were several things like the car, and I remember that I drove right Anders Carlsson, agent in it. He was going to his hotel and so on to the airport, and we came into a curve and it was a red light. But my God, I Can not cope with it, not in the car. I drove on, vroom as well, and he said: "I think that was a red light." "Really," I replied. "I must have missed it," and so I drew on, right, left in town. I gassed right game and I saw he was completely sweaty, and so we arrived at the hotel and when he opened the door and went without a word. The next day he called me, completely insane: "It was the jävligaste I had." "What?" I said. I pretended not to take any. "That car ride." Anders Carlsson was not a guy for me. It became increasingly apparent. I needed another agent that was not as careful with the rules, and stoplight, and a little fortunately, Anders then left IMG and would start their own business and therefore he had given me a new contract to sign. But because I have not done it yet, I was a free man. It was just that: what would I do with my freedom? I had no idea, and at that time I did not have many to talk football with. I had understood Maxwell and some others on the team, but still does not:
it was such a competition everywhere and I did not know who was going to trust on, especially if they were agents and transitions. Every single one of the team would proceed to big clubs, and it felt as if I needed an outsider. I thought of Thijs. Thijs Slegers was a journalist. He had interviewed me for Voetbal International, and I had liked him immediately. We had talked on the phone a part of the interview. He became something of a sounding board for me, and even then he had pretty good track, I think. He knew how I was and what I liked of the type. I played his number again and explained the situation: "I must change agent. Who would be best for me? "And Thijs, he's nice. "Let me think about it!" He said, and certainly, I let him think, I did not do anything hasty. "Listen," he said then. "There are two agents, I can think of. One is the company that works for Beckham. It will be awesome, and then there another guy. But then ... " "What?" "He's a mobster." "Mafioso sounds good," I said. "I suspected you would say so." "Wonderful. Controls up a meeting! " The guy was not the mobster. He just drove like that. His name was Mino Raiola, and I had actually heard of him. He was Maxwell agent and by Maxwell himself had tried to get in touch with me a few months earlier.Because that's how he works. Mino always goes through intermediary. He used to say: Approaches yourself, will you at a disadvantage. Where do you stand with hat in hand. But with me it had not been very good - I had played the cocky, and said to Maxwell: "Does he have something concrete to come up with so he can show up, otherwise I'm not interested", but Mino had just let health back: "Tell Zlatan this to go and fuck himself ", and although I certainly was angry then, it triggered me just now when I learned a lot about him. I grew up with that style, go to hell and stuff. I feel at home in the suburb where the talking, and I sensed that Mino and I had a bit of the same background. None of us had been given something for free. Mino was born in southern Italy in the Salerno province. But even when he was a year moved his family to Holland, and opened a pizza restaurant in the city of
Haarlem. Mino was clean and wash up as a boy, and jump in as a waiter. But Guy advanced. He began to manage the agency's finances and that kind of stuff. He settled in life even as a teenager. He was doing a thousand things, he studied law, did business and learned the language. In addition, He liked football, and he would soon become an agent. In Holland there was previously an insane system that decided that players would be sold under any rates based on age and mass statistically shit, and there he went against. He challenged the Football Association at one time, and he began certainly not with a few blueberries. Back in 1993 he sold Bergkamp to Inter and 2001, he made sure that Nedved came to Juventus for forty-one million euros. Yet the Mino is not overly big, not so far, but he was said to be on the rise and completely fearless and willing to run what Tricks anytime and it sounded good. I did not want to have a good boy again. I wanted to be bought and get a good contract, and therefore I decided to impress about that Mino. When Thijs headed up a meeting for us at the Okura Hotel in Amsterdam, I dressed in my cool brown leather jacket from Gucci. I thought definitely not be geek in a tracksuit again and be blown again. I put on my gold watch and so I took the Porsche; and parked just outside the safe side. Here I come, type, and so I went to the Okura, and the hotel, then! It is right on the Amstel Canal and is incredibly elegant, luxurious, and I thought now is, now I have to be cool, and I went on to the sushi restaurant inside. We had booked there, and really know what to kind of person I expected I did not know, probably some kind of pinstriped design with an awesome gold watch. But what the hell was what showed up? A guy in jeans and Nike T-shirt and with the stomach, therefore, that Sopranos lads. Would he be an agent, the plot? And when we ordered, what do you think? Came in a little sushi with avocado and shrimp? It was the worst load, food for five people, and he ate like a maniac. But then he started talking, and then he was really tough and straight. It was not wrapped crap, and I knew immediately, this flap, this goes right in, and I said to myself: This guy I work with. We think alike, and I prepared me to take in hand the collaboration. But you know what he did, the cheeky bastard? He picked up four A4 paper he printed off the Internet and on them were the mass
names and numbers, like Christian Vieri, twenty-seven matches, twentyfour goals. Filippo Inzaghi, twenty-five matches, twenty goal, David Trezeguet twenty-four matches, twenty goals and finally, Zlatan Ibrahimović, twenty-five matches, five goals. "You think I can sell you one of those statistics," he said, and I thought, what is this attack?But then I found myself. "If I had done twenty goals even had my mother been able to sell me," I replied, and then he became silent, he wanted GUFFAW, I know today. But when he drove his game. He did not lose his supremacy. "You are right. But you ... " What the hell is it now? I thought. It felt as if there would be a new attack. "You think you're cool, right?" "What are you talking about?" "You think you impress me with your watch, your jacket and your Porsche. But you do not.Not at all. I just think it's nonsense. " "Okay!" "Do you want to be the best in the world? Or the person who earns the most and can slide around in things like this stuff? " "The World's Best!" "Good! To get you the best, the others too. But are you just looking for money, then there will be nothing, you know? " "I get it. " "Think about it, and let me know," he said, and so we ended the meeting. I walked away and felt, okay, I'm good at it then. I may well also be a bit cool like that and let him wait. But no, I had just put me in the car until it started jumping on me. I called him: "Listen, my stools not wait, I want to work with you now at once." He became silent. "All right," he said. "But if you intend to work with me, will you do as I say." "Sure, absolutely." "You should sell your car. You should sell your watches and start exercising three times as hard. For your stats are rubbish. " Your stats are rubbish! I should ask him to fuck off. Sell my car? What had he to do with them? He went too far, no doubt about it. But still, he was right, had not he? I gave him my Porsche Turbo. Not just to be good, in and of itself. Just as well to get rid of with the car, quite frankly. I would just run me to death in it. But that did not stop there. I started going around with the club's fucking boring Fiat Stilo, and I laid
aside my gold watch. I put on an ugly Nikeur instead and went around in workout clothes again. It would be tough now, and I trained like a madman. I ran out on me and it struck me more, the true of course all that. I have been too happy, thought I was a cool kid. But it was the wrong attitude. In fact, I had made too few goals and was too lazy. I had not been sufficiently justified. I understood it more and more and I began to give everything in training and matches. But it is true, it is not easy to change overnight. It starts hard, then do not keep you going. Fortunately, I had no chance to fail. Mino was upon me like a leech. "You like it when people tell you you're the best, right?" "Well, maybe." "But that's not true. You are not the best. You are shit. You are nothing. You have to work harder. " "It is you who are crap. You just whine. You should train yourself. " "Go fuck yourself." "Fuck you." It was easy aggressively between us, or rather, it seemed aggressive. But we were so grown up, and of course I took, all that attitude, you are nothing and it was his way of getting me to change the setting, and I truly believe that he succeeded. I started to say those things to myself: "You're a loser, Zlatan. You are a jerk. You are not even half as good as you think! You have to work harder. " I was triggered by it, and got even more of a winner's. There was no question of being sent home by the coach anymore. I gave everything in every situation and wanted to win every single match or competition even in training, and although I had a sore left groin. But I did not care it. I just poured on. I did not give me. Did not care even if it got worse and worse. I clenched. Several others in the team were injured time. I did not want to coach new problems, and often, I played on painkillers. Tried to just ignore the crap. But Mino saw, he did. He wanted me to work hard, not that I would break. "It is no longer, kid," he said. "You can not lira damaged", and then I took it seriously at last, and visited a specialist, and it was decided I would have surgery. At the University Hospital in Rotterdam la they entered a strengthening in the left groin, and afterwards, I had to build me up in the club training pool. It was no joke. Mino said the physios that I had it too easy. "The guy has just slid around and played. Now he must struggle and take
out completely!On him alone. " I did have a fucking heart rate monitor on me, and some sort of life jacket that kept me going, and so I ran the water until I reached my absolute maximum level, and afterwards I was completely spyfärdig. I fell down at the poolside. I just need to rest, collapse. I could not move. I was completely exhausted, and once I was wee, it got worse and worse. But there was no question of hurricanes to the toilet. There was a hole at the poolside and in the hole peed myself, what else would I do? I was totally ready. In Ajax, we had a disciplinary rule: we did not go get food until they said "Please", and often stuck me as soon as I heard the first syllable. I was always hungry as a wolf. Now Pallade I did not even lift his head. How much they cried, I was left at the poolside as a wreck. For two weeks, I was so, and the strange thing is that it was not just tough. There was no beauty in that pain. I enjoyed getting to charge me completely, and I began to realize what hard work means. I entered a new phase and I felt stronger than ever. When I returned from rehabilitation, I gave everything on the field and now I began to dominate. I had confidence, and it showed up placards, "Zlatan, the son of God", and that kind of stuff. People were screaming my name. I was better than ever, and it was wonderful of course, but also, it was as always: when someone shines becomes second jealousy and there were already some tensions in the team, especially among the young players who also wanted to show off and be sold to big clubs. I guess, for example, Rafael van der Vaart was not entirely happy with developments.Raphael was probably one of the most popular players in the country at the time. He certainly was the one who loves most in the club of all the fans who do not really liked the foreigners on the plane, and Ronald Koeman made him captain, despite the fact that Raphael was only twentyone. It was certainly a cocky thing for him, and also he was the worst quarry for gossip columns. He had got it together with some celebrity wedding, and perhaps it was not easy for him to fix my successes on the pitch in that situation. Rafael looked secure himself as the big star and did not want competition. I do not know, and so he longed to be sold, as all of us. Whatever he did to get ahead, I think. On the other hand, it is true, I felt him, and I did not either. It was early summer 2004, and tensions between us did not explode until August. Then in May and June, the situation was still quite calmly. We had secured the league gold again, and Maxwell, my friend, was elected to the franchise's best player and I was glad for his sake. Is
there I do not begrudge anyone anything, it is he, and I remember we went to Haarlem to eat at the pizza restaurant where Mino had grown up, and where I spoke with Minos sister. It was one thing she wondered, she said. It was their dad. "Dad started driving around in a Porsche Turbo," she said. "It's a bit strange actually. It's not exactly the kind of car he had before. Does this have anything to do with you? " "Your dad ..." I had no Porsche, but it was hoped in safe hands now, and that summer I really wanted to stay away from crazy name and just focus on football. It would be the European Championships in Portugal. It was my first major championship when I become established in national team, and I remember Henke Larsson rang. Henke was a role model. He made his last time in the Celtic then. He would be sold to Barcelona after the summer, and after defeat to Senegal in the World Cup, he explained: "I do not play in the national team more. I want to focus on the family ", and of course, things had to buy, especially from a guy like him. But he was missing. We would play in the same group as Italy and needed all strong players we could get, and I'm guessing that most lost hope for him. But now, he said that he repented and wanted to be, and it made me light up. Now it should be me and him on top. It would make us stronger, and I saw every day how the pressures on us increase, and the snack was increasingly that this could be my big international breakthrough, and I believe I would have your eyes on me, also from foreign scouts and coaches. The days before we took off was the fans and journalists at me like crazy, and in that kind of situations, it was also nice to bring Henke. He himself had been in uproar at a high level, but of course, the circus around me was quite ill now and I forget when I asked him later: "Damn, Henke, what should I do? If anyone should know. How should I handle all this? " "Sorry, Zlatan. You stand alone from now on. This kind of circus is that no player has experienced in Sweden before! " It popped up as a Norwegian with a fucking orange. It had snackats on
oranges ever since John Carew of Valencia had gone out and criticized my game and I had replied: "The John Carew does with a football, I can cope with an orange", and now that Norwegian journalist and wanted me to show what I could with that fruit. But add on, why would I make this guy famous, too? Why should I set up on his stuff? "You can take your orange, peel it and eat it. There are good vitamins for you, "I said, and of course, there was one thing that too, damn cocky and arrogant, he is kind, and there was talk more about my relationship with the media was tense. But frankly, it was so strange? 11
No one knew about Helen and me, not even her mother. We had given us the fan on to keep it a secret. Slightest thing about me became headlines, and we did not want the journalists would tear and dig in our relationship before we even knew ourselves what we were doing. We did everything to blow them in story and in the beginning, we had a little bit from our differences. No one could believe I was with someone like she, an eleven years older career woman. Seen us in the same place, a hotel or so, fell still not penny down at people, and it was lucky. The helped us. But all the legerdemain which had a price. Helena lost friends and felt lonely and isolated, and I was angrier than ever on the media.The year before I had flown to Gothenburg to play an international against San Marino. It had started off in the Ajax and when I was in a good mood and I talked a little free so there like in the old times, even with a reporter at Aftonbladet. I really had not forgotten what the magazine did with the thing at Spy Bar. But I would not be resentful, and so I talked to, even if to start a family in the future, nothing fancy, not at all. It was just loose talk - would nice to have children at some future date, type. But you know what the journalist did? He designed the article as a personal ad. "Do you want to win the Champions League with me! Athletic guy in 21 years, 192/84 with dark hair and dark eyes looking woman of appropriate age for serious relationship, "he wrote, and what do you think? Was I happy? I was mad. What respect was
it thus? A personal ad! I wanted to cut the bastard, and therefore it was no good that we met the next day in the dark playing time the arena. If I did it the right newspaper had been told that I was furious. I think it was someone from the squad who have come forward and told, and now he wanted to apologize to Business customers run on as usual. It was even then a lot of money in my name. But believe me, it was not the time for it, and I guess I must be happy that I kept myself fairly on the carpet. I managed to limit myself to hiss at him: "What are you clown? And what the hell are you to say? I have problems with girls, or what do you mean? " "I'm sorry, I just wanted to ..." He just rigmarole. He did not remove himself a sensible word. "I will never talk to you more," I shouted and walked away, and frankly, I thought I had frightened him, or at least got them on the newspaper to behave with more respect in future. But it got worse.We won the international match with five-zero and I scored two goals and what do you think Aftonbladet had the headline the day after: Cheer Sweden? Let's go to the Championship? Not really! It said "Shame Zlatan! "And it was not just so that I pulled down his pants and beat up the referee. I had struck a penalty - which crossed the finish line. It had been four-nil, and I had been felled in the penalty area, and yes, okay, Lars Lagerback had his list of penalty takers and the top was Kim Källström, but he had just made a goal and I thought, that's my thing, I'm on the ball, I'm on, and when Kim arrived, I moved the ball to the other side of the body, do not take my toy as well, and when he stretched out his hand: Give me! I fivade him instead, put the ball on the penalty spot and fired, more, it was not, it was not the best thing I did and I apologized for it afterwards too, but come on, it was not the Balkan war. There were no riots in the suburbs. It was a goal in soccer. Yet did Aftonbladet six pages about it and I did nothing. What the hell, come with personals, and shame on you Zlatan when we win by five-zero? "Should someone be ashamed is the Aftonbladet," I said at a press conference the day after. After that I boycotted the newspaper, and when the European Championships in Portugal began, it was not a direct mode for a thaw. War I continued, but I took a risk. Did I not with them, they had nothing to lose, and the last thing I
wanted was to me and Helena's relationship would come out. It would be a disaster for the upload, and it had to be careful. But what would I do? I missed her. "Can not you come here," I said. It did not work. She had too much to do. But apparently some of her managers bought tickets for the Championship and could not travel themselves, "Is it anyone else who wants to go instead, "they said, and then she thought: It is a sign, I stand, and she was a few days. But as usual, slipped we are with it, and not even in the squad knew her, the only one who seemed to have sensed that something was fishy about her, he cut-Bert who bumped into her at the airport and wondered what someone like she did all football fans with their national team shirts and funny hats. But we managed to keep it a secret and I could focus on football. We were a fine bunch of the team. We were the good guys, and as a prima donna in itself.Primadonna drove with his caterpillar: "The Arsenal, you know, we do like this. In fact, you should do. For the Arsenal we know stuff, and I play in the team. "The style around. I rotted in it. "I have so much pain in my back," he said. Oh, oh. "I can not go in the regular bus. I must have your own. I must have it and there. "I just mean, who the hell was he to come and run the upper class with us? Lars Lagerback talked to me about him: "Please, Zlatan, try to handle this professionally. We can not have any conflicts on the team. " "You," I replied. "Respect me, he, I respect him. End of story, "and there was some fuss about it. But otherwise, my God, it was an incredible atmosphere. When we went into the first match against Bulgaria in Lisbon, it seemed as if the entire arena was dressed in yellow, and all sang along, In with the ball in the goal, Metallica EM-song, and everything was so incredibly powerful and we totally crushed Bulgaria. It was five-zero, and expectations of us grew. Yet it was as if EM not really started yet. The big game that everyone waited for was understood in Italy in Porto on June 18, and it was no secret that the Italians were tagged and revenge-seeking. They had only been draw in the first round against Denmark, and none of them had of course forgotten the final loss in the last European Championship with France in Rotterdam. Italy was whipped to win and it was an incredible team of Nesta, Cannavaro and
Zambrotta down there, and Buffon in goal and Christian Vieri up there, and Although each Totti, the big star, turned off, he had spit on an opponent in the Denmark match, but still, it felt in my stomach that meet these guys. It was my most important game so far and in the stands sat Dad and all was solemn and awesome, and right from the start I noticed, Italians had respect for me. It was like, what is the guy to do now then, and I fought back line. But it was no joke. The Italians had a terrible offensive and just before the break did Cassano, a young guy who replaced Totti, one-zero on a post from Panucci, and no one can say that it was unfair. The Italians had pushed us hard. But we worked ourselves into the game and in the second half we had some chances. Yet it was still the Italians match, and it is certainly not a game to acknowledge to them. The Italians are said often to have the world's defense. But when it was only five minutes left we had a corner from the left. Kim Källström hit it and it got messy in the penalty area. Marcus Allbäck was on the ball, and Olof Mellberg also and there was general chaos. But the ball was still high in the air and I rushed towards it, and in that moment I saw Buffon run back and Christian Vieri to stand on finish line, and I jumped up, and heels. It was a little kung fu. The photographs are my heel on a level with my shoulder, and the ball flew in a ideal path of Christian Vieri who sought nod, and it was not many inches to spare between his head and the bar. But it was where, as in the cross, and it was against Italy. It was the European Championship. It was a heel and just five minutes left and I ran completely crazy and the whole team was behind me, just as the mad, all except one, of course, who ran the other way. But who cared? I threw myself down and were all over me, and Henke shouted: Enjoy! Just so there! As if he immediately took the level of, and okay, it was only a draw. But it felt like we had won, and we went on to quarterfinals and met Holland, and it was also charged of course. Dutch fans in their orange clothing and hats booed and whistled at me as if I'm in the wrong team, and the match was extremely tight with lots of chances. Yet it was still nil-nil at full time, and it became an extension. We had shot both the crossbar and the post. We should have put it many times over. But we had to go to the shootout, and the entire arena prayed to God, nature. There were nerves everywhere, and as usual, many did not even dare
look. Others booed and trying to psyche. It was a terrible pressure. But it started well. Kim Källström put his punishment and Henke too. There were two-two, and it was my turn. I had a black headband on me. I were long-haired, and I smiled a little, so I do not know. But I felt quite cool, after all, I was nervous, but still, there was no sense of panic, nothing like that, not at all, and it was Edwin van der Sar in goal. It really should go. Today when I add a penalty, I know exactly where to go and that is the goal. But then I got such a weird feeling, and that feeling came Just when I approached the ball. It was as if I would shoot and I did. I just shot, as if it would be a surprise was the ball ended up and I missed completely. I shot to hell. It was a disaster and we went out of the tournament - Olof Mellberg missed too - and believe me, it's no fun memory. It was crap. We had a good team. We should go far in the European Championships. But still, those matches started the whole process. August is a troubled time. Transfer window closes the thirty-first, and rumors of transitions are buzzing everywhere. There is talk of silly season. It is even pre-season and the newspapers do not have much else to write about: Will he go there? Or here? How much do clubs pay? It ferments in the air and many players are stressed, and it was particularly evident here in Ajax. All young people in the club wanted to be sold, and everywhere people looked nervously at each other: Does he have something going on? Has he? And why does not ring my agent? It was tense and very jealous and I went myself, and waited, but still tried to concentrate on football, and I remember, we played match against Utrecht, and the last thing I thought was that I would be replaced. But it happened. Koeman waved me in, and I was so angry that I kicked an advertising sign along the plan, what the hell as well, put me on the bench? Even then I had a habit of calling Mino after the games. It was nice to talk to with him and whine a little general, but this time really I shouted: "What kind of idiot who replaces me? How can he be so stupid? "And while Mino and I have been tough against each expected I support in this situation, type: Yes, I agree with you, Koeman should have had brain hemorrhage, poor you. Mino said
"Of course he replaced you. You were the worst on the pitch. You were shit. " "What the hell are you saying?" "You were worthless. You should have ended up on the bench before. " "You," I said. "What?" "You can go to hell. Both you and the coach. " I hung up and showered and went home to Diemen, and I was really not in a better mood.But when I arrived I saw that it was someone at the door. It was the Mino. How could he stomach that idiot, I thought, and I had not even got out of the car until we started to yell at each other again. "How many times do I have to say it for you?" He bellowed. "You were crap, and you should not fucking kick down the billboards. You have to grow up. " "Go to hell." "Go and fuck yourself!" "Fuck you. I want here, "I shouted. "You'll have to move to Turin, then." "What are you talking about?" "I might have Juventus at once." "Pardon?" "You heard," and I did. I just could not understand, not the middle of the worst trouble. "Have you fixed Juventus for me?" "Possibly." "You're wonderful, you fucking idiot?" "Nothing is decided yet, but I'll work on it," he said, and I thought, Juventus! There was no other than Southampton. Juventus was perhaps Europe's best club then. They had stars like Thuram, Trezeguet, Del Piero, Buffon and Nedved, and indeed had the club lost the Champions League final against Milan last year. But the paper was no law that was even close. The players were superstars whole gang, and the club had just signatory Fabio Capello, the coach of Roma who wanted me for years, and I began to really hope. Come Mino, I thought, this quiet port! Juventus was ruled at the time of Luciano Moggi. Moggi was a tough guy and a power player who worked his way up from nothing and become one of
the great heights of Italian football. He was king in the transfer market. The guy had transformed Juventus. The club had won the league again and again under his leadership. But Luciano Moggi was not known to be Snow White just. There had been some scandals around him with bribery, doping and lawsuits and crap and rumors that he belonged Neapolitan Camorra. It was bullshit of course. But the guy just looked like a mobster. He liked cigars and cheeky costumes and negotiators did not hesitate for anything. He was a master of the deal, and certainly not harmless counterpart. But Mino knew him. They were old enemies, you might say, who become friends. Mino had booked a meeting with Moggi even then he tried to get their business. But it was not a good start. Moggis office was apparently a fucking waiting room. It was like twenty people outside, and all were impatient. But nothing happened. The time just went by and finally lit the Mino wrong. He pulled away, completely insane, what hell, ignoring a meeting like that? They Most surely had bought certainty. Moggi was a big shot. But Mino has no respect for that.He was lousy responded, so was he. Therefore, he sought Moggi up later that day at the club's main restaurant Urbani in Turin. "You have treated me badly," he sputtered. "Who the hell are you?" Said Moggi. "It makes you see when you want to buy a player from me," roared the Mino, and while he continued to be mad at the old man. He even introduced himself as the other football bosses: "I am Mino. I am against Moggi ", and since Moggi was a person who easily were enemies, it was often a good line. The only problem was: sooner or later, Mino had to do business with Moggi, and 2001 did Juventus have Nedved, one of Minos great player. But nothing was clear, not at all. Mino had Real Madrid at the time also, and he and Nedved would only meet Moggi in Turin to discuss the matter. But Moggi played loud, and phoned journalists, photographers and fans. He put together quite a welcoming committee before negotiations even started, and neither Nedved or Mino could wriggle out. Not that it bothered Mino really. He wanted Nedved of Juventus, and the coup gave him the opportunity to negotiate the contract, but for the first time he became impad of Moggi. The old man might have been a crap boot that time, but he knew his game, and the two made peace and became friends. "I am Mino. I am for Moggi, "type. Not that they be nice to each other. But there was a respect there, and apparently
had some other clubs dissar me. It was just Moggi who found themselves seriously. But it would not be easy. Moggi had not much time for us. We could meet him in secret for half an hour in Monte Carlo. It was when the Formula 1 race, Monaco Grand Prix, was run, and I guess that Moggi was in town on business. Fiat Group owns both Ferrari and Juventus and we would meet him at a VIP lounge at the airport. But it was a hell of traffic, and we did not come forward with the car. We had to run, and the Mino is not conditioned phenomena directly. He is overweight. He was panting. He was completely soaked with sweat, and had he dressed up for the meeting exactly. He wore Hawaiian shorts. He had Nike shirt and running shoes and no socks, and was completely soaked with sweat, and we came indundrande there viprummet at the airport and there was smoke everywhere. Luciano Moggi was blowing on a fat cigar.He is a bit older and bald, and one feels at Once again, this old man has power. He is accustomed to people doing what he says. But now he stared only at Minos clothes. "What the hell are you wearing?" "Are you here to check how I look or what?" Hissed Mino back and that was where it started. This vevan we played International in Stockholm against Holland. It was a friendly game only, but none of us had forgotten the loss in European Championship and we wanted to first show that we could beat Holland. The whole team was revenge-seeking, it became aggressive, pretty aggressive football, and early in match, I had a ball outside the penalty area. I had four Dutchmen directly at me. One of them was Rafael van der Vaart, and all tugging at me. It was a tough situation and I butted my way through and got the ball to Mattias Jonson, who was free. He made one-zero, and afterwards was van der Vaart in the grass and was in pain. The guy had to be carried out on a stretcher with an ankle ligament injury, it was nothing wrong with him. But perhaps he would miss a game or two, and in the newspapers he went out and claimed that I hurt him by design. I jumped. What was that shit? It was not even free-kick, how could he talk about intentionally? And the guy would be my team captain! I called him: "Listen, I'm sorry, it's sad with your injury, I apologize, but I did not mean, do you hear!" And to
journalists, I said the same thing. I said it a hundred times. But van der Vaart went on, and I could not understand. Why the hell he went out dirt and threw his teammate? It was totally sick. Or was it anyway? I began to wonder, to be sure, it was August and the transfer window was open. Maybe he wanted to fight their way out of the club? Or argue me out for that matter? It would not be the first time that kind of tricks were used exactly, and the guy also had with him the media down there. He was a Dutchman. He was the gossip pages darling, and I was a bad boy and all that, the alien. "Are you serious," I said when I met him at the training. He did, apparently. "Okay, okay," I said. "Then I will say it one last time. It was not deliberate. Do you hear that? " "I hear!" Yet he backed not one millimeter, and the atmosphere in the club became more and more excited. The whole team was divided into two camps. The Dutch were on the Raphael's side, and the foreigners on mine. Finally Koeman called to a meeting, and at that time I was totally crazy on the thing. What the hell, blame me for that? I completely cooked and there at the meeting on the third floor in our lunchroom we sat all in a ring, and it felt in the air at a time. It was serious. The management had left the hell that we would be reconciled. We were the key players and we have become friends. But there was no direct openings. Raphael went out harder than ever. "Zlatan did it on purpose," he said and I saw black. What the hell! Why did not he? "I hurt you not aware, and you know it, and you accuse me again I will break both your legs, and then with a will," said I, of course, all of Van der Vaart page immediately began: "You see, you see, he is aggressive. He's crazy ", and Koeman tried to calm down atmosphere: "Now we do not have to go so far, this we can arrange up." But frankly, it seemed unlikely, and we were named for Louis van Gaal, Director. He and I had fought before, and it was not a good approach to go to van Gaal in the company of van der Vaart. It was not just so that I felt surrounded by friends, and van Gaal began immediately with his dictatorial language. "It is I who is the director," he said. Thanks for the enlightenment, type! "And I say to you," he continued. "Put down the hatchet. When Rafael to
be injury-free, you shall play together! " "Absolutely not," I replied. "As long as he is on the field, plays I do not." "What are you saying?" Said Van Gaal. "He is my captain, you play with him! You should set up for the club. " "Your captain?" I said. "What is this bullshit? Rafael goes out in the papers and say that I hurt him intentionally. What is the one Captain? One who attack their own teammates? I do not play with him, not a chance.Never ever. You can say what you want. " After that I went. It was a good game. But of course, I had to force that I had Juventus at once. Nothing was signed, but I hoped, and I talked to the Mino: What happens? What do they say? It was different tours all the time, and at the end of August, we would meet NAC Breda in the league. The newspapers wrote then still on the conflict, and more than ever, journalists stood on van der Vaart page. He was Favourite. I was a bad man who hurt him. "Be prepared to blow the whistle on," said Mino. "The audience will hate you." "Good," I replied. "Good?" "I is triggered by such things, you know. I'll show them. " I was psyched. That was me. But the situation was not easy, and I told Koeman on Juventus. I wanted to prepare him, and such calls are always sensitive. I liked Koeman. He and Beenhakker was the first who understood my capabilities in Ajax, and I did not doubt that he would understand me now. Who did not want to Juventus? But Koeman would hardly let me go free, and I knew he had recently gone out in the media and said that some seemed to think that they were bigger than the club, and it was clear, he meant me. It was necessary to add the words right; and from the very beginning I had decided to use a few sentences van Gaal told me: "I really do not want there to be any trouble about it here too," I said to Koeman. "But Juventus want me and I hope you can solve it. This kind of chance you get only once in a lifetime ", and certainly, as I thought, Koeman realized, he had himself been a pro. "But I do not want to see you go," he said. "I want you to go. I will fight for it! " "You know what van Gaal said?" "What." "He has said he does not need me for the league. It can handle you well anyway. He needs me for the Champions League. "
"What the hell? Did he say that? " Koeman freaked out. He went crazy on van Gaal. He thought that those words hobbled him and gave him less able to fight for me, and it was of course exactly what I wanted, and I remember I stepped out on stage and thought it was neck or nothing. It had become a important game for me. Juventus gang were studying me carefully. But it was totally sick. It felt as if the Dutch spat at me. They whistled and shouted, and a bit up in the stands was everyone's favorite Rafael van der Vaart and was applauded, it was ridiculous. I was seen as a kit. He was the innocent victim. But everything would change. We played with Breda, and then twenty minutes remaining of the match, it was three-one to us. In place of Rafael van der Vaart, we had received a young guy from the Ajax youth academy called Wesley Sneijder, and the kid was good.He played intelligently. He shot four to one. He breakthrough in this vevan, and just five minutes after his goal, I got the ball twenty yards outside the penalty area. I had a defender in back and I buffer and rod were with him and got away, and so dribbler I passed another guy. It was the beginning. It was the intro. It went on that I made a nice shot, and approached the penalty area and nice again, I tried to find a shot. But I got new defenders on me all the time. It swarmed around me and maybe I should have taken the opportunity, but I saw no mode. Instead, I went through in a jerk, in a snappy slalom dribbling, and spun goalie too and put the ball with your left foot in the open goal. It was a classic on a time. It was named for my Maradonamål because there somewhere reminiscent of Maradona's goal against England in the quarterfinals of the World Cup 1986th It was by dribbling the entire team and the stadium exploded. Everyone was crazy. Even Koeman jumped around like a fool, how much I than did leave him. It was like all the hatred for me turned into love, and triumph. All cheered and shouted, all stood up and jumped, all but one that is. The camera slid over the howling arena until Rafael van der Vaart. He sat in the stands and was quite stiff. He did not flinch, not a movement, although his own team scored. He just sat there like about my performance was the worst thing that happened about, and it was perhaps as well. To be sure, before kick-off had all Buat for me! Now shouted just a name and it was mine. No one cared more about van
der Vaart, and all night and next day drove TV channels target again and again. Later it was elected to the most beautiful of Eurosport's viewers. But I was still concentrating on something completely other. The clock was ticking. Transfer window was not open for many days, and Moggi tangled. Or fine, hard to say as always. Moggi declared suddenly that I and Trezeguet could not play together, and David Trezeguet was the big scorer in Juventus. "What is this nonsense?" Said Mino. "Their playing styles do not mix. It will not work, "he replied, and it did no good, not at all. When Moggi got it into something it was not easy to get him to change his mind. But Mino saw a way out. He understood that Capello, the coach, had a different setting. Capello had wished for me a long time, and yes, absolutely, Moggi was a director. But Fabio Capello was not to be trifled with, either. The man lowers any Star with just a glance. Capello is fierce and Mino invited therefore out them both to dinner, and he Opened hard: "Is it true that Trezeguet and Zlatan can not play together?" "What's the chatter? What is it with our dinner to make? "Said Capello. "Moggi said that their playing styles do not work together, or how Luciano?" Moggi nodded. "So my question to Fabio is: is this real?" Continued Mino. "I do not care if it is true or not, and it should do well. What happens on the pitch is my problem. Just make sure that Zlatan will here I'll arrange the rest, "said Capello, and frankly, what would Moggi do? He could not berate the coach about the game on the pitch. He was forced to give way, and Mino enjoyed the course. He had got them just where he wanted. But nothing was ready for it, and was held in Amsterdam, the Dutch football gala. Mino and I were there to celebrate Maxwell who received the award as the league's best players, and we were both happy for him. But it was not much to the celebration. Mino was quite excited. He went back and talked with Juventus and Ajax directors, and all the time arose new problems and questions, whether it was correct problems or things like that were created to improve the negotiating positions. State seemed
locked, and the next day in the evening would transfer window closed, and I was staring. I sat at home in Diemen, playing Xbox, Evolution, I think, or Call of Duty, cruel game both. It made me almost forget all. But Mino rang every two minutes. He was irritated. My bag was packed and Juventus had a private plane waiting for me at the airport. So far, the club wanted me. But they did not agree on price. It was the one and the other, and Ajax The management seemed not believe that the affair was serious. The Italians had not even a lawyer in place in Amsterdam, and I tried on your own to put pressure on Ajax: "As I see it, I play no longer with you. I'm done with you! "I said to van Gaal and his men. But nothing helped. Nothing happened and time passed, and I was completely in my Xbox, and you should see me in that kind of situation. I am totally concentrated. My fingers dance over the control. It's like a fever. All my frustrations went out over the game. I just rattled on while Mino struggled to put together the deal. He was mad at his direction. Why could Moggi did not even send a lawyer to Amsterdam? What was the cavalier style? It could be part of the game of course. Not easy to know. Nothing was safe, and Mino decided to give back. He called his own attorney: "Fly to Amsterdam," he said, "and pretend that you represent Juventus," and certainly, the lawyer flew there and played his theater, and it helped, negotiations took off. But they were not in port and finally varnished Mino out. He rang again. "We do not care about it," he said. "Bring your lawyer and the air here. We'll sew it from here ", and I dropped the TV show and went off, I locked the just under the door, quite frankly. I just went, and drove to our arena where the club management was with Minos lawyer, and no doubt there was direct: all were completely stressed out when I entered, and the lawyer swirled around saying one thing: "It made only one paper, one paper. Then you're all set. " "We can not keep up. We must learn, Mino says we should ignore it, "I replied, and so we drove to the airport and Juventus private plane. I had already called my dad, "Hey, hey, it's urgent, I'm about to sew up a deal with Juventus. Want to join? " Of course, he wanted it, and I was happy about it. If this was the way it was my boyhood dream come true, and then surely it would be nice to have
Dad there, we who have gone through so much together. I know he went off at once to Kastrup in Copenhagen and flew to Milan where Minos guy picked him up and drove him to the federal office. At the office records all transitions in the transfer market. He came before me there, and when I showed up with a lawyer, I was bowled over: Is that you, as well? That was not the dad I got used to at, definitely not the one who sat at home and listened to juggemusik headphones with dungarees. This was a guy in a nice suit, a man that could go for the Italian big shot at any time, and I felt proud, and totally shocked, frankly. I had never seen him in a suit before. "Dad." "Zlatan." It was great, and everywhere out there were reporters and photographers. The rumor had spread. It was big news in Italy. But nothing was done. The clock was ticking. There was not much time to play anymore, and Moggi continued to foul weather, and unfortunately, it paid off. My price had gone down, from thirty-five million euros Mino asked first to twenty five, twenty, and finally to sixteen million, one hundred sixty million crowns, and yes, of course, there was still a lot. It was twice as much as Ajax once paid.Yet it should not be any greater cause for Juventus. The club had sold Zidane to Real Madrid for seven hundred million. Mostly the hell they could afford. Ajax guys should not be concerned about. But they were nervous anyway, or claimed to be. Juventus did not manage to shake up a bank guarantee. Absolutely, it can have been a natural explanation for it. Despite the successes of Juventus had gone with twenty million loss the year before, but it was not unusual for big clubs, on the contrary. How big revenue than was true costs still always be even greater. No, it there with no bank guarantee, I was wondering if there was a trick, a negotiated fine with it? Juventus was one of the world's biggest clubs, and should certainly be able to find money. But without bank refused Ajax write about something, and time passed. It was hopeless, and indeed, Moggi was sitting there in his chair and puffed on his fat cigar, and seemed to have the situation under control: This will be all right as well, or type, I know what I'm doing. But Mino stood with headset lurks not far
from him and yelled at Ajax Management: "Writing you do not, you will not have any sixteen million. You may not Zlatan. You will not get anything. Have you taken it? Not a damn thing! And what do you think Juventus would try to shirk the payment? Juventus! You nuts. But definitely, do as you please, lose it all, just. Here you are! " There were harsh words. Mino knows his stuff. Still nothing happened, not one bit, and the atmosphere became increasingly nervous and I guess that Mino needed an outlet for their energy. Or was he just full of shit. There were lot of football stuff in there, and Mino picked up a ball, and started tricks. It was totally sick. What was he doing? I did not. That ball was flying around and bounced off and hit Moggi in the head and on the shoulder, and everyone was just wondering: What is it about? Should he tricks now in this situation? In the worst crisis negotiation. It was not just mode for games. "Stop that! You meet people in my head of course. " "No, no, come on instead," he went on. "We play ball on it, try to take it up with you, Luciano, show rates. Now comes a point, Zlatan. On it. Nod your slouch. " He was doing so, and frankly, I have no idea what the registrar and any other thought in there. But one thing is clear, Mino received a new supporters that day - my dad. Dad just laughed. What is this person like? How comfortable can you be? That tricks in front of big shots that Moggi. It was dad's style. It was like singing and dancing in the wrong situation. It was to run their thing no matter what, and since the day collects dad not only on rock at me. He pasted everything on Mino also. Mino's favorite madman, of course, he observed: Mino Not only was a fool. He scooped the contract as well. Ajax did not want to lose me and money, and management said in the last minute. It was past ten when, at least I think so, and federal office was supposed to be closed at seven. But we pulled it ashore, and the took a while to digest. Professionals in Italy? It was not wise. Afterwards we headed to Turin, and on the highway called Mino to Juventus strain Urbani restaurant and asked them to stay open, and the staff was not hard to tell, of course. We were received like kings just before midnight, and we sat down and ate and went through the whole deal, and frankly, I was
particularly pleased that Dad was there and saw it all. "Proud of you Zlatan," he said. Me and Fabio Cannavaro was completed simultaneously for Juventus and held a press conference together on delle Alpi Stadium in Turin. Cannavaro is a guy who joking and laughing the whole time. I liked him immediately. He was elected to the world's best footballer a few years later, and he helped me the very first time. But then after the press conference, I flew and dad directly to Amsterdam where we released the Mino before we went to Gothenburg. I would play international there. It was a hysterical time, and I never returned to my townhouse in Diemen. I left it behind me, simply, and while I lived in Hotel Le Meridien in Via Nizza in Turin. I lived there until I moved into Filippo Inzaghis apartment in Piazza Castello. Therefore, it became Mino who went to Diemen to pass on my old stuff. But when he stepsinto the house, he heard sounds from upstairs, and when he started. Was it broken? There were voices from up there and Minocrept up, ready for trouble. But he met no thief. It was my Xbox was going on and who had buzzed for three weeks, ever since I cast me off with Juventus private plane to Milan and federal office. 12
"IBRA, come in here" Fabio Capello, perhaps Europe's most successful coach in the last ten years, called me, and I thought, What have I done now? My entire childhood anxiety for meetings came back, and Capello could make anyone nervous.Wayne Rooney has said that when Capello goes past one of the corridor, it feels like it's dead around, and it's true. He would just take their coffee and pass one without a mine, it was almost uncanny. Sometimes he muttered "ciao" a little short. Otherwise, he disappeared just off, and it felt as if it is not been there at all. I said that the stars in Italy do not jump just because the coach says so. It does not apply with Capello. Every player is on the line when he show up. Before Capello behave yourself, and I know a journalist who asked about that: "How do you get a kind of respect from everyone?" "Respect can not. It takes you, "replies Capello, and that is something I remember. When Capello gets angry hardly dare anyone to see him in the eye, and he has given you a chance and you do not take it, you will sell hot dogs
outside arena largely. For Capello do not you go with your problems. Capello is not your friend. He was not talking to the players, not like that. He Sergent is di ferro, sergeant of steel, and it's not a good sign when he shouts at you. On the other hand, you never know. He breaks down and builds up. I remember one exercise where we just started driving a bit position play. Then blew the whistle Capello, and shouted: "In with you. Get away from the plane, "and no one did anything. "What have we done? What is this about? " "You have been dull. You have been crap! " There was no one more workout that day, and it felt confusing, but of course, he had a thought. He wanted us to be tagged as a warrior the next day, and I liked the style, for as I said, I'm not grown up with a lot of gold. I like guys with power and attitude and Capello believed in me. "You have nothing to prove, I know who you are and what you can," he said one of the first day, and it gave me security. I could relax a little. It had been a bloody print. Several newspapers had questioned the purchase and written that I did for a little target. Many people thought that I would just sit on the bench: How can Zlatan places in such a bunch? "Is Ibrahimovic ready for Italy?" They wrote. "Is Italy ready for Zlatan?" Countered Mino, and it was just right. It was with that kind of cocky quotes you would respond. It must be tough back, and sometimes I wonder: would I do without Mino? I think not. If I arrived at Juventus as I came to Ajax, the press would have eaten me up. In Italy, they are as crazy about football, and if we in Sweden writing about the games the day before and after, are they doing all week in Italy. It just goes on and you will be graded at all times. You examined top to bottom, and before you get used to it is tough. But now I had Mino. He was a protective wall, and I called him constantly. I mean, Ajax, what was it? A junior school in comparison! Would I do target practice, I had not only Cannavaro and Thuram to get through, it was Buffon in goal as well, and no one treated me nice just because I was new to the contrary. Capello had an assistant named Italo Galbiati. Galbiati is an elderly man, old man, I called him. He was nice. He and Capello is a little bad cop, good cop. Capello says the hard, tough things while Galbiati stands for the second, and even after the first workout had Capello sent me to him:
"Italo, running hard on the kid!" All the others on the team had gone in and showered, and I was completely exhausted. I would have beaten up too. But from the side was a goalkeeper from juniors, and I began to understand. Italo would feed me balls, bam, bam. They came towards me in all possible positions. There were speeches, passing, He threw the ball, he played the wall, and I shot at goal, shot after shot, and I never leave the box, penalty box. It was my area, he said. That's where I would be and shoot, shoot, and there was no question of pause or take it easy. It was fast paced. "For them, harder, more assertive, do not hesitate," cried Italo, and that there was a routine, a habit. Sometimes Del Piero and Trezeguet down too, but mostly it was just me. It was me and Italo, and it was fifty, sixty, one hundred shots at goals. Every now and then popped up Capello, and he is as he is. "I'll beat the Ajax out of the body on you," he said. "Okay, sure." "I do not need that Dutch style. One, two, one, two, play wall, play nice and technical.Dribble through the entire team. I'll be fine without that. I need goals. You got it! I have to get into the Italian way of thinking of you. You must have killer instinct. " It was a process already begun in me. I had my conversation with Van Basten, and Mino.But I looked anyway not as a real goal goats, even though my seat was up there on top. I was rather the guy who could be everywhere, and it was still a lot of Mum farm and tricks in my head. But under Capello changed me. His hardness was contagious and I became less of an artist and more of a slugger who wanted to win at all costs. Not that I had not wanted to win before. I was born with a Win. But still, do not forget, football had been my way to be seen! The was with the arts on the field I had been anyone other than another kid from Rosengard. It was all "Wow, wow," "Wow, look at that!" As high Started me. There was applause for the tricks that made me grow, and while I probably would have seen you as an idiot if you claim to an ugly goal was worth as much as a beautiful! But now I realized more and more, no thank you for your arts and heel kicks if your team loses. No one cares even if you made a drömmål if you do not win, and slowly I became tougher and even more of a warrior on the field. Of course I ended not with that listen, do not listen. How strong and tough Capello was, I held in my own stuff. I
remember the lessons in Italian. It was not always easy to the language. On the plane were never problems. Football has its own language. But outside, I felt lost at times, and the club sent a teacher in Italian in me. I would see her twice a week and learn grammar. Grammar? I was back in school, right? I Pallade no. I told her: "Keep your money and do not tell anyone, not to your head, no. But stay at home. Pretend you have been here only, and take it really nothing personal, "and certainly, she did as I said. She stuck her and pretended. It was goodbye, but do not think I ignored the Italian. I really wanted to teach me, and I picked it up otherwise, in the locker room and at the hotels, and I found it easy to connect. I learned quickly and I was stupid and cocky enough to dare to speak even if the grammar was wrong. Even before the journalists, I began to Italian before I switched to English and I think it was estimated. Here is a guy, like, that might not be, but he tries, and I was like that with everything basically, I listened. I did not listen. But still, in the short time I changed both in the head and the body. I remember the first match at Juventus. It was September 12 and we met Brescia, and I started on the bench. Up in the gallery stood Agnelli family owners, and it was finished, they looked at me in particular: Is he is worth the money, as well? After the break, I came in instead of Nedved, Nedved which also was Minos guy who had been appointed Europe's best player last year and probably the largest fitness addict, I have met. Nedved cycled one hour before your workout on their own. After that he ran as long. He was not an easy guy to replace, and it is true, it's not a disaster if it goes bad in the first the match. But it does not then either, and I remember that I ran on the left and had two backs on me. The situation was locked. But I shrugged, I broke through and scored a goal and heard fans shouting from the stands: "Ibrahimović, Ibrahimović!" It was powerful, and it was not the last time. I started called Ibra then - it was Moggi who came up with it - or even flamingo for some time. I was still pretty skinny. I was hundranittiosex inches tall but weighed only eighty-four pounds, and Capello saw it as too little. "Have you ever been working out?" He asked. "Never," I said. I had not even held a barbell, and he regarded it as a minor scandal. He received physical coach to push me hard in the gym, and for the first time in life I began to care about what I put in me, okay,
maybe it still was too much pasta, it would punish the latter. But everything was accurate at Juventus and I gained weight and became heavier and more powerful players. In Ajax let you guys a little adrift. Strangely thought of all the young talent! In Italy, we ate both before and after practice and before games, we lived on hotel and had three common meals a day. It was not strange at all that I was bitigare. I came up to ninety eight kilograms at most, and it felt like too much. I was a little clumsy, and had to scale down the weight training and run more running. But on the whole, I was transformed into a tougher, faster and better players, and I learned to be completely disrespectful to the big stars. It pays not to get away. Capello made me understand it. You have to take place. The stars will not get inhibit you, quite the opposite. You should be triggered by them, and I moved forward positions. I grew. I got respect, or rather, I took it. Step by step I became who I am today, as he steps out from a lost game so bloody reeking of anger that no one dares to come near; and certainly, it might seem negative. I frighten many young players. I scream and live on. I have outbursts of anger. But the attitude I have with me, then Juventus and, like Capello, I stopped caring about what people were. They could be called Zambrotta or Nedved, provided they are not all the training, they would hear it. Capello banged not only Ajax out of my body. He made me the guy who come to a club and requires that one should win the league, no matter what, and where it has helped me a lot, no doubt about it. It turned me as a footballer. But it did not make me calmer. We had one back in the team, a Frenchman named Jonathan Zebina. He had played in Roma with Capello and won the Scudetto with the club 2,001th Now, he was with us. I do not think he was feeling especially good. He had personal problems and in training he played aggressively. One day, he thanks me brutally. I stepped up to him and stood up close: "Do you want to play dirty, let me know in advance, so I'll play dirty back!" Then he butted me, just bang, and then it went quickly. I did not think. It was pure reflex. I hit him and it happened directly. He was not even finished, no. But I must have hit hard. He went down in the grass, and I have no idea what I expected me. A crazy Capello maybe that ran up and barked. But Capello just stood there for a short distance away completely cold, as if the thing did not
concern him. All other snacks of course: What happened? What was that? It buzzed everywhere, and I remember Cannavaro, Cannavaro and I always helped each other. "Ibra" he said. "What have you done?" For a moment I thought he was upset. But then he winked, like, it deserved Zebina. Cannavaro did not the kid, not that he behaved lately, but Lilian Thuram, the Frenchman, was driving a completely different style. 'Ibra', he went on. "You are young and stupid. You do not do so. You're just stupid. "But the longer he could not. A roar echoed across the pitch and the there was only one person who could scream like that. "Thuuuraaam" cried Capello. "Shut up and go from there", and of course, Thuram took off, he was like a little child, and myself I drew, I had to calm me down. Two hours later I saw a guy in the massage room like an ice cube pressed against the face. It was Zebina. I must have hit him hard. He still had pain. He would have a black eye a long time, and Moggi gave us a fine both. But Capello never did anything. He called not even to the meeting. He said only one thing: "It was good for the team!" That's it. He was like that. He was tough. He wanted the adrenaline. You could be fighting, and be triggered by a bull. But one thing you had to definitely not do: to question his authority or behave arrogantly. Then he flipped out. I remember when we played the quarterfinals against Liverpool in the Champions League. We lost two-nil, and before the match had Capello added tactics and decided who would monitor who at Liverpool's corners. But Lilian Thuram had decided to change the guy. He took care of another Liverpool player and at that time was the goal. In the locker room afterward went Capello his usual round of back and forth while we sat on the bench in a ring around the him and wondered what would happen. "Who told you to change the players?" He told Thuram. "No, but I thought it was better so," said Thuram. Capello was breathing for a few seconds. "Who told you to change the players?" He repeated. "I thought it was better so." It was the same statement again, and Capello asked the question a third time and was again given the same answer. Then came the outbreak, it has been and waited like a bomb with him.
"Have I told you to change the players or do you? Is it me or anyone else who decides? It's me, do you hear! It is I who tell you what to do. Have you taken it? " Then he kicked the massage table, which turned against us with a hell of a force, and in that kind of position dare not look up. All just sitting there around him and staring at the floor, everybody, Trezeguet, Cannavaro, Buffon, every single one. No one moved, and no one would have thought to do something like that Thuram again. Nobody wanted to face the furious eyes. It was much like that. It was tough. It was no small expectations. But I continued to play well. Capello had replaced Alessandro Del Piero to make room for me, and no bank had Del Piero in ten years. Be hammered Del Piero was like put the symbol of the club on avbytarplats, and it made the fans crazy. They booed for Capello and yelled at Del Piero - "Il Pinturicchio, IL fenomeno vero. " Alessandro Del Piero had won the league seven times with Juventus and was a key player every year. He had won the Champions League with the club and he was loved by family owners. He was the big star. No, not a normal coach benches Del Piero. But Capello was not normal. He never cared about the history or status. He just took out his team, and I was grateful for that. But it also put pressure on me. I have to play very well when Del Piero was on the bench, and actually, I heard less and less of his name from the stands. I heard "Ibra, Ibra ', and in December, fans chose me for a month, players, and it was great. I was about to break through in earnest in Italy, and yet, I knew, of course, the need for so little in football. One minute you're a hero, the next you're shit. Special Training with Galbiati had paid off, no doubt about it. By fed balls in front of goal, I had become more efficient and tougher in the box. I had a whole range of new situations in the bloodstream, and I needed to think less, it just happened, bam, bam. Yet, and it must not be forgotten: målfarlighet is a feeling, an instinct. You have it or not.You can conquer it, sure, but then lose it when the feeling and confidence is lost, and I had never seen me as just a scorer. I was a player who wanted to do difference on all levels. I was the one who wanted to know everything, and sometime in January, lost fluency. I did not score in five innings. In three months I shot just a goal, why I do not know. It just happened, and Capello start attacking me. As much as he built up before me, he pushed me down now. "You have not done a damn thing. You have played worthless, "he said, but
at the same time, he let me play. He still had Del Piero on the bench and I assumed he barked to motivate me, I was hoping it at least. Capello wanted Although the players would believe in themselves, but they should not be too safe and cocky. He hates arrogance and why is he so there. He builds up and breaks down, and I had no idea what was now. "Ibra, come in here!" Anxiety about being called up is never over with me, and I began to wonder: Have I thrown a bike again? Or should the wrong guy? Towards locker room where he stood and waited, I tried to think up clever excuses. But it's hard when you're not sure what it is on. That was just hoping for the best, and when I came in Capello had only a towel on it. He had showered. The glasses were misty, and the locker room was as run down as usual. Luciano Moggi loved fancy things. But the changing rooms would be worn. It was part of his philosophy. "It is more important to win than it should be fine," he say, okay, sure, it makes you agree with. But we were four people at once in the shower, the water rose on the floor up to my calves, and all knew that it is pointless to complain. Moggi could just see it as confirmation of his theory: "You see, you see, it need not be great for you to win", and therefore it was that it was and Capello was half naked with me in where the worn-out room, and I wondered again: What is it? What have I done to you?There's something about Capello, especially when you are alone with him, that makes you feel small. He grows. You shrink. "Sit down," he said, and okay, sure, of course, I sat down. Before me was an old TV with an even older VHS players and the shot Capello is a video cassette. "You remind me of a player I trained in Milan," he said. "I think I know who you mean." "You do?" "I've heard it many times." "Excellent, and do not be stressed by the comparison. You are not a new van Basten. You have your own style, and I consider you a better player. But Marco van Basten were adept in the box. Here is a movie where I have collected his goal.Studying his movements. Draw them. Learn from them. " Then stack Capello, and I was alone in the locker room and started
watching, and therefore, it was really used Bastenmål, from all directions and edges. The ball just thundered in and Marco van Basten showed up again and again, and I sat there ten minutes, fifteen minutes and was wondering when I could go. Capello had someone who looked outside the door? It would not be impossible. I decided to look through the entire cassette. It was a twentyfive, thirty minutes, and then, okay, I thought. Now there should be enough. I pulled. I sneaked out, and frankly, I have no idea if I learned no. But I understood the message, there was the usual. Capello wanted me to score. I would get it into his head, the movements, in all my system and I knew it was serious. We were in the top of the league, along with Milan, we were first and second of each other and that we would win, I needed to continue to do goals. It was the truth, nothing more, and I remember I really tore up there in the box. But I'd watch for me as well. Motståndarbackarna was on me like wolves, and it became known that I had a temper.The players and the audience tried to provoke me all time with the blows and insults and shit. Gypsy, gypsies, stuff about my mom and my family, everything they shouted, and it happened that I lit to. There was no headbutt, or markings that direction. But I play, the best when I'm angry, and it came off really. It April 17 I shot hattrick against Lecce, and the fans were wild and crazy and journalists wrote: "They said that he did for a little target. Now he has already made fifteen. " I went up to third place in the Italian top scorer. There was talk that I was important Juventus players. There were accolades all over, the was "Ibra, Ibra". But it was different in the air as well. It fooled disasters around the corner. 13
I had no idea that police and prosecutors intercepted Moggis phone, and luckily so. We and Milan were in the table top, and for first time I became partner in real life. Helen had driven himself too hard. She had worked at Fly Me in Gothenburg during the day and at the pub on evenings and at the same time studying and commuted to Malmo. She had worked too hard and she was not feeling well, and I had told her, "Enough. Now move down to me, "and although it was a big change, I think she thought it was wonderful. It was as if she began to breathe at last.
I had moved from Inzaghis apartment for a stunning apartment in the same house in Piazza Castello, with high ceilings. It looked a bit like a church and the ground floor was the cafe Mood where a few guys who were our friends worked.They served breakfast for us at times and although we do not had children than we had Hoffa, pug, and that fat guy, he was beautiful. We could buy three pizzas for dinner, one for me, one of Helena and a to Hoffa, and then he ate it up completely, inside and out, except the edges then, he dribbled them alone and threw around the apartment, thanks for that. He was our baby fat, and we had a good time. But of course, we were from different worlds. On one of our holidays with my family, we flew to Dubai in business class, and Helena and I had full control of that, the aircraft handles man himself and it. But my family is a little different, and at six o'clock in the morning did little brother have a whiskey in front of him sat in the seat my mom, and my mom's wonderful, but she is not to be trifled with. She does not like when we drink alcohol, it is understandable, given what she had. Therefore, she took off her shoe. It was her way of tackling the problem with the shoe banging her Keki straight in the head. Bang only, tjoff, and Keki was insane. He fought back. It was full uproar in business class at six o'clock in the morning and I looked at Helena. She wanted to sink through the floor. I used to stick to training approximately nine forty-five in Turin, but one day I was late, and I whirled around inside the apartment, and I think we smelled of smoke. Helena says it all. I do not know. I'm just sure that when I opened and would take away the burned outside the front door. Someone had gathered roses and lit the fire. We all had gas stove in the house, and in the stairwell next to was a porch and a gas bottle on the wall. It could have gone really bad. It could explode. We fetched water in buckets and turned off, and I could only regret that I have not opened thirty seconds earlier. Then I grabbed the fool caught and massacred him. Light at right next to us? Totally sick! And with roses too. Roses! The police never found out who did it, and at that time, clubs are not as careful with security now and we forgot about it. The Can not worry all the time. There were other things to think about. There was new stuff all the time, and it had happened a lot. The first time in town I had a visit from two Donald Duck from Aftonbladet. It was when I stayed at Hotel Le Meridien. Aftonbladet wanted to repair our relationship, they said. I was money for them, and Mino thought it
was time to put down the hatchet. But remember, I will not forget. Things sticks. I remember and I give again if it is ten years later on. When the guys from Aftonbladet arrived I sat up in my room and I think that they had talked a while with Mino When I came down, and already at one time, I felt: it's no use. A personal ad! A fictional police report! "Shame on you Zlatan!" All over the country! I greeted not even. I was even more pissed. What was the style they run? Therefore bosses me around, and I think I scared the hell out of them, honestly said. I tossed and even a water bottle in the head on them. "If you come from my area, you would not have survived," I said, and it was hard maybe. But I was sick and angry and probably it is impossible to explain to you the second the pressure it was. It was not just the media. It was fans, spectators, coaches, club management, teammates, money. I have to perform and stayed away goals, I heard it at all levels, and it came to finding valves. I had Mino, Helen, the guys on the team, but there were also other, simpler things, like my cars. They gave a sense of freedom. I got my Ferrari Enzo at this time. The car was part of the hearing on my terms.It had been me, Mino and Moggi and Antonio Giraudo, MD, and Roberto Bettega, the club's international guy, and we sat in a room and discussed my contract when Mino said: "Zlatan wants a Ferrari Enzo!" All just looked at each other. We had not expected anything else. Enzo was Ferrari's new monster, the coolest car company made, and it was only made in three hundred ninety-nine copies, and we thought maybe we asked too much. But Moggi and Giraudo seemed to see the requirement as reasonable. Ferrari is of course in the same business group as Juventus. Clearly the guy should have an Enzo, type. "No problem. We will arrange one for you, "they said, and I thought: Wow, what a club that is! But of course, they had not been taken. When we signed the said Antonio Giraudo in passing: "And this car, so it is old Ferrari?" I balked. I looked at the Mino. "No," he said. "It's the new, it has only made three hundred ninety-nine copy", and Giraudo swallowed. "I think we have a problem," he said, and we did. There were only three cars left, and it was a long waiting list of those with the worst heavyweights. What would we do? We called the head of Ferrari, Luca di Montezemolo, and explained the situation. It was difficult,
he said, almost impossible. But he gave in at last. I would get one if I promised never to sell it. "I'll keep it until I die," I replied, and frankly, I love the car. Helen does not like to ride in it. It's too wild and jerky for her taste. But I'm crazy about it, and not only for the ordinary: it is cool; violent, quick: Here I am, the guy who succeeded in life. Enzon gives me the feeling that I must work harder to earn it. It stops me from being happy and I can see it and think: Is not I in, be it from me. The car was still a force, a trigger. Other times when I needed to kick-start I made a tattoo. Tattoos became like a drug for me. I would have something new all the time. But it was never any impulse stuff. Everything was well thought out. Yet I had been against it at first. Thought it was bad taste, kind. But I was tempted in all cases. Alexander Ostlund helped me into the industry, and the first tattoo was my name from hip to hip in white. The visible Just when I'm tanned. It was mostly a test. Then I became bolder. I heard the phrase "Only God Can Judge Me". They could write whatever they wanted in their newspapers. Yell anything from the stands. They would not get to me. Only God can judge me! I liked it. One must go his own way, and I had tattooed the where words. I made a dragon, too, for the dragon in Japanese culture is the warrior and I was a warrior. I sat there a carp, the fish that go against the grain, and such a Buddha symbol that protects against suffering, and the five elements, water, soil, fire and there. I had tattooed my family, and the men on the right, right, which stands for power, father, brothers, eventually his sons, and so women on the left, left, closest to the heart, mother, Sanela, not half sister who had broken with the family. It was obvious then, but later, I think part of it, who is family and who is not? But it was later. Then I focused on football. Often league victory clear quite early in the spring. Any team has come from. But this year it was a battle in the last. We and Milan both had seventy points, and the newspapers wrote a lot about the course. It was set for a drama. The May 8 We would meet at the San Siro. It felt like pure league finals, and most believed in Milan.Not just because the team had home. In season first game against us at the Stadio delle Alpi, it had become zero-zero. But it was Milan who dominated and many saw Milan as Europe's best law when, despite our strong line-up, and it surprised no one thought when Milan again the spring made it to the Champions League Final. We had the odds against us, it was said, and it brightened not just after our game against Inter.
It was April 20, just days after my hat-trick against Lecce, and I was honored everywhere, and Mino had warned me that I were guarded heavily by Inter. I was the star. Inter had to try to block or psych me out. "If you survive, you have to give back with double force. Otherwise, you have no chance, "said Mino and I replied as always: "There is no problem. I tracked the rough stuff. " But of course, that was nervous. There is an old hatred between Inter and Juventus, and this year had an Inter-right brutal defense. It included the Marco Materazzi. No one has today received more red cards in Serie A than he. Materazzi was known to play aggressive and ugly. A year later, in summer 2006, he became world famous when he was in the midst of World Cup final said something really serious to Zidane and became skulls in the chest. Materazzi was driving with provocations and hard games. He called the butcher sometimes. Inter were also Iván Córdoba, a short but athletic colombian, and so Siniša Mihajlović.Mihajlović were Serbs, and it was written much about it of course, the match became a Balkan war in miniature. It was crap. What happened on the plane had nothing to do with the war to do. I and Mihajlović became friends later in Inter and I have never cared if people were coming from.I do not care about things like ethnic larva, and frankly, how could I do otherwise? We are a mess in our family. My dad is Bosnian, Croat, and my mom's little brother has a dad who is a Serb. No, no, it was not about that. But Mihajlović was really tough. He was one of the world's best frisparksläggare, and he ran with provocations. He had called Patrick Vieira "nero de merde", your black shit, in a Champions League match and it had led to a police investigation and the suspicions of racist incitement. Another time, he had kicked and spat at Adrian Mutu has now just started to play for us, and been banned for eight matches. He had Mood. He lit like a bomb. Not that I make a big deal out of it, not at all. What happens on the field, stays on the field. It is my philosophy, and honestly, you would be shocked if you knew what was happening out there, it's kind and taunts, it's a constant fight, but for us players, it is everyday, and I mention it here on Inter slopes just to make you believe the guys were not to be trifled with. They could play ugly and hard, and I knew immediately, this is brutal, this is no ordinary game. There is hatred and insults. There was a lot of bullshit about my family and my honor, and I responded by fighting back hard. There is nothing else in that position. Fold
away, crushing you. You have to use your anger to give even more on the plane, and I'm extremely physical and tough. It would not be easy to meet Zlatan, not a second, and at that time I had grown to me. I was not a slender Ajaxdribblare longer. I was bitigare and more quickly. I was no easy target, not in any way, and afterwards said Inter coach Roberto Mancini: "That phenomenon Ibrahimović, when he plays at that level, he is impossible to mark." But the gods know that they tried, they gave me that kind of tackles, then, and I was just as tough back. I was a savage. I was "Il gladiators" the newspapers said, and already in the fourth minute slapped me and Córdoba into each other's heads and remained lying on the floor both. I got up groggy. Córdoba was bleeding heavily and staggered out and got stitches. He returned with a bandage around his head and nothing calmed down. Nowhere! Rather was something serious being built up, and we looked at each other with the blackest fucking eyes. It was war. It was nerves and aggression, and in the thirteenth minute, I fell and Mihajlović together after a crash. One moment we were confused. What happened, type? But then we discovered that we were sitting next to each other in the grass, and then rushed to the adrenaline, and he made a main motion. I responded by marking the accession, it certainly looked scary out, it was supposed to act threatening, but I shoved Just head towards him. Believe me, if I am to him for real, he had not risen. It was more a touch, a way to show: I turn my not for you, you bastard! But Mihajlović put her hand to her face and fell in the grass, it was the theater of course. He wanted to have me deported. But I got not even a warning, not then. It came minutes later after a tangle with Favalli. It was at all an ugly game, but I played well and was involved in almost all our perils, but Inter goalkeeper Francesco Toldos great player. He saved time and time again and we went on a baklängesmål. Julio Cruz nodded in goal, and we tried every way to come back. It was close, but we did not and it was vengeance and war in the air. Cordoba wanted to give back and he kicked me in the hips and drove himself to a warning. Materazzi tried to psych me and Mihajlović continued their taunts and their tackles and shit and I tore. I butted my way. I
struggled and had a good shot on goal just before half. The second I shot from a distance and hit the outside of the pole, right at the cross, and I had a free kick as Toldos Toldos rescued with a unconscious reflex. But there was no goal, and with only a minute left to play I was met and Córdoba again.We bumped up, and immediately after, as in a reflex, I gave him one after the bout, a blow to the chin, or neck. It was nothing serious, I thought it was a part of our fight on the field, and referee did not see it. But there were consequences. We We lost and it was hard just that. As it looked in the table could this match cost us Scudetto. But the Italian league's disciplinary committee also reviewed the movie pictures on my battle against Córdoba and decided to turn me in three games and it was a minor disaster. I would miss the final fight of the series, including the crucial match against Milan on May 8, and I felt unfairly treated. "I'm not honestly convicted," I said to the journalists. All the shit I've received, and so I was penalized. It was hard, and given the importance I have had for the team, it was a blow for the whole club, and leadership appeal, and called in star lawyer Luigi Chiappero. Chiappero had defended Juventus against the old doping allegations and claimed he was now not only my kind came in a game of ball, or at least close to it. I had also been subjected to insults and taunts throughout the game, he said. He sounded even hire a lip reader who tried to find out what Mihajlović yelling at me. But it was not easy. It was in Serbo-Croatian much of it, and instead went out and Mino said Mihajlović said things that were too crude to repeat, stuff for my family and mother. "Raiola is just a pizza maker," said Mihajlović. Mino had never been a pizza maker. maker. He had helped with other parents in the restaurant and he countered: "The best Mihajlovic statement is that he is now proving what everybody already knew, that he is unintelligent.He does not deny that he even provoked Zlatan. Zlatan. He is a racist; He has shown it before. " It was a soup. There were accusations back and forth, and Luciano Moggi, who never was afraid of something, hinted at a conspiracy, conspiracy, a coup. The cameras that caught my kind came from Mediaset, Berlusconi's media company, company, and Berlusconi was of course Milan. Had the images transferred well soon to the Board? Even E ven Interior Minister Giuseppe Pisanu arrived
and commented on the event, and it was contrary every day in the newspapers. But none of it helped. The shutdown was concluded, and I would be gone in ruling against Milan. It had been my season and I wanted nothing more than to be with and win the league. But now I see the match from the stands and it was heavy. It was a terrible pressure and bullshit continued to rage in from all sides, and now it was not just about my suspension. It was the one and the others. It was Circus. It was Italy and Juventus introduced a "Silenzio stomping". Nobody in the club got to talk to the media. Nothing, no new row about my shutdown would disrupt the upload. All would be quiet and concentrate on the match which was seen as one of the most important in Europe. Both we and Milan had seventy-six points then. It was a horror film. The match was the big topic of conversation in Italy, and most were in agreement, even gaming companies: Milan were favorites. There were eighty thousand tickets sold and it was home to Milan and I was off, I observed that the most important player. player. Adrian Mutu was also turned off. Zebina and Tacchinardi was injured. We did not have our best gang while Milan was a brilliant line-up defensive line Cafu, Nesta, Stam and Maldini and Kaka in midfield, and Filippo Inzaghi and Shevchenko on top. I had evil forebodings, and it was really no fun when it stated that my outburst seemed to cost us victory in the league. "He must learn to control himself. He must be calm. "It was like that talk all the time, even from Capello, and that's when the hell I was not allowed to participate. But the team was incredibly motivated. The anger over what happened seemed to ignite them all, and twenty-seven minutes into the first half dribbler Del Piero on the left and was stopped by Gattuso, Milan guy who works harder than anyone, and the ball flew backwards into a high orbit and Del Piero rushed after. He hit a bike park, and the ball flew into the penalty area and found David Trezeguet Trezeguet who nodded in goal. But it was far from the the match. Milan started the world press, and eleven minutes into the second half came Inzaghi free in front of goal. He shot and Buffon saved, the ball bounced and Inzaghi got it back. He got another chance, but was prevented by Zambrotta on the goal line and bumped into the pole. It was shot at a chance for both teams. Del Piero shot in the bar and Cafu were screaming for a penalty. There was stuff all the time. But the result
was him. It was one-nil, and suddenly it was we who had the benefit to league victory, and not much later, I got to play again. A burden released from my shoulders, and the fifteenth May, we meet Parma home on delle Alpi, and the press was great in myself. Not just because it was my return after shutdown. Ten Ten leading football magazines had voted me to the third best striker in Europe after Shevchenko and Ronaldo; and there was talk even if I could get the Golden Ball. I would in any case have their eyes on me, especially since Capello had benches Trezeguet, Trezeguet, hero of Milan match, and it felt as if I have to perform. I must be tagged, up to a limit that is. It could not be any new outbreaks and closures, the was all very clear to me. Every camera along the plane would check me, and when I step into the arena, I heard the fans singing: "Ibrahimović, "Ibrahimov ić, Ibrahimović Ibrahimović,, Ibrahimovi Ibrahimović." ć." It roared around me, and I was incredibly hungry games and we did onezero, and later, in the twenty-third minute, after a free kick by Camoranesi got the ball high against me in the penalty area and I was criticized for giving me despite my height is not nodding good enough. Now I nodded vigorously in goal, and it was wonderful. I was back, and just minutes before before the final whistle flashed flashed it to the electronic scoreboard at the stadium, Lecce had equalized for two-two against Milan and the Scudetto seemed to be ours. We just hit Livorno in the next round, we would secure victory! But we did not even need it.On May 20 Milan dropped a three-one-direction three-one-direction against Parma, and we were champions. People wept in the streets of Turin, Tur in, and we took a bus without a roof through the city city.. It was hardly to arrive. It was People everywhere, and everyone sang and cheered and shouted. I felt like a little child, and we went out and ate and partied with the whole team, and I do not drink often. I have too many unpleasant memories. But now let go of all barriers. We had won the league, it was not wise. No Swedish had done so since Kurre Hamrin won with Milan in 1968, and there was no doubt about it; I had been involved. I was chosen as the best foreigner in the series and most important player in Juventus. It was my scudetto, and I drank and drank, and constantly incited David Trezeguet me. More vodka, more shots, he went on, he is a Frenchman and right locked as a person, but he wants be Argentines - he was born in Argentina - and now he let loose really. It
was vodka here and there. Unable to defend himself, and I was full as an egg, and when I came home to Piazza Castello turned everything around me, and I thought, I take a shower, it may help. But all continued to rotate. As soon as I touched on the head followed the whole world, and eventually I fell asleep in the bathtub. I was awakened by Helena who just laughed at me. But I've told her that she must not say a word about it. 14
Moggi was as he was, but he had complied with it, and it was nice to talk to him. He made things happen. He was straight. He had power and he made quickly. When I would negotiate my contract the first time it was an important thing for me of course. I was hoping get a better contract, and I really did not provoke him, rather run the polite style and treat him as the big shot he was. It was just that: I had with my Mino and Mino M ino bows not exactly. exactly. He's crazy.. He just steps into Moggis office and sat on crazy his seat with his feet on the table how casually any time. "Goddamn," I said. "He is coming soon. Do not screw my contract. Sit here with me. " "Go and fuck yourself and be quiet," he said, and actually I had not expected something else. Mino's like that, and I knew that guy was able to negotiate. He was a master at it. Yet, I was nervous that he would destroy it me, and it felt really no good when Moggi step in with the cigar and the whole thing and shouted: "What the hell, are you sitting at my place?" "Sit down and we'll start to talk!" And of course, Mino knew what he was doing, they knew each other, he and Moggi. They had a whole story with that kind of disrespectful stuff, and I improved my contract sharply. sharply. But above all I was promised a new negotiating. If I continued to play well and remained as important for the club, I would be the best paid in the team, promised Moggi and I was happy. But then began to jam, and it was the first sign that something was not good. I stayed the second year, often with Adrian Mutu in hotels and camps, and when I did not get bored just. Adrian Mutu is a Romanian, but he came to Italy and Inter in 2000 and he knew the language and the whole piece and it was a great help to me also. But the guy also had feasted. What stories he had then! I lay there in the hotel rooms and just
laughed at everything. It was totally sick. When he was bought by Chelsea he partied all the time. But of course it was not in the long run. He got caught with cocaine in the blood and was fired by Chelsea and were turned off and involved in a process with large damages. But when we lived together he had received treatment and was quiet and clean again, and we could laugh at the whole madness. But you get it, I had not much to go on that front. What was it like to have fallen asleep in the bathtub again? To the club arrived now Patrick Vieira, and I can say, it felt at once, this is a tough type, and it was certainly no coincidence that we smoke together in training. I do not give the weakest right. Against that kind of guys do I tough, and in Juventus I had grown worse than ever. I was a warrior, and this time I ran on the pitch and Vieira had the ball. "Give me the fucking ball," I shouted, and, of course, I knew exactly who he was then. Patrick Vieira had been Arsenal's captain. He had won three Premier League titles with the team and become world champion and European Champion with France, he was not anyone, not at all, but I yelled at him sharply. I had position, and I mean, this were elite ball, it's not supposed to be dry each other in the ass. "Shut up and run," he hissed back. "Just pass me the ball and I'll be quiet," I replied, and then we smoke together, people had to tear us apart. But frankly, it was nothing, it was proof only that we were winning call both. You can not be good in this sport. The knew Patrick Vieira on anyone. He is the type who gives everything in every situation, and I saw how he lifted the whole team. Not many footballer, I have now a kind of respect for. There was a wonderful quality in his playing and it was incredible to have him and Nedved behind me in midfield and I also started my second season in Juventus good. Against Roma, I received a ball from Emerson just off the midline, but I never took it down. I heeled it over Roma Hill Samuel Kuffour. I heeled high and far as I saw that Roma's court was empty, and I rushed after. I went off like an arrow and Kuffour tried to hang with. He had no chance, he pulled me in jersey and fell, and I took down the ball on the half volley, it bounced around my feet and the goalkeeper, Doni, rushed out and when I shot, bang, a hard shot which thundered up the cross. "Mama mia, which targets", as I said to reporters afterward, and it really looked to be a good year.
I received the Golden Ball in Sweden, the price for this year's best players, and it was fun, of course, but not straightforward. Aftonbladet, hosted the gala, and I had not forgotten. I stayed at home. Turin hosted the Winter Olympics next year.There were people everywhere and so parties and concerts in Piazza Castello and in the evenings, I stood and Helena on the terrace and watched.We had good times and we decided to have children, or decided, and decided. We let it just happen, such a thing should not plan, I think. It'll just happen. Who knows when you're ready? Sometimes we went to Malmö to visit my family. Helena had sold his farm and then often we stayed with my mom, in the townhouse I bought for her in Svågertorp, and occasionally lirade I football on her lawn. One day, I took a shot. I pulled on it into hell, and the ball went straight through the fence. It was a big hole and my mom wanted to kill me, of course, she has temper the woman. "Let's get out and you buy a new fence for me at once. Away with you only, "she hissed, and of course, in that kind of modes are available only one way out: you are governed. Helena and I took the car to the Bauhaus. But unfortunately, it was not possible to buy a few planks. We had to take a full fence, size of a small house, and it was not in the car, not a chance. So I took it back and the head of two kilometers. It was as if Dad wore my bed, and I arrived exhausted, but my mother was happy, and that was the main thing, and as I said, we had a good time. But the plan, I lost a part of my fluency. I began to feel too heavy. I was up to ninety-eight pounds and all was not muscle. I had often eaten pasta twice a day, and it was too much, I learned now, and I pulled down on weight training and diet, and tried find your way back to form. But there was some trouble. What was it with Moggi for example? He played a game? I did not. We were going to renegotiate my contract. But Moggi pulled out of it. He came up with excuses. He had always been a player and trickery. But now he was hopeless. Next week, he said. Next month. There was always something. It was back and forth and finally I was sick. I said to the Mino: "Fuck it. We write on now! I can not fight anymore. " We then had been an agreement that looked decent, and I thought it would
have to do now, I wanted to get rid of it. But nothing happened then either, or yes, Moggi said, fine, fine, we write for a few days. First, we play the Champions League against Bayern Munich. It was at home in Turin, and during the match I met a central defender named Valérien Ismael. He was on me all the time, and then he pulled me down right ugly I kicked him and got a yellow card. But that did not stop there. In the ninetieth minute I lay down in the penalty area and, of course, I should have kept me calm. We are led by two-one and the match was almost over. But I was annoyed with Ishmael and put a bensax and got a new yellow card. I was out, and of course, Capello was not pleased. He barked. It was all right. It was pointless and stupid, and it was Capello's job to lecture me. But Moggi, what he had to do with it? He explained that my contract did not apply anymore.I had blown my chance, he said, and I became insane. Would I lose my deal because of one mistake? "Health Moggi that I will never write about what he will," I said to the Mino. "I want to be sold." "Think about what you say," said Mino. I had thought. I refused to accept, and it meant war, nothing else. That's it. Now, enough was enough, and therefore went to Mino Moggi, and told him the truth: Beware of Zlatan Ibrahimovic, he is stubborn, crazy, you risk losing him, and two weeks later came up with really Moggi the contract. We had not expected anything else. He did not want to lose me. But still, it was not over yet. Mino booked appointments. Moggi fired them up, and came up with excuses. He would travel, he would be there and there, and I remember it so well: Mino called me. "There is something not right," he said. "What do you mean? What? " "I can not put my finger on it. But Moggi is strange. " Soon, it was not just Mino who knew it. Something sensed in the air. Something was going on in the club, and it was not about Lapo Elkan, although it was large enough. Lapo Elkan was the grandson of Gianni Agnelli. I had met him a few times. We had no further contact. One of those guys are on the his own plane. He was a playboy and a fashion icon and had hardly anything with the management of Juventus to do. It was Moggi and Giraudo as ruled, not the owner's family. But of course, the kid was a symbol of the
club and Fiat, and he was listed later as one of the world's best dressed, and whatever it was. His disgrace was the earth thing. Lapo Elkan took an overdose of cocaine, and not with anyone: he took it with transsexual prostitutes in an apartment in Turin, and he was taken by ambulance to hospital where he lay in a coma and was treated with a respirator. The news topped all over the news in Italy, and Part Piero and some other players were out in the media and expressed their support, and of course, it had nothing to do with football. But afterwards there was the spirit of the preamble to the disaster in the club. Exactly when Moggi himself learned of the suspicions I have no idea. But the police must have begun to question him long before the story exploded in the media, and as I take it, started it all with the old doping scandal - it actually Juventus acquitted of the end. In conjunction with the police had bugged Moggis phone and then heard some things that had to doping to do, but still seemed dim. It sounded as if Moggi tried to get the "right" judges to Juventus matches, and therefore they continued to shoot him, and apparently got shit up, at least it seemed so when everything was together, even if I myself do not give much for those the evidence. Most things about that Juventus were number one. It's me convinced. As always when someone dominates, the second would drag down in the dirt, and it did not surprise me at all that the accusations came out when we were in the win the league again. It looked bad, it took us directly. Media treated it as world wars about. But it was bullshit, as I said, it most of it. Judges who favored us? Come on! We had been fighting out there. We had risked our legs and not fan the judges had with us, not a chance. I've never had them on my side, frankly. I'm too big for it. If a guy slams into me I stand still, but if I roars into him, he flies four feet. I have my body and my style of play against me. I have never been friends with the judges, there was no one in our team. No, no, we were the best and we would be reduced. It was the truth, and there were also a lot of shady stuff in that investigation. It led, for example, by Guido Rossi, a guy with close ties to Inter, and Inter came will facilitate the in harness.
Much was either not up or exaggerated to Juventus would be the big villain. Milan, Lazio and Fiorentina and judgments League happened to also be in trouble. But the worst was for us because it was Moggis phone that was intercepted and checked from top to bottom. Yet the evidence never very strong. Okay, that did not look quite tidy, it's true. It sounded as if Moggi put pressure on the Italian base judgments for good guys to the matches and you hear how he barks at them as misconduct, including the one named Fandel who condemned Juventus fight against Everton. Some other judges also reported to have been detained in the locker room and got a telling off after we lost to Reggina in November 2004, and it was a ploy by the Pope. The Pope held of dying. It would not play any games then. The country would ensure his father. But Moggi said to have rung up the interior minister to and with and asked if we could get lira anyway, as it is said that our opponents Fiorentina had two players injured and two suspended. I have no idea how much is in that. There are certainly things that happen everywhere in this business, and frankly, who the hell barking not the judges? Who do not work for his club? It was a soup, Moggiopoli called the whole thing often, type Moggigate, and of course my name popped up. I had not expected anything else. Of course, they would pull in the best players as well. The talk was that Moggi told my fight with Van der Vaart and said something that I cards right style to get away from the club. The kid has balls, he said, or something like that. He even allegedly indicated that he instigator of the fight, and it sucked people into the course. It would be a typical Moggigrej, they thought, and a typical Ibrapryl also likely. But it was bullshit of course. Fraction was between me and the van der Vaart, and no one else. But this time it was possible to say anything and morning May 18th, I received a call.Helena and I was in Monte Carlo when the Alexander Ostlund and his family, and was told by telephone that police officers were outside my door. The police wanted to get into. They had even orders to do a search in my apartment, and frankly, what would I do? I left immediately. I went to Turin in an hour and met cops out there, and I must say, they were gentlemen. They took care of only their job. But it was not pleasant for it. They would go through all of my payments from Juventus, as if I were a criminal or something,
and they asked me if I received dirty money, and I told him the truth: "Never!" and so they rooted around. In the end I said to them: "Are you doing this?" I had taken out my bank and Helena's paper and they were content with it. They said goodbye, we admire your game type. Juventus management, Giraudo, Bettega and Moggi resigned in the vevan, and it felt strange. They toppled straight down into the muck. Moggi told the newspaper: "I miss my soul. It has been killed. " The next day crashed Juventus shares on the Milan Stock Exchange and we had a crisis meeting in our styrkesal, in the gym, and I forget not. Moggi came down. On the surface, he looked as usual, well dressed and dominant. But there was another Moggi. Just as it had come out a new scandal with his son, his son was also involved in some way. There was no infidelity thing this time, and he talked about it, and how offensive it was, and I remember that I agreed with him. It was personal stuff unrelated to football. But it was not the that touched me the most. It was that he started crying, he of all. I felt in my stomach. I had never seen him weak before. The man had always had control. He radiated power and strength. But then ... how shall I explain? It was not long ago he had gun with me and annulled my contracts and all that. But now, suddenly, it was I who would feel sorry for him. It was upside-down world, and perhaps should I have not bothered him so much, and said type: You have yourself to blame. But I really suffered with Moggi. It hurt to see a man as he falls, and afterwards I thought much about it, and not just on the usual: that nothing can be taken for granted! Things came also in a new light. Why had he postponed our negotiating all the time? Why was he so tangled? Was it to protect me? I began to believe it. I did not know. But I chose to interpret it that way. He must have known this was coming out already. He have to take that Juventus would not remain the same team as before, and that there had been over for me if he tied me to the club. This would I had to stay in Juventus whatever happened. I think he thought about things like that.Moggi may not always be braked at a red, or were closely with every rule. But he was a skilled professional, and he took care of their players, I know, and without him my career driving fixed. I thank him for it, and when the whole world criticize him, I stand by his side. I liked Luciano Moggi.
Juventus was a sinking ship, and it began talking about the club was relegated to Serie B and Serie C, even. It was that level the uproar. Yet it was not quite understand, not all at once. Would we build such a team and won two straight league titles lose everything on because of something that is not meant a thing for our game? It was just too much, and it seemed to be before the new club management took seriousness. I remember an early call from Alessio Secco. Alessio Secco was my old team manager. It was he who called me and booked training sessions: "In the morning at ten o'clock and thirty we go! Was there in time. "That type of talk! Now he was suddenly new director, insane, and I had a hard time taking him seriously. But in the first conversation, he gave me an opening: "If you get an offer, Zlatan, take it. It is my recommendation to you. " It was on the other hand, the last sound I heard. Then it was tough and uncompromising, it is very well understood. One by one stack players, Thuram and Zambrotta of Barcelona, Cannavaro and Emerson to Real Madrid, Patrick Vieira to Inter, and every one of us who was still called our agents: "Sell us, sell us. What are the opportunities? " There was anxiety and desperation in the air. There was a buzz all over and some things like comments Alessio Secco gave me was heard no longer. Now suggested the club for his life. Management began to do everything to keep us who were there and exploit every loophole that existed in the contracts. It was pure nightmare. I was coming up in my career. I was about to break through in earnest. Would everything plummet now? It was an anxious time, and I felt more and more every day: I would fight. No way, I was not going to sacrifice a year in division two, or one year, by the way, there would be more, it is understood I mean a year to take us up if we went down, another year or two to get back in line and get the top spot in the Champions League, and then we would probably not have a team that was competitive. My best years as a footballer was likely to be lost and I told Mino and over again: "Do anything. But take me out of here. " "I work at it." "You better!" It was June 2006. Helena was pregnant and I was happy about it. The child
is expected at the end of September, but otherwise I was in a no man's land. What would happen? I knew nothing. This time I loaded the squad for the World Cup that would go in Germany the summer. The whole family would go with: mother, father, SaPKo, Sanela, her husband and so Keki, and as always, I would arrange it all; with hotels, travel, money and cars and all that. It got on my nerves early on, and at the last second dropped Dad off, there was the usual kluddet, and there was a lot of fuss about his Tickets: What should we do with them? Who should have them instead? No one can say that I was more in the balance of it, and then I began to get sensations in My groin, same shit as I was operated for over Ajax in time, and I spoke to the team management about it. But we decided that I would play. I have a basic principle: if it goes bad I do not blame the injuries. It's just ridiculous. I mean, if you are not good because of an injury, why do you play then? It is wrong no matter how you respond. You just have to bite the bullet and drive on, but it True, it was unusually heavy this time, and July 14 came to the last sentence in Italy. We got rid of our two league titles and losing our place in the Champions League, but above all: we moved down to Serie B and would start season there with a whole range of negative points, possibly as many as thirty, and I was still left on the sinking ship. 15
Earlier, in September 2005, we had played against Hungary in World Cup qualifiers at Ferenc Puskas Stadium in Budapest. We were more or less compelled to win to qualify for the World Cup, and the press had charged up before the game for days.But there seemed to be an anticlimax. Nothing happened, and I did not come into the game. I was sluggish and out of nature and when we had played full time, it was zero-zero and the crowd was just waiting for the final whistle. Some newspapers had obviously put a one in the ratings for me. I was disappointed, and many saw it as safely as a confirmation: He's just a overrated diva, after all. But I got a ball in the penalty area, it was from Mattias Jonson, I think, and I did not do much of either. I had one back at me and I dribbler out in our half of the field without winning anything on it. But as I turned, just bam, for Do not forget, it's that kind of position I play for, and that is why I so often
just seem to go around on the floor. I'm saving myself to run away for fast, aggressive stuff, and now I took some witty step down towards the side line and the slope could not keep up with, not at all, and I got shot mode, not a good angle. It was too steep, and the goalkeeper was well positioned, and most were expecting a post card or passport. But I thundered in and out of that position is usually not the ball go. It sits at the very most of the burg breed and the goalkeeper did not react. He raised even arms, and a fraction of a second, I thought I had missed. I was not alone. No explosion broke out in the stadium, and Olof Mellberg hung his head, like: damn, so close and in overtime. He even turned around. He waited for Hungary goal kick, and further to our goals was thinking Andreas Isaksson: It's too quiet, and Olof hung his head. The ball must have been in the gable. But so I raised my arms and ran around the goal cage and then woke up the stadium. The ball had not gone in the end the very least. It had thundered into the cross from an impossible angle and the goalkeeper had not even had time to wave with his hand, and not much later blew referee of the match and no longer put any one on me. The goal was a classic and we went to the World Cup and I really hoped that it would be a success. I needed it, and indeed, the felt good down there in the Athletes' Village in Germany, despite turmoil in Juventus. We had a new second coach since Tommy Soderberg left and it was not who any time. It was Roland Andersson, who said: "Time to stop playing with småskitarna, Zlatan," he once lifted me up in the first team, and I was touched, frankly. I had not seen him since he was kicked out of the MFF, and it felt great to be proven: You were right, Roland. It was worth going for me. He had been criticized for that. But here we were now, Roland and me.It had arranged for us both, and in general the mood was good. It was full of Swedish supporters, and everywhere was heard that song sung by the little guy, you know: Nobody kicks the football like him, Zlatan, I say Zlatan. It was a nice swing to it. But the groin did not feel good, and my family fussed. It was crazy really. How much the little brother I may be - Only Keki is younger - I have become a dad for all of you and where in Germany it was always something. It was dad who dropped out and his Tickets were still unused, and so was the hotel that was too far away, or big brothers, SaPKo, who needed money and then when he
caused them not tweaked to change them. In addition, Helena was seven months pregnant. She took care of itself, but it was chaos and commotion around her. When she would get from the bus before our match against Paraguay were all fans of her as fools and she felt insecure and flew home the next day. It was the one and the other, both large and small. "Please, Zlatan, you can not fix it and that?" I was the family tour in Germany and I could not focus on my game. The phone rang incessantly. There were complaints and anything is possible. It was totally sick. I'm a fuckin 'world championship. Nevertheless, I fix cars and shit, and probably I should not have played at all. Groin malfunctioned, as I said. But Lagerback was safe. I would be with, and the first match was against Trinidad Tobago, and it we would of course win, not just a goal, but with three, four, five. But nothing went our way. Their goalie played great and we did no goals even when they had a guy sent off. The only positive from the match happened afterwards. I visited Trinidad Tobago coach. The trainer's name was Leo Beenhakker. It was great to see him. My God, many people want to take credit for my career. Almost everything is Bullshit, ridiculous attempt by people who want to ride on my name, but some guys have really meant a lot. Roland Andersson is one and Beenhakker another. They believed in me when others doubted. I hope to do similar stuff myself when I get older. Not only gripe on those who are different: Look, now he is dribbling again, now he does so and so, without thinking a step further. There is a picture from that meeting with Beenhakker. I took off my game jersey and my face shines, despite the disappointment of the match. It never came off for me during the tournament. We got a draw against England and it was good. But Germany crushed us in the eighth finals and I'm kasst, and I'll certainly do not blame me. I take full responsibility. A family is a family. One should take care of them. But I should not have been tour guide and the championship was also a lesson for me.Afterwards, I explained to them all: "You are welcome to hang out with, and I'll try to fix it good for you, but when you get there, you will take care of your own problems and take care of you themselves. " I returned to Turin and it did not feel like home anymore. Turin had become a place I have to leave, and the atmosphere in the club had not just got better. There had been another disaster.
Gianluca Pessotto had been back in the team ever since 1995. He had won everything with the club, and identified with Juventus. I felt him quite well. We had played together for two years and the guy was really a cocky type.He was incredibly sensitive and kind and kept in the background. Really what happened next I do not know. Pessotto had just added to that player and became new team manager after Alessio Secco has been promoted to director, and perhaps it was not easy to go directly to the office job for a life as a player. But above all, had taken the game Pessotto scandal and nerflyttningen to division two hard, and it would have happened in the family stuff. One of those days he sat in his office, four floors up, as usual. But this day he climbed up in a window with a rosary in his hand, and threw himself back out and landed on the asphalt between two cars. The case was at fifteen yards. Unbelievable that he survived! He ended up in hospital with fractures and internal bleeding, but he survived, and people were happy about it, after all. Yet there was his suicide attempt as yet another worrying thing of course. It was a little bit, type: who flips out next time? It felt right desperate thing and the new president, Giovanni Cobolli Gigli, explained now: the club did not release any more players. The management would fight for every single one, and I talked to Mino on the course. We discussed it all the time, and we were both agreed, there was only one way. We must fight back. Therefore, the Mino out in the press and said: "We are prepared to take any legal action to get away from the club." We could not show us weak, not a chance. If Juventus ran tough line, we would give back just as hard. But it was not an easy war. Very was at stake, and I spoke with Alessio Secco again, he has tried to be new Moggi, and I heard directly, his attitude was different now: "You must stay in the club. We demand it of you. We want you to show loyalty to the team. " "Before the holiday did you say the opposite. I would take a bid. " "But it's a different situation now. We are in a crisis situation. We will offer you a new contract. " "I'm not staying," I said. "Not under any circumstances." For each day, every hour, increasing pressure and it was unpleasant, of course, and I fought with everything I had, with the Mino, by law, with anything is possible. But it's true. I could not be the defiant at any time. I was still a salary from the club, and the big question was, of course:
how far would I go? I talked with Mino about it. We decided that I would train with the team, but did not play any matches. According to Mino could there be support for such a variant in the contract, and Therefore, I went away, after all, with the others on a pre-season camp in the mountains.Yet had not the Italian national team players arrived. They were remained in Germany. Italy did go and won the whole tournament. It was damn strong the team, I think, given the game scandal at home, and it was just to congratulate. But it was hardly me. New coach of the club was Didier Deschamps. He was an old player he also, a Frenchman. He had been captain of France when they won the 1998 World Cup, and now in his new job, he was whipped to get up to Juventus top division again. It was a hell of pressure on him, and the first day of camp, he came up to me. "Ibra" he said. "Yes?" "I want to build the game around you. You are my most important players. You are the future. You have to help us back. " "Thanks, but ..." "No but. You have to stay in the club. I accept nothing else, "he continued, and although it of course did not feel great, I could hear how important I was to him, I drove my line: "No, no, no. I'm going away. " I shared a room with Nedved at the camp. Nedved and I were friends. We both had Mino as an agent. But we were in different positions. Nedved had just as Del Piero, Buffon and Trezeguet decided to stay at Juventus and I remember how Deschamps came to us, perhaps to play us off against each other, I do not know. He thought clearly do not give up. "Listen," he said. "I have high hopes for you, Ibra. I took this job a lot because of you. " "Oh," I replied. "You did it for the club, not for me." "I promise. If you leave, I stop, "he continued, and then I could not help but smile, after all. "Okay, pack the bags now and order a taxi," I replied, and then he laughed as if I was joking. But I was not joking so little in my life. If Juventus was fighting for its survival as a big club, I was struck for me as a player, too. A year in Serie B would get everything to a halt, and one of those days came Alessio Secco and Jean-Claude Blanc up to me. Jean-Claude was a
Harvard Guy, a height that Agnelli family brought in to save Juventus out of the crisis, and he had of course been accurate. He had arrangements on his papers and wrote out a contract proposal with various amounts of money, and I thought right away: Read it even! Fight rather! The more you argue, the more they want to get rid of you. "I do not see it ever. I'm not going to write on, "I replied. "You could look at what we offer at least. We've been damn generous! " "Why? This is leading nowhere. " "That you may well not know before you even look at it." "I do some. If you would offer me twenty million, it is completely uninteresting to me. " "It is disrespectful of you," hissed Blanc. "You can take it how you want," I said and went, and of course, I knew I had hurt him, and that's always a risk, and at worst, I could left with no club in September. But I had to play loud. I have to continue, and certainly, I realized I was not the best negotiating conditions anymore. I had played poorly in the World Cup and has not been particularly good last season in Juventus.I had been too heavy, and made too few goals. Still, I hoped that people knew my capabilities. Just a year before I had been cruel, and his election to the best foreigner in the league! There should be an interest among clubs, I thought, and Mino also worked hard behind the scenes. "I have Inter and Milan at once," he said early on, and it sounded good of course. It was a light in the tunnel. But it was only loose talk so far, and we still did not know what my contract situation at Juventus looked like. What I had to opportunities to escape the club cross echoed? I was not sure, it was up and down every day. Mino was optimistic. It was his job to be there, and I could not do anything but wait, and fight. It was already known in the papers that I wanted to get away at all costs. Now oozed the also out that Inter were after me, and Juventus supporters hate Inter, and as a footballer, you are constantly and always surrounded by fans. They hanging outside the gates of the training facilities with their autograph pads and pennants, and often they can pay to come in and check. The Business is everywhere in this sport and then, in the mountains outside Turin on our pre-season camp, they stood next to the plan and screamed after me. "Traitors and pigs," yelled the and that kind of stuff, and yes, it was not pleasant. But frankly, as a player, you are familiar with most things, and those
teasing ran by me. We would then play a friendly game against Spezia, and what I had said about the games? I would not play them. Therefore I was left in my room and lirade Playstation. Outside waiting for the bus that would take us to the stadium and everyone was already down there, even Nedved, and as I understand it was the bus with the engine running. Impatience was great: Where the hell is Ibra? They waited and waited and finally Didier Deschamps up to my room. He was furious. "Why are you here? We are going away? " I turned not even bother. I lirade only. "Did not you hear what I said?" "Did not you hear what I said?" I replied. "I work out, but I do not play games. I've said it ten times. " "It makes you damn sure. You belong to this team. Now, you at once. Get up. " He got up right next to me but I sat there and lirade on. "What's the goddamn respect to sit here and play?" He roared. "You will get fined for this, do you hear?" "Okay." "What do you mean OK?" "Give me just fine. I'm staying! " Only then did he. He was completely mad, and I sat there with my Playstation while everyone else went off the bus, and the situation was not excited before, became now. The story was reported upward course. I was fine, thirty thousand euros, I think. It was pure war, and as in all wars had to think tactically. How could I fight back? What next? The tanks grinding into me. I received the secret visit. Ariel Braida, a big shot from Milan, met me on the sly during the camp. I just snuck out and met him at a another hotel nearby, and we talked about what it would be to belong to Milan. But frankly, I did not like his style. There was a lot: Kaka is a star. You are not. But Milan can make you one. It was like, I needed more than Milan Milan needed me, and I felt I do not particularly seen or sought after, and I'd love to say goodbye at once. But my bargaining position was not exactly perfect. I wished away desperately from Juventus. I had no trumps, and I was forced to return to Turin without any concrete offers. It was hot. It was August and Helena was heavily pregnant, and had some symptoms of stress. There were paparazzi following us all the time, and I supported her as best I could. But I was in my limbo. I did not know anything about the future, and nothing was easy. The club
had a new Fitness Centre. All with Moggi would be cleaned out, even his old worn dressing room, and I continued to train. I got stick to my line. But it was weird. Nobody saw me more as part of the team, and the drama continued. Things are happening all the time, and I noticed at least one positive thing: Juventus fought not just for me anymore. Who wants a guy like hell with everything and play Playstation? It was still a long way to go, and the question remained: Milan or Inter? It should have been an easy choice. Inter had not won the league at seventeen. Inter were not really top team anymore. Milan was one of the most successful clubs in Europe, all categories. Of course you should to Milan, said Mino. I was not so sure. Inter was Ronaldo's old team and the club seemed to really like me, and I thought about what Braida told me up there in the mountains. "You're not a real star yet!" Milan were the strongest team. Yet I leaned to Inter. I wanted the underdog. "Okay," said Mino. "But remember that Inter are a very different challenge. You get no championship titles for free there. " I did not want anything for free. I wanted the challenge and responsibility. The feeling grew stronger and stronger with me, and even then I realized what it would mean if I went to a club that has not won the league for seventeen years and made sure that the team did it with me. It could lift things to a whole other level. But as I said, nothing was ready yet, not at all, and first and foremost, we need to sew something. We must get away from the sinking ship and we had to take what came. Milan would qualify for the Champions League then. It was a result of gambling scandal.Actually, given the club in the tournament, but since court sentenced the team to the negative points was Milan had to play qualifiers against Red Star. The first match was at the San Siro in Milan. The was an important game for me as well. If Milan went into the tournament the club would get more money for spelarköp, and Adriano Galliani, Milan vice president, had told me: "We wait and see the end, so we hear from us again." Until then, Inter were the most, not because they were easy either. Inter held by Massimo Moratti. Moratti is a big shot. He is an oil tycoon. He owns the club, and he knew of course also my desperation. As many as four times, he had lowered its bid. It was all the time something, and August 8, I sat in our apartment in Piazza Castello in Turin.
Milan's match against Red Star at the San Siro was twenty and forty-five. I did not see it. I had other things to do. But apparently played Kaká quite early to Filippo Inzaghi who made a-zero, and some of the tensions in the club released. Shortly after my phone rang. The had rung all day and it was usually Mino. He told me about every step of the process, and now he announced that Berlusconi wanted to meet me, and then I jumped to the course. Not only because it was him, but because it really showed that the club was interested. Yet I was not sure. Inter was still my first choice. However, I realized, this conversation do not harm us directly. "Can we use this?" I said. "It can give you on," said Mino, and rang up immediately Moratti, for there is something that will revive the man is getting beat Milan on the fingers. "We just want to inform you that Ibrahimović to eat a late dinner with Berlusconi in Milan," greeted the Mino. "What?" "They have booked a table at a restaurant Giannino." "Fuck that," said Moratti. "I'll send over a guy at a time." Moratti sent Branca. Marco Branca was sports director at Inter. He was quite a young skinny guy, but when he knocked on our door just an hour later, I learned one thing about him. He was one of the largest heavy smoker I have ever seen. He walked up and down in our apartment and filled an entire ashtray with cigarette butts in no time at all. But then he was also stressed. He was whipped to snatch up the deal before Berlusconi tied his tie and ran off to eat dinner at Giannino. So naturally, he was excited. He would sniffles Italy's most powerful man on a deal, nothing less, and it used the Mino, of course. He likes when the counterparty is pressure on. Press get people to soften, and it was always different phone calls and sums thrown back and forth. It was my contract. That was my condition, and during the time ticking clock and Branca smoked and smoked. "Do you accept?" He said. I checked with the Mino. Mino said: "Run!" "Okay, absolutely." Branca started smoking even more, and so he contacted Moratti. It went really hear the excitement in his voice. "Zlatan has accepted," he said.
There was good news. It was great. It was noticeable in the tone. But it was not clear yet.Now it was about clubs negotiation. What I would sell for? It was a new game, and of course, if Juventus lost me, they would at least require well paid. But before anything was clearly called Moratti: "Are you happy?" "I am delighted," I said. "Then I welcome you," and you get it, I breathed a sigh of relief. The entire spring and summer doubts blew away in a second, and now only remained forMino to call Milan management. Berlusconi wanted hardly have dinner with me now. It was not about the weather we would talk, and if I did it right, became Milan gang completely taken by surprise: What the hell has happened as well? Should Ibra Inter now? "It can go fast sometimes," said Mino. I bought the end of twenty-seven million, two hundred and seventy million approximately. Itwas the biggest transfer fee in that year in the Series A, and where the fine I got because I played the Playstation at camp I did not have. Theyconjured Mino away and Moratti went out in the press and said that My transition was of the same meaning as when the club bought Ronaldo, and it felt right in the heart of course. I was ready for Inter. But first I am on a team gathering in Gothenburg and I expected a completely quiet trip before the hard work began. 16
We play an international against Latvia and won by one-zero. Kim Källström made the goal and the day after we were free. It was the third in September. Olof Mellberg turned twenty-nine. He was captain of Aston Villa. We had met the national team, and at first he was entitled locked, I thought, a little as Trezeguet, but he eased up and we became friends. He wanted me and Chippendale would hang out with and celebrate him, and certainly, why not? We ended up at a place on the Avenue, which had photographs on the walls. The newspapers described it as a hot spot. All the restaurants I have been on become hot spots. But it was useless. It was almost empty. We were almost alone, and we sat and had a drink quietly. More fun was there, and the clock was eleven at night. At eleven o'clock we would be
back at the hotel, according to the national team's rules. But what the hell, we said. So closely is it's not. We had been out before and come too late, but that it has become life for it.Furthermore, it was Olaf's birthday and we were sober and proper, and at quarter past twelve we came back to the hotel and went to bed, like good boys. That was the whole thing. My Rosengard Polare could barely dried listen if I told you. It was not, frankly. The only problem was there, I can not even go out and buy milk without the newspapers knowing about it. I have spies on me wherever I go. People send text messages and pictures. I saw Zlatan there and there, oh, oh, and not to make it as boring exaggerate it and tells the coils as exaggerating some. It must be cool, at least a little. It is included in the package, and for the most part, I have people who stand up for me: What is it for snack, as well? Zlatan has not done a damn thing. But this time the newspapers were smarter. They turned it on and called our team manager, and did not ask about us and when we got to the hotel, but what team had the rules. He said that it was, everyone would be at the hotel at eleven o'clock. "But Zlatan, Chippendale and Mellberg came back later. We have witnesses to it, "said the journalists and certainly, the team manager is a good guy; he used to defend ourselves. But this time he was not quick enough in the head, and it is perhaps not to ask. Who says the right things all the time? But if he were smart and made the guys in the Italian clubs, he had asked to come back and then called up and gave a good explanation as to why we have been out a little later, for example, that we had permission for it, something like that, which does not mean that we would not have to punishment, not at all. But the basic principle should always be to stick together outside.We are a team, we are one, and then you can punish us internally how everything you want. But team manager said that no one could be out later than eleven, and we must have broken the rules. Then took the house in hell. It called me in the morning: "You are called to a meeting with Lagerback", and admittedly, I do not like meetings. On the other hand, I have a certain routine in thing. I was called back in kindergarten. It was normal for me. It was my life, and this time I knew what it was. It was nonsense; and I took it quite calmly. I called one of the security guys who I know and
who tend to have control. "What is the situation?" "I think you can pack your bags," he said, and I did nothing. Pack your bags? Because I arrived a bit late? I refused to believe it. But I bought certainty.What else would I do? I packed, and found not even a few excuses. The thing was too silly for that. The truth would have to do for once.I did not even blame my brother. I knee just in and sat Lagerback and the whole gang and then Mellberg and Chippendale.They were not as cool as me. They did not have the same habit. But I felt at home. It was almost as if I missed it, as if I was too wellbehaved and should have lived more on the edge! "We have decided to send you home at once," began Lagerback and all fidgeted. "What have you to say about it?" "I apologize," said Chippendale. "It was really foolish." "I would also ask your pardon," said Mellberg. "But ... how will you go out with it in the media," he continued, and there was some talk about it and, in whole discussion, I sat quietly. I had no say in the matter and perhaps saw Lagerback it as strange. I'm not usually shy guy just. "What about you, Zlatan. What do you say? " "I say nothing." "What do you mean nothing?" "Just so. Nothing! " I noticed right away, they became nervous of it. They had certainly been more comfortable if I kaxat me up. It would have been more my style. But it This was something new for them. Nothing! The stress was of it, like: What is Zlatan and plan now? And the more they stare became, the more calmer I felt. It was strange in some ways. My silence disturbed balance. I had an advantage. It all felt so familiar. It was Wessels department store again. It was the school. It was the MFF's boys teams and I listened to the stacking bins small lecture on how clear they were with their rules with the same interest that I listened to the teachers at school, type: Talk to you only, I do not care which. But it is true, one thing made me pissed off. It was when he said: "We have decided that you should not be against Liechtenstein", and believe not that I cared about it, I'd damn packed already. Lagerback could have sent me to Kiruna and I had not gnällt and frankly,
who cares about Liechtenstein? That was the word we I teased me. Who the hell were we? He was the boss. Why he hid behind others? He should have been man enough and said "I have decided," I would have respected the him, but it is there, it was cowardly, and I stared into his eyes quite hard, but I still said nothing, and afterward I slipped up on my the office and called Keki. In these kinds of situations you need family. "Come and get me!" "What have you done?" "Come too late." Before I left I spoke to team manager. He and I have always had good contact. He knows me better than most of the squad and He can be my background and my orientation. He knows I will not forget so easily. "You Zlatan," he said. "I'm not worried about Chippendale and Mellberg. They are ordinary Swedish guys, they take their punishment and come back, but with you Zlatan ... I'm afraid that Lagerback dig his own grave. " "We'll see," I answered simply, and in an hour I was gone from the hotel. Me and little brother took us Chippendale in the car. It was he, I, Keki and another of my buddies, and we stopped at a gas station. Then we saw the headlines. It must have been the biggest resurrection of a late arrival ever! It was like a flying saucer landed roughly and it would only get worse, and the whole time I kept in touch with Chippendale and Mellberg. I was a bit like a dad to them: "Take it easy, guys. This is only an advantage. Nobody likes good boys. " But honestly, I became increasingly annoyed with the thing. Lagerback and the second we drove to the DOM thing. It was so ridiculous. Not long ago I was struck with a guy in Milan, Oguchi Onyewu is his name. I'll tell you about it later, it was pretty brutal. Nobody thought the fight was a top thing exactly. But outwardly defended the lead me and said it was good that I was on, and tagged, something like that. They held the team together outward. How do you do in Italy. It defends outwards, criticizing inward. But here we were bad guys and good guys. It was a lousy shot, and I said so also to Lars Lagerback: "For me, this is forgotten," he said. "You are welcome back." "Am I? But I will not. You could have given me a fine. You could have done anything. But you went to the media and hung us out. The I do not buy ", and that was it.
I turned down the team, and the thing disappeared from my head. Or vanished and disappeared by the way. I was reminded of it all the time and frankly, it was something I regretted. I should have fixed more class on that scandal, as I still got kicked out. What the hell, sit on a place that was virtually empty with only one drink, and come one hour late? What was that? I should have smashed a bar and crashed a car in the fountain up there on the Avenue and wine glasses home in underwear. It had been more of a scandal on my level. This was nonsense. You will not ask for respect. You take it. It is easy to feel small when you are new to a club.Everything is new, and all have their roles and locations, and their snack. It is easiest to take a step back and listen into the atmosphere. But then you lose the initiative. You lose time. I came to Inter to make a difference and ensure that the club won the league for the first time in seventeen years. Then you can not withdraw, or be careful, just because media criticizing you, because people have preconceived ideas. Zlatan is a bad boy.Zlatan has problems with his temper, all that. It is easy be affected, and try to prove you are the opposite, nice guy. But when you let yourself be guided. It was not perfect to the event from Gothenburg rolled around in all Italian newspapers just then. Look like, the guy does not care about rules, he was so expensive. Is he not over-valued? Or even a felköp? It was much like that.Worst was a Swedish so-called expert, he said: "As I see it, Inter have always done strange spelarköp, they're just betting individualists ... Now they have bought themselves a problem to." But as I said, I thought of Capello's words. It comes to respect. It was like stepping into a new house in Rosengard. You can not go back; or bother anyone heard a thing or two about you. You must instead take a step forward, and I ran with all that attitude I had with me from Juventus: Hey, guys, here I come, and now we'll start winning! I drove with black eyes at the training. I drove the winning skull, the whole wild mentality and will. I was worse than ever. I was mad if people gave everything on the pitch. I cried and lived on when we lost or did a bad match, and in a completely different way than before in my career, I had the leadership role. I saw it in people's eyes, it was hanging on me now. I would bring them forward, and at my side, I had Patrick Vieira again. With him to her, you can be successful with a lot. We were two winning monster that gave everything to increase the motivation of the team.
But there were problems in the club. Moratti, president and owner, has done any amount of Inter. He has over three hundred million in spelarköp. He has invested in guys like Ronaldo, Maicon, Crespo, Christian Vieri, Figo and Baggio. He has invested incredible offensively. But he also had another score. He was too generous, too kind. He could give us generous bonuses after a single match won, and I responded to that. Not that I have anything against bonuses and benefits. Who has it? But these bonuses was not awarded after a league or cupvinst. It was after one match, a match that might not even important. It gave the wrong message, I thought, and certainly, as a player you do not go up to Moratti anyway. Moratti is from a fine family finance. He is PowerShell. He is money. But I had such a position in the club that I did it anyway. Moratti's not a difficult person. He is easy to talk with, and I told him: "You!" "Yes, Ibra?" "You have to take it easy. " "In what way?" "With bonuses. The guys can be measured. Damn, a match won, that's nothing. We are paid to win and certainly, we pick home Scudetto, give us something nice if you want, but not after a single victory! " He did. It was an end to that, and do not misunderstand me, I did not think I could manage the club better than Moratti, not at all. But I saw something that could adversely affect the motivation, I pointed out there, and that about the bonuses were after all only a small thing. The real challenge was the groupings. They bothered me from day one, and it was not just that I came from Rosengard where all side by side in a mess, the Turks, Somalis, juggarna, Arabs. It was also because I so clearly seen in football, both Juventus and the Ajax: all teams perform better when the players stick together. The Inter was the opposite.There sat the Brazilians in a corner. Argentina in the next, and so we everyone else in the middle. It was so superficial, so softly. Okay, sure, it is sometimes a bit clustered in the clubs. It is not good but it happens. But then, people tend to at least choose their friends, and go after which they go great with. It went by nationality. It was so primitive. They played football together. Otherwise, they lived in separate worlds, and it made me mad and I understood at once, that must change. Otherwise we will not win the league. Some might say: What
does it matter who we eat lunch with? Believe me, it matters. Does it not confuse off flat ground in the game. It affects motivation and team spirit. In football, it is so small margins that things like that can decide, and I saw it as my first major test to end it there. But I noticed there was not enough just to talk. I went around there and said: What kind of caterpillar? Why are you sitting there in groups of kids? And certainly, many agreed with me. Others were a bit embarrassed, but nothing happened. Habits set in. Those invisible barriers were too sharp. Therefore, I went up to Moratti again, and now I was so clear as I could. Inter had not won the league in ages. Would it remain so? Would we be losers just because people could not talk with each other? "Of course not," said Moratti. "But then you have to break these groupings. We can not win if we do not work as a team. " I do not think Moratti had taken quite how bad it was, but he understood my reasoning. It was completely in line with his philosophy, he said. "We should be like a single family in Inter. I'll talk to them ", and really, not much later, he came down to the guys, and it seemed direct the respect everyone had for him. Moratti was the club. He not only decided. He took us too. He made a little speech. He really was on fire and talked about cohesion and all glared at me of course. It sounded like my words. Is Ibra who talked? Most were probably convinced of it. I ignored it. I just wanted to get the team together and now the mood was also better, step by step. The groupings were broken and all began to socialize with each other. We became more tagged and fused together and I walked around and talked with everyone and tried to round them up even more. But of course, it was not easy to win the league for it. I remember my first match. It was against Fiorentina in Florence. It was September 9, 2006, and Fiorentina would of course defeat us at any cost. The team had also been drawn into the gambling scandal and started the series with minus fifteen points, and the audience where the Artemio Franchi stadium was hateful. Inter had been completely removed in the scandal, and many thought it was rotten. We were whipped to win them both; Fiorentina to restore his honor and we are putting ourselves in respect directly to finally be able to go against the Scudetto. I'm from the start with Hernan Crespo on top. Crespo was an Argentine
who came from Chelsea and we got a good start together, at least on the plane, and a bit into the second half, I received a long pass in the penalty area and fired on the half volley at goal, and you get it. It was such a relief! It was my debut and after that I grew up in the team more and more, and it seemed obvious to decline the team's European Championship qualifier in October against Spain and Iceland. I wanted to focus entirely on the Internet and the family.Helena and I counted the days. We would feed our first child, and we had decided, it would be in Sweden at Lund University Hospital. We relied mostly on the Swedish health care, after all. But it was not easy. There were problems. It was the media and paparazzi. That was the whole hysteria and we took with us, security personnel, and informed the hospital authorities that closed department forty-four on women's clinic. All who entered were checked.Outside the patrolling police, and we were both nervous. It smelled especially inside. People ran in the corridors, and there were heard cries and voices. Did I say that I hate hospitals? I hate hospitals. I feel good when others are doing well. Are people sick around me I get myself sick, at least it feels that way. I can not explain it. But I get pain in the belly of the hospital. There is something in the air and atmosphere, and often, I usually stick as fast as I can. Now I had decided to stay and be a part of everything, and it made me tense. I receive many letters from all over the world and often I open them, it's a fair thing. Since I can not read and reply to all, I let them often remain unopened. No one should benefit more than any other. But sometimes Helena not help and then we heard the most horrible stories, kind of a child who will die within a months and have me as a hero, and then tend Helena question: What can we do? Can we arrange match tickets? Send signed shirts? We try really help. But I do not feel good about it. It is a weakness in me, I admit it, and now I would sleep over at the hospital, and I worried about it, but the worst was that Helen understood. She was completely wound up.It's not easy being hunted while you give birth to your first children. If something goes wrong, the whole world out there. Should anything go wrong? I had all that kind of thoughts. But it went well, and afterwards I felt joy, of course, luck. It was such a nice little boy and we had done it. We were parents. I was a dad and that something could be wrong with the boy was not in my head, not when we come through the
this ordeal and all the doctors and nurses seemed so happy. It was not on the map, but the drama was not over, not at all. We named the boy to Maximilian. I do not really know where we got the name from. But it sounded impressive. Ibrahimović was impressive in itself. Maximilian Ibrahimović made it even more. It was both beautiful and powerful at once, and although we called him the Maxi in the end, but it was good it, too. It seemed at all promising everything, and I drew from the hospital almost immediately. Not that it was simply just. It was journalists everywhere outside. But Securitas guy put on a coat, Dr. Ibrahimović as well.Then I was stopped into a laundry basket, totally sick, a big fucking basket, and there I lay curled up like a ball and run through conduits and corridors into the garage, and first where I jumped out and took off my clothes and went to Italy. It fooled everyone. It was not as good for Helena. It was not easy for her. It had been a difficult birth, and she was not as familiar with the resurrection like me. Naturally I thought, hardly longer on it. It was part of my life only. But Helen became increasingly stressed out, and she and Maxi smuggled out to my mother's townhouse in Svågertorp was in his car. We thought she would be able to breathe out there. But we were naive. It took just one hour. Then gathered journalists out there, and Helen felt hunted and trapped and soon after she flew to Milan again. I was already there and would play the match against Chievo at the San Siro. I was a bank.I had not slept much. Roberto Mancini, our coach, did not think I could focus properly and it was probably wise. My thoughts flickered and I looked out the plane and up to the audience. Ultras, Inter's hardcore supporters, had hung a huge white cloth from the stands. It looked like a pirate who sails fluttered in the breeze; and on the canvas where it was written, or sprayed anything, with black and blue writing. It said "Benvenuto Maximilian," Welcome Maximilian; and I wondered, "Who the hell is Maximilian? Do we have a player with that name? " Then I took. It was my son. Ultras welcomed my guy to life! It was so beautiful that I wanted to cry. Those fans are not playing with. They're tough guys, and I was going to be tough fights with them. But now ... what can I say? It was Italy where it was at its best. It was the love of football and love of children, and I took out my phone
and took a picture and sent it to Helena, and sincerely I said, few things have gone into the hearts of her so. She still get tears in my eyes when she talks about it. It was as if San Siro sent his love. We had got a new puppy too. We called him thrusters after that mess when they drained the company of money. So now I had really a family. I had Helen, Maxi and thrusters. I lirade Xbox incessantly at this time. I went over the border quite easily. It was pure poison.I could not stop, and often I sat with little Maxi in the knee and played. We stayed at the hotel in Milan when waiting for an apartment, and when we called down and ordered food, we felt really: they are tired of us and we are tired of them. The hotel went on our nerves and we switched to the hotel Ariston Via Tortona, and it was better, but still chaotic. Everything was new with Maxi and we noticed, of course, he vomited a lot and did not gain weight, rather the contrary. He became thinner. But none of us knew what it would be. Maybe it was normal. Someone had said that babies can lose weight for some time after birth, and he seemed the strong, did not he? But the food came up, and his gag was thick and looked strange. He vomited all the time. Would it be so? We had no idea, and I called my family and friends, and all comforted, it is certainly no danger, and I believed it not, or at least, I did not think so, and I tried to explain away. It's cool. He's my guy. What could go wrong? But the turmoil did not disappear, it became increasingly obvious that he could not keep food down, and He went down even more weight. He had weighed three kilograms when he was born.Now he was down to two thousand eight hundred grams, and I felt it in the stomach, it is not good, not at all, and I could not hold it in anymore. "There is something wrong, Helen!" "I think so too," she answered, and how should I explain? It had been a suspect before, a little, now became a total conviction, and the room was flying to. The whole body clenched itself. I had never known anything like it, not even close. Before I had children, I was Mr. Untouchable. I could be angry and mad, get all sorts of emotions. But all was going to solve as long as I fought harder. Now there was nothing like that. Now I was powerless. I could not train him well. I could not do
no. Maxi became weaker and weaker, and he was so small, it seemed really now, he was just skin and bones. It was as if life were about to leave him and we called around in panic, and a doctor, a woman came up to the hotel room. I was not home then. I would play the game. But I think we got lucky. The doctor sniffed the creature. She looked at it and recognized the symptoms and said directly: you must to the hospital at once, and I remember it as well. I was with the team. We would meet with Messina at home, and the phone rang.Helena was hysterical: "Maxi going to have surgery," she said, "it is hurry, "and I thought: Are we losing him? Is it really possible? It just buzzed me in, all kinds of questions and nojor, and I told Mancini. Like so many others, he was an old player, and he had begun his managerial career during Sven-Goran Eriksson in Lazio. He did, he had heart. "My kid is sick," I said and he looked in my eyes, I was feeling crap. I was no longer only win in the head. I had Maxi there, nothing else, my little boy, my beloved son, and I had to decide for yourself: would I play or not? I had six goals so far this season, and been cruel in many matches. But now ... what to do? Nothing could be better with Maxi if I was sitting on the bench, it was true. But could I accomplish? I did not know.My brain was boiling. From Helena, I received reports from time to time. She had collapsed at the hospital and apparently had all the screaming about her and no spoke English, and Helen was barely a word of Italian. She was completely lost. She did nothing, any more than it was in a hurry, and that a doctor asked her to write on any paper. What a piece of paper? She had no idea. But there was no time to think. She wrote on. In that kind of modes you write on anything, I guess. There were new paper. She wrote to them too and Maxi was taken from her, and it hurt, it I understand really. What happens as well? What's going on? She was quite upset, and Maxi became increasingly weak. But Helena clenched. Nothing else was doing. She was like certainty and hope while Maxi was off to another room with the doctors and nurses and the whole thing, and only slowly did she what was wrong. The stomach was not working and he had to undergo surgery. Naturally, I was there at the San Siro with all the crazy crowd and it was
not easy to focus on anything. But I had resolved to play. I was involved from the start. I think it at least. All is mist, and I guess I did not play well. How could I, and I remember Mancini was standing on the sidelines and made a sign to me: I take you out of five, and I nodded. Absolutely, I go by. I will do no good here. But a minute later I shot goal, and I thought, Mancini, fuck off! Try to pick me out now! I played and we won big. I lirade of pure anger and anxiety, and afterwards I threw myself off. I did not say a word in the locker room and I can hardly remember the trip. The heart pounded. But I remember hospital hallway and the smell in there and how I rushed up and asked, was, were, and how I finally wandered my way to a large hall where the Maxi low with lots of other children in an incubator. He was smaller than ever, like a little bird. He had tubes in the body and in the nose. The heart was ripped out of my chest and I looked at him and at Helena, and what do you think? Where I bitch from Rosengard? "I love you," I said. "You are my everything. But I do not pallets. I will be freaking out. Call the slightest, "and so I pulled away. It was not kind to Helena. She was alone with him. But I could not stop there. I panicked. I hated the hospital more than ever, and I went to the hotel safe and I played the Xbox. It tends to calm me in that kind of situations, and all night I lay with the mobile phone close me, and sometimes I winced, as if I expected something bad. But it had gone well. The surgery was successful and Maxi are doing well now. He has a scar on his stomach. Otherwise he is as healthy as everyone else, and I think of that thing sometimes. It gives me some perspective, quite frankly. We really won the Scudetto that first year with Inter and later in Sweden, I was nominated for Jerring Prize. No jury will select Laureate. This makes the Swedish people. Swedes vote for which athletes have been better this year, and of course, that kind of prices almost always are won by athletes in individual sports, Ingemar Stenmark, Stefan Holm, Annika Sorenstam and the like, or rather, a pair times, the whole team won, too. Swedish football team got it by 1994. But since 2007 I was nominated to be alone there. It was on Grammy Awards. Helena and I were there together, I had dinner jacket and bow tie, and before the ceremony I mingled around and then I ran with Martin Dahlin. Martin Dahlin is an old high roller. He was in the national team which took
the Bronze Medal and received Jerring Prize in 1994, and he had been professionals in Roma and Borussia Monchengladbach and the East goal. But there is, as always, there is one generation against another. The older ones would be best of all time. We want younger too. We do not get the old stars, pounded into our heads, and we certainly do not want to hear: You would have been on our time, and such crap. We want football to be the best right now, and I remember I heard a sneer in Martin's voice: "Wow, are you here?" Why should not I be here? "And you, too?" I said with the same sneer, or as if I was really surprised that he of all admitted. "We won the price of ninety-four." "As a team, yes. I am nominated individually, "I replied and smiled, it was nothing, just a little cock fighting. But in that moment I felt all over, I want that price, and I said also to Helena when I returned to my table. "Please, hope I win!" I never said anything like this, even if the league or the cups. But it just came. That price was important Suddenly, as if something actually depended on it. I can not explain it really. I had all sorts of awards, but never touched on that way, and maybe, I do not know, I realized it could be a confirmation, a sign that I was accepted for real, not just as football player but as a person, despite all my outburst and my background. Therefore, I was completely in tension while they were in front of scene and listed the candidates. It was me and that ass girl, Kallur, and she skier Paerson. I had no idea what would happen. Prior to my Gold Balls I usually get information in advance, I would not go up unnecessarily. But now I knew nothing, and seconds left. Hell, say it then. The winner is ... My name was called, and then did the tears come, and believe me, I'm beginning to not cry so easily. I never received training on the kinds of things When I was growing up, but now I became quite emotional, and I stood up. All shouted and applauded. It roared around me and I Martin Dahlin passed again and then I could not help but say to him: "Excuse me, Martin, I'll just go up and fetch a price."
Up there on stage, I accepted the award by Prince Carl Philip and grabbed the microphone,and I'm not preparing speeches, not in the least. I only talk on, and suddenly I began to think of Maxi and everything we went through with him,and then I began to wonder, right weird really. But I had received this award because I helped Inter win their first Scudetto inseventeen years, and I asked myself the question about Maxi had born during the season, not this year but during the season we won. It was as if I suddenlydid not know, and I asked Helena: "Was it the season Maxi was born?" And I looked at her, she could barely nod in response. She was tearful, and I forget not, believe me. 17
MAYBE I was going to grow up and grow up, or not by the way. I have been talking about kicks. I need some kicks. I have had them all the way since I was little, and sometimes I track out. It still happens. I have a friend that has existed for a long time and who owned a pizza restaurant in Malmo. He weighs about one hundred and twenty pounds, and with him I drove from best to Malmo with my Porsche, and frankly, a lot like not to go with me. Not that I'm a bad driver, not at all. I am cruel. But I have a lot of adrenaline, and the time I came up in three hundred miles an hour. It felt slow and so I pressed on, three hundred and one, three hundred and two, and eventually narrowed the road down. But I just went, and when the speedometer was at three hundred twenty-five broke it to my buddies: "Zlatan, slow down, damn it, I have a family!" "And I, you fat bastard, what have I," I replied. Then I slowed down, probably reluctantly, and we breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at each other. It was important to take care of themselves, after all. But it was not easy to become sane. I kicked up and running in that kind of stuff, and although I have never taken drugs, I have perhaps a little addict in me. I snowing in on certain things. Now it's hunting. But then it was the Xbox and in November of that year came a new game. It was called Gears of War, and I was completely crazy. I locked myself. I built a game room and sat hour after hour and the clock could be three, four in the morning, and I really should sleep and take care of me and make sure I was a wreck during practice. But I continued. Gears of War was like a poison, Gears of War and Call of Duty. I was with them all the time.
I needed more and more. Unable to stop, and often I played online with others, Englishmen, Italians, Swedes, all sorts, six, seven hours a day, and I had a gamertag. I could not hot Zlatan online. So, of course, no one knew who was hidden behind my tag. But I promise, I impressed on the people even under a false name. I had been playing video games all my life and I'm an extremely competitive person. I'm focused. I crushed all. But yes, there was another guy, he was also good and he was online all the time, all night, just as I. His gamertag was a D and anything else and I heard him talk sometimes. We all had headsets on their heads, and people talked between and during the Games. I tried to shut up. I wanted to remain anonymous. It was not always easy. I had adrenaline in the body, and one of those days, people talked about their cars. D had a Porsche 911 Turbo, he said, and then I could not resist any longer. One of those I had given away to the Mino after lunch on Okura in Amsterdam. So I started talking, and it was immediately apparent. People suspect. You sound like Ibrahimovic, someone said. Nah, nah, it's not me. Come again, they went on and then put the various issues. But I wound me aside and we entered the Ferrari instead, but it was not much better; honestly. "I have one," I said. "A rather special indeed." "Which model?" "You will not believe it if I say it," I replied, and then became D curious of course. "Come on then! What is it? " "It's an Enzo." He became silent. "It's not." "Oh yes!" "An Enzo?" "An Enzo!" "Then you can just be a guy." "Who?" I tried. "The one we were talking about." "Perhaps," I said, "maybe not", and so we played on, and when we do not lirade we continued to talk, and I asked out this guy a little grand, and was told that he was a stockbroker.
It was easy to talk to him. We liked the same stuff. But he did not ask more about who I was. We talked about other things, and yes, I noticed, he liked football and liked fast cars. But he was not a tough guy, not at all, rather a sensitive, thoughtful guy, and one day we talked with online for watches and clocks are another thing I have interested me for. D wanted a very special expensive watch, and any another on the line said: "There are long waiting times at it," and that's maybe, but not for me. As a soccer player in Italy, you have a good time. You can bypass all possible queues and get discounts on anything, so I broke me into talking again: "I can arrange one for you in a week of so and so much." "Are you kidding?" "Absolutely not!" "How could you do that?" "I'm calling a guy only," I said and thought, what have I to lose? Ville D does not have time or he was talking crap, I could take it himself. It was no big deal, and the kid was reliable, and yes, he talking about Ferraris and expensive gadgets. Yet he did not brag. He just seemed like this stuff, and I said: "Hey, I'm going to Stockholm soon and stay at Scandic." "Okay," he said. "And you sit there in the lobby at four o'clock, so you get your watch!" "Are you serious?" "I'm a serious guy!" Then I called my contact and got over that special watch, a nice little thing, and so messe I change my bank details to D via My Xbox Account. Not much later I flew to Stockholm. We would play the European Championship qualifiers, and then, as usual, we stayed at the Scandic Park. I and Lagerback was reconciled, after all, and I stayed at the hotel and went to see the guys on the team. The baggage I had the clock in a box and the afternoon, as we have said, I went down with it to the reception. I felt completely calm. But just in case I had with me Janne Hammarbäck, security guard. I had no idea how the D looked like or who he was. How nice he had, he could be anyone, a madman with ten aggressive friends, not because I believed it. But you can never know, and I looked right and left down there, and the only thing I discovered was a slender dark guy who sat on a chair and seemed shy. "Are you here to get a watch?" I said.
"Well, I ..." He stood up, and I saw it right away. He was staring. I think he already had made who I was, yet, in that mode released it for him: It's you. I had seen it before of course. People become uncertain with me, and in that kind of situations I become more open and friendly and I asked many questions about the guy's job and where he used to go out and that kind of stuff. After a while he relaxed also, and then we started speak Xbox. How do I say? It was nice. It was something new. My buddies from Rosengard's guys from the street: they have a lot of attitude and adrenaline and nothing wrong with it, not at all, I grew up with that stuff. But anyway, this guy, he was intelligent and careful, he thought differently, he was not macho, not at all, he did not tease him, and normally I do not let people too close so easily. I've been on my bangs and people often want to use me for their own purposes: I know Zlatan. I am the ball anywhere. But it felt at one time, me and this guy worked out, and I told him: "I put at the front desk, and as soon as I have money in the account, you can get it. " After half an hour he had sat in the amount and we kept in touch. We Messe. We were on the phone, and he came down to us in Milan. He was a well-mannered Swedish guy who says "nice to meet you" and stuff. He did not fit with my Rosengard Friends. But he went up with Helena. He was her style as well: finally a guy who does not throw bombs in the kebab kiosks! He was a new figure in my life, and Helena usually call him my internet dating. Do you remember Mile in Malmo FF, passed texture, I snuck away by bus or steal a bicycle? It was not many years ago though, and I thought of all that stuff sometimes, not just because I had just picked up the first team then. There was so much that was different. Take only those shanties on Limhamnsvägen. How sick was not the unattainable, especially that house that was pink and big as a castle? At that time I could only not conclude, what kind of people live like that? They have to have it completely insanely good. I was going to remain so in some ways. I was not sure before that type of people anymore, quite the opposite, but I remembered the pain; the pain to remain outside that world, and know that you are not living under entirely the same conditions. The type of feelings you do not forget, and I still dreamed of revenge - to show them all that I was no longer the guy
with Fido Dido in Rosengard. I was also one of my could sit on the fattest house, and Helena and I really needed a home in Malmo. We could not live with my mom in Svågertorp longer. We were expecting our second child.I wanted to have its own fence to shoot up and I and Helena drove around a bit here and there and trust building. It was a fun thing we had. We made charts and what do you think, which came on top? The pink on Limhamnsvägen understood, and it was not just because of my old dreams. The house was really best. It was the finest in Malmö, but it is clearly, there was a problem. There were some in there and they did not sell, and how do you do? That was the question. We decided not to give us. Maybe even give them a victim They could not refuse. Not that I would send some Rosengard Polare them exactly. This should be handled with style, but anyway, we decided to move forward aggressively, and one of those days was Helena out at Ikea. At Ikea, she met a friend, and they started talking about the pink house. "Well, hey, in the shack living of course good friends of mine," said her friend. "Controls up a meeting. We want to talk to them, "said Helen. "Are you kidding?" "Not the slightest," and so it was. My friend called and explained the situation and was told that the pair really did not want to sell, do not even try. They liked it and the neighbors were kind and nice and the grass was green, and the view to Ribersborg and the Sound was amazing, blah blah blah. But his friend had had their instructions and answered that we were not going to listen to the ear. If they wanted to stay, no matter what we paid, they had to say it to us directly, if so, and would not it be fun to meet Zlatan and Helena for a cup of coffee? It was not all that received it. It thought that the pair apparently, and Helena and I got there, and I noticed at once, I have the upper hand. I am, this we fix, but Nevertheless, it was twice. When I walked in through those gates, I felt great and small at once, both the kid who gaped before those houses in the Mile and the guy who was the biggest star. In the beginning I just went around there with Helena and checked out, "Nice, nice, what nice you are. "I took care of me and was polite and stuff. But as the coffee
I could not keep me any longer. "We are here because you live in our house," I said, and laughed when this man, great fun as well and certainly, certainly, I had a twinkle in his eyes. The was humor in a way, a movie replica. But I continued: "Think of it as a joke if you want. But I'm serious. I intend to buy the house, I will ensure that you will be satisfied, but we should have it ", and then he continued, it was not for sale, not under any circumstances. He was very determined, or rather, he pretended to be, but now I heard. It was like in the transfer market. It was a game. The house had a price for him. You could see in his eyes and felt the atmosphere, and I explained my philosophy: I do not want to do things I do not have mastered. I am a footballer. I'm no further negotiator. I'll send a guy and the dealer. Not Mino if you thought that. Some limit had to be. I sent an attorney, and believe not that I'm no fool who just slamming my money anyway. I'm a tacticians. I'm careful. There was no "Buy it at any price", nothing like that. It was: "Make sure to get there for as little as possible. "Afterwards, we sat at home and waited. It was a little drama. But then came the call. "They sell for thirty," and then was nothing to talk about. Then we bought for thirty, and frankly, for the money, I believe that as the pair ran out. I had done it. So yes, it was not free. We had paid to run them. Yet it was only the beginning. We renovated the lunatics. We spared no one. We did not raise the wall. The municipality said no. So what should we do? We wanted a higher wall. No fans or Stalkers would have to stand outside and stare up at us. Therefore, we dug ourselves down instead. We lowered the plot. There was a lot of things like that. We showered and the was not always popular. The houses in that area tend to be inherited. Daddy's money pays and no one from my kind of background has been moved before. Here is the upper class straight through, and not a single person talking to me, no one says fattest house and stuff.Here, says the distinguished and exemplary. But I wanted to show that a guy that I could get in here with your own money. It was important for me from the beginning, and I had not counted that everyone would applaud. Yet, I was surprised. Damn, they do so and so? They were doing so at all times. They whined. But we ignored the and built that house just as we wanted it.
It was Helen who was. She was how careful any time and she took the help of variousmuseums and whatever it was. I was not as committed like her. I do not have the same feeling for such things, but a contribution, I stood for. Theground floor of the red Fund wallpaper I put up a big pictures of two dirty feet, and when my friends showed up, they said all of them, cruelly,violently, the cool full house, that is. "But what's the filthy feet! How can you have shit on the wall? " "Idiots," I replied. "It's those feet that have paid for everything." 18
I remember when I saw him at training. It was pretty nice, I must say, the feeling that something was the same despite all klubbyten. But I could not think of anything better than to yell: "Hörrudu, are you following me or what?" "Of course. Someone has to make sure you have cornflakes in the fridge. " "But I refuse to live in your mattress this time." "If you please, you do not have." It felt good to have with Maxwell of Inter. He had come a few months before me, but he had injured his knee and drove rehab, so it took a while before I saw him. I do not think I know a more elegant player. He is the offensive Brasse hill who dare to play nice far down the defense, and often I enjoy just watching him play. Yet, I am sometimes surprised that he had been so good. So please guys usually not compete in football. You need to be tough and hard and I felt that I had been there for years at Juventus, and more than ever a team was I have been involved and contributed to the league victory in the first year with Inter. Not just the games, but at all by my attitude. The full where larvet with brass in one corner and Argentines in the other was gone, and for each month was strengthened my status in the club, and it noticed Moratti understood. He was good with me and made sure that the family liked it, and on the field, I continued to shine. We went up into the top league again. The whole dismal nineties when Inter never really got was gone. It had been as I hoped. The entire team had lifted when I came, and I took the course, and Mino, we had a good negotiating position. It was time to renegotiate the contract, and no one can be there better than the Mino. He drove all their tricks against Moratti. I have no idea how did the talking. I was never with the negotiations, but there was talk about Real Madrid wanted me and he drove hard on the and put pressure on Moratti. But frankly, it was not needed as much. State
was a different time. When I signed for Inter, I was so desperate to get from Juventus to Moratti could easily exploit it. In this business you always aim at the opponent's weak points. It is part of the game. You put the knife to her throat and during the negotiations he lowered my wages four times. But he would have recognized it. It was the Mino and I agree, and now Moratti was not as strong anymore. Given my role for the team, he can not afford to lose me, and it was not long before he said: "Give the guy what he wants." I got an awesome deal. Later, when the information is trickling out snack, it was even if I was the world's highest paid footballer. But then no one knew anything about it. One of Morattis requirement was that the hearing was kept secret for six, seven months, but eventually it would slap, we knew, and frankly, the big thing would be no salary as such, but the hype it created. Seen you as the world's first paid, you are perceived differently. Another lamp is turned on.The crowd, players, supporters, sponsors begin to see yourself with new eyes, and how is it they say? Anyone who has, he gets more. When you reach the top, continue up. It's pure psychology. Any interested person who is number one. The market works so well I personally do not think anyone is worth that much money, I knew my value on the market, and I had it in the blood: never again be fueled by the Ajax transaction. But it is true, with high salaries are also lot of other, more pressing, for example. Then you need to deliver and continue to shine. But I liked it too. I wanted to have pressure on me. I stitched up and running on it, and at mid-season, I had made ten goals in the team and it was hysteria everywhere. It was "Ibra, Ibra" and in February we seemed to have secured the league again. Nothing seemed able to stop us. But then I had sensations in the knee. I tried to ignore it, saying: Ah, what then, there is nothing. But it came back, and got worse each time. We had won our group in Champions League and it looked promising there too. But in the eighth finals, we met Liverpool in the first match at Anfield, I felt that that damage limited me. We made a disaster matches and lost two-nil. Afterwards, I had really bad, and now I could not put it off any longer. I let myself be investigated
and soon came the news. I had inflammation of the patellar tendon. Patellar tendon is an extension of the thigh muscle and I stood over the league match against Sampdoria. It was no big deal, I thought, neither of me or the team. Sampdoria were not Liverpool. The guys should do without me. We had an incredible victory suite in the league. We even had broken records in the number of matches won in a row in Serie A. But it did not help. Against Sampdoria locked up the game. It was one of the first signs that something was going wrong, and we seemed to lose. Hernan Crespo saved us in the final minutes with a nod. We got one-one with a cry of distress, and so it went. After I had been injured, either now depended on it or not, lost our fluency. We played a one-also against the Roma and lost to Napoli, and I heard of Mancini and the Second, they sounded worried. I have to play again. We did not lose our edge in the series, and I was sent for treatment. My recovery has to go quickly and soon after, March 8, 2008, I was put in towards Reggina. Reggina were second last in the league, and it is really to discuss whether it was necessary to have me on the plane. I was in pain. I'm on analgesic injections and Reggina should not be a problem. But the nervousness had spread on the team. Confidence had vanished during my absence, and for each week, Roma and Milan brought in on us in the table, so I guess that Mancini did not dare take a chance. From a been a win machine, we felt now is not even safe in the bottom of the law in the league, and I could not say no, especially not as the doctor said okay, albeit under pressure. In some sense belonged not there where my knee. The management head over my legs, in a sense. A football player at my level is a bit like an orange. The club squeeze it until it does not is no liquid left, and it's time to sell the guy. It sounds harsh maybe, but that's it. It is part of the game. We are owned by the club and we are not there to build our health but to win, and sometimes do not even know the doctors where to stand. Will they see the players as patients or as products of the team? They do not work in the clinic, after all, they are part of the team, and you have yourself. You can say no. You can even with a shout: This is not possible. I have to hurt. Nobody knows your body better than yourself. But the pressure is high and often would you like Lira and ignore the consequences. There is a risk. Maybe I can do some good today, but fuck for both me and the club in the long run. It's always like that matters. What should you do?And who should you listen to? Physicians, after all, is more conservative, or coach who wants to have with you, and often only think
about the game for the moment, like: Fuck tomorrow, be sure to win today? I'm against Reggina and Mancini was right - at least short term. I shot my fifteenth goal of the match and led us to victory and of course, it was a relief. But it also meant that the club wanted me to play the next game and next and I bought what's up. What else would I do? I had several syringes and more Voltaren, and all the time I heard or felt: We need to Ibra. We can not afford to let him rest, and I blame no one really. I was not patient, as I said. I was the one who led us since I started the club, and the decided that I would be in our rematch in the Champions League against Liverpool, and it was really important both for me and for team. Champions had become a small obsession. I wanted to win the damn tournament. But since we lost the first meeting, we were whipped to win big to advance, and of course, we tried everything. We tore. But our game did not now either, and I was not on top, not at all. I missed chances and in the fiftieth minute we got Burdisso sent off. It was worthless. We had to fight even harder. It did not help and I felt more and more: This is not possible. I have to hurt. I agree that destroy me, and finally I walked off with pain in the knee and I forget it. Away fans booed and whistled at me, and you make sure, that hurt, you ask yourself all the time: Should I play or get off, and how much is you willing to sacrifice for this match? Not that you know, you can not know. It's like roulette, you can bet and hope you do not lose all: an entire season, or whatever. But I had stayed long on the plan for the coach wanted it and because I thought I could mean something for the team. But the only thing that happened was that the injury got worse and we lost by one-zero. I had put my health and not won shit, and the English fans in place screaming at me. I and the English audience and the press has never really gone up and now I was called "Petulant prima donna" and "Europe's most overrated player" and normally I only triggered by such things. It's like when parents wrote on the lists to get rid of me. I fight even harder and show those bastards. But now I had no body to retaliate with. I was in pain and mood in the team was lousy. Everything was transformed. The whole of the old harmony and optimism was gone. Something is wrong with Inter, said the journalists and Roberto Mancini said he would leave the club. He would stand, he said. Then he returned it. Suddenly he would not stick at all, and trust in him declined. What did he want? As a coach, you can not dilly-dally on the way: I do not stop. I'm staying. It is
frivolous, and now we continued to lose points. We had a great lead in the top league, but now narrowed it all the time. We only got one-one against Genoa and lost at home against Juventus. I was there then too. I, my fool, could not say no. But afterwards, I had so much pain that I could hardly walk, and I remember I came into the dressing room and wanted to tear down the whole damn interior and shouted at Mancini and was totally crazy. It had enough now. I need to rest and get rehab. I could not be as dramatic as it was in the league. I had no choice. I had to get off. But believe me, it was not easy. It was crap. You sit there. The others go out and train. You trudge to the gym and out of the window you see your teammates on the pitch. It's like watching a movie You should be in, but do not get. It hurts. The feeling is worse than the damage itself, and I decided to escape the circus of the club. I went to Sweden. It was ours. It was beautiful, but I enjoyed not of it, not in the least. I had only one thought in my head and it was to get well again, and I let myself be examined by team physician, and I remember that he was upset. How could I have been playing so long on the syringes? It was then only two months for the European Championship in Switzerland and Austria, and now it seemed even the championship be in danger for me. I had pushed myself too hard, it was a bitch and I had to do everything possible to get well again. I called Rickard Dahan. Dahan was physiotherapist in the MFF, and we knew each other since my time in the club. We started to work hard together, and I got tips on a doctor. He was in Umeå and I flew there and had syringes that killed cells in the patellar tendon, and I got better. But far from good, and I could still does not play. It was hopeless and I was angry and irritable and no fun to deal with, and the league continued oflytet. In Siena was able to secure the Scudetto guys, a profit only, and all was clear and Patrick Vieira also shot one-zero and supporters in the stands began to dance and sing. It seemed to go the way, after all, and Balotelli, the young talent who jumped in instead of me, did yet another goal. It could not go wrong simply, not against a club like Siena. But Siena equalized, there were two-two, it was insanely exciting and only ten minutes left of the match. Then Materazzi felled and the blown penalty, and the people trembled. Now it just has to be objective. Everything seemed to be at stake, and this period was Julio Cruz, Argentina, ordinary
penalty takers. But Materazzi, the guy has temper and authority, as we all know the plan, and he said, type: I do not care about that. I take punishments, and I'm guessing that many were confident that, after all. Materazzi was thirty-four. He had a routine, he had been involved in a decidedly World Cup final. But he hit a useless punishment. The goalkeeper saved and supporters screamed in pain and anger, you make sure. There was a feeling of total disaster, and certainly, anyone could handle it, it was well Materazzi. He is like me.He triggered the hatred and desire for revenge. But it may not have been easy. Ultra fans were furious and aggressive and the newspapers were wild, and none of the club was doing fine, not at all. While we had missed our chance Roma had beaten Atalanta and keyed in on us. Roma seemed to have the initiative now and there was only one game left in the league, and it worried Us of course. It worried us into hell! We had the Scudetto in our hand. Most had seen it that far. But I had been hurt and our management team with nine points had shrunk to a single and it was no wonder that many felt that we had the odds against us, and probably also the gods. The low-mass fears in the air. It did not feel good. What happened to Inter? Why does it not? It was like that snack everywhere. In fact, if we lost and played a draw against Parma and Roma beat bottom team Catania, Roma which definitely should be doing, would we fall on the goal line and lose everything we had believed we had secured. I was back in Milan now and I still was not healthy. But it helped not, and now heard all that stuff again, and now more than ever: Ibra has to play, we must have with him. The pressure on me was sick. I had never experienced anything like it. I had been away on rehabilitation in six weeks, and I was poorly trained. Last time I played a match where the twenty-ninth of March. Now it was mid-May, and everyone knew that I could hardly be in excellent shape. But no one took any account of it and I blame no one, not at all. I was seen as Inter's key players, and soccer in Italy is more important than life itself, especially in these kinds of situations. It was years ago there was a kind of excitement in the league in the last round, and it was Milan to Rome, the two big cities against each other, and people hardly spoke otherwise. Did you
hit on TV was the sports programming incessantly and constantly mentioned my name. Ibra, Ibra. Is there any chance that he plays? Does he? Is he good, despite the break? No one knew. All talked about it, and the fans screamed, type: Ibra, help us! It was not easy to think of my health and on the European Championships that were waiting. The match against Parma was buzzing in my head all the time, and went I like, I saw myself on the front pages with headlines such as "Set up for the team and the city," and I remember Mancini. He came up to me. It was just days before the team would leave. Roberto Mancini is a bit of a snob. He likes shiny suits and handkerchiefs, and the type of stuff and I had never had anything against him, not at all. But his position in the club had deteriorated since he liked about his job. I mean, either you leave or they leave you. You do not say: I want to go, and stop. Many had irritated on it. It needed stability in club, and no uncertainty about where the hell the coaches had their focus. But now, Mancini fought to regain their status. He was so badly required. The most important day of his tränarliv approached and nothing could go wrong. So it was not exactly surprising that he looked out demanding. "Yes," I said. "I know that your injury is completely healed." "No." "But I do not care about it, frankly," he said. "To do right, I guess." "Good! I intend to bring against Parma, no matter what you say. You can either play from the start, or you start on the bench. But I must have with you. We must win this. " "I know. I want to play well. " I wanted it more than anything else. I did not want to be away when the Scudetto would be decided. It would be such a thing you do not want to live with. rather pain in the weeks and months than to miss such a fight. But it was true, I knew nothing about my form. I did not know how my knee would react in a game situation or if I dared to go at full speed, and perhaps sensed Mancini myhesitation, and he did not want his message would misinterpreted. He sent Mihajlović on me too. You remember him. He and I had our hatmatch when Iplayed in Juventus. I had skulls him, or selected a headbutt, and he had shouted all sorts of crap to me. But all that washistory. What happens on the pitch, stop
on the field, and often I've just been friends with guys I fightats with, perhaps because weare equal, I do not know. I like warriors and Mihajlović was a fighter. He had always done everything to win. Now he had added to that player andbecome the second coach Mancini and sincerely I said, few guys have learned so much about adding a freekick which Mihajlović. He was a master at it. He had made up thirty frisparksmål in Serie A. He was a good guy.He was disheveled and large and to the point. "Ibra" he said. "I know what you want," I said. "Okay, but you should know one thing. You do not work out. You do not do shit. But youshould even against Parma, and you will help us take home Scudetto. " "I'll try," I said. "You should not try. You should, "he said, and then stack we go with the bus. 19
SOMETIMES IS JAZZ STILL in the walls. There are memories of clubs that can poison, as Inter's entire nineties. Although the team had Ronaldo then won not the league just once. The club fell all the time at the finish line. It was the 1997-98 season, for example. I was sixteen, seventeen and knew nothing about Ravelli and the gang, or much about Sweden at all. But I was able to Inter. I Ronaldo could. I studied his feints and his acceleration. There were many who did, as I said. But no one pushed it as far as I am. I did not miss a single detail. Without him I would have been a different kind of player, I think, and I'm not a guy who very easily become impad. I've met all sorts. I sat next to the Swedish king at a dinner in Barcelona, and okay, maybe I was thinking: Am I wrong fork or do you say when it should be Your Majesty? But still, it was quiet. I am. I run on only. But with Ronaldo it was different. When I was at Inter, he played in Milan, and there is a video on YouTube when I chew gum and just look and look at him as if I can not believe he and I are on the same plane. He had such a weight. What a keen eye for the game. A quality in every movement, and since that 1997-98 season, he was completely and Inter incredible. They won the UEFA Cup and Ronaldo did twenty-five goals
and was voted the world's best players for the second consecutive year. They dominated Serie A. Yet they lost in early spring, just as we are now facing fight against Parma. Inter had bad luck and trouble and shit and it was played a classic match at the Stadio delle Alpi in Turin against Juventus in the spring of 1998. Only one point differed law alone, or two. It was pure seriefinal and incredible excitement in the air, and Ronaldo dribbler in the penalty area on the left. But He blocks were brutal and the whole arena screamed. People were like mad. Stadium cooked. But the judge never blew. He let the game continue and Juventus won the match with one-zero and then the entire league, and it was there in that moment it was settled. So it is usually considered. It was Inter's evil second. There was still talk about it. It was seen as a crystal clear sentences.But nothing happened, and there was anger and protests throughout Italy and talk to the judge was bribed, or that all the judges were bribed and corrupt and stupid in general, and all older people in the club had vivid memories of that stuff, especially as it happened several things like the club then. The season before had also had the Scudetto in his hand, but lost in the final stage in a cruel game against Lazio and the following year was Ronaldo hurt. Then everything went to Hell, just as if the team lost its engine and its fuel and Inter finished eighth in the series, a base record, I think. Nobody said it right out. No one wanted to bring doom are. But many thought about that before our match against Parma. There were misgivings. People remembered and nojade, and so was the one where the goal that Materazzi missed. The guys had several chances to decide the league, but failed every time. There were little things all the time, bad luck, accidentally. There were all sorts of crap, and certainly, all were tagged against Parma, ready to do everything. But that in itself could also be a problem. It was whispered about that. The pressure was likely to be too large. It could occur lockups, and club management forbade us to speak with the press. We would have full concentration and Mancini has always held a press conference before matches he was silent too, and the only one who said a word was Moratti. He showed up at our hotel the night before the match and said nothing to
reporters than "Wish us good luck. There is a need ", and nothing was less tough to Parma were whipped to win over us to keep its place in the league. There was the same deadly seriousness of the opposing team as with us. We should not get something for free, and just before we went to the stadium came the news that we would not have the support of our own fans. It was a fair thing. Roma fans had not been for safety reasons to travel to the away match against Catania and then would not we also get have with our fans in Parma. Then got quite a few to get into anyway. It was back and forth.Every little thing was covered and discussed and I remember Mancini. He got game when he heard that Gianluca Rocchi would condemn. "The devil is always shit at us," he sputtered, and the sky were dark clouds. It looked like rain and I started on the bench. I had not played in a long time, and Mancini began by Balotelli and Cruz on the top. "But where prepared, "he said to me," get ready to jump in, "and I nodded. We were all then under a small roof and heard the first drops of rain fall. Soon rattled it over us and the match started, and the crowd booed. It was a terrible pressure, and we dominated. We pressed on and Cruz and Maicon had incredible chances, but no, it did not work. It seemed hopeless, and we are there on the bench following the game, of course, entirely on tenterhooks. We yelled and cursed and hoped and chamfered, but the whole time we glanced at the large notice board in the arena. It was not just our fight. It was about Roma as well and so far it was zerozero there too, and then it was quiet. Then led we are still the league. Then it was our Scudetto. But then flashed it to. The whole team jumped. No goals for Roma for God's sake? It would be too cruel. It can not lead the league all year and then losing in the final seconds. It should be fucking banned. But yes, Roma had a zero-against Catania and Suddenly, we were second in the series. It was not true and I looked at all on the bench, physiologist, physician, author materials, all those who were in the nineties, they remembered. They turned pale: Is it about to happen again? Is the old curse back? I've never seen anything like it. The color flowed from them, and it felt even on the plane.We're talking about sheer terror, nothing else. This was not happen. It was horrible, it was a disaster, and the rain just fell. It poured down and the home crowd shouted for joy. The result was their advantage of Catania lost, stuck Parma left in the league. But for us it felt
like death itself, and the players became increasingly tense. I saw it to them. They had crosses on their backs, and I can not say I was particularly up himself, of course not, but anyway, I already had three Scudetto and I was not aware of that old curse. I was too young for it and the minute I became more focused and more psyched. It was as if it was burning in the body. I was in and turn this how much pain as I had. I refused to accept anything else, and in half when it was still nil-nil and consistent profits low at Roma, I received orders to warm up, and I remember it so well: everyone looked at me, Mancini, Mihajlovic, all of them, material author, physiologist, all, and I saw it on them. They were hoping for me. It appeared in the eyes. They stared pleadingly at me, and it is clear, it was impossible not to feel the pressure. "Arrange it here for us," they said, one after another. "I will, I will!" But I did not come in after half either. It took another six minutes, and so I stepped into the plane. The grass was wet. It was hard to run and I was not fully trained, and the pressure was ridiculous big. But anyway, I had never been tagged in my life, and I remember I almost immediately tried a shot from the center, just outside the penalty area. It did not work. A few minutes later I tried again. I missed as well. It felt like I was in the same position again and again without get something out of it, and sixty-second minute it happened again. I got the ball in the same position. It was Dejan Stanković that suited, and I pulled a guy who threw himself at me and ran towards goal and every time I ran to the ball flew a small jet of water up and then saw I have a position and I shot, not a smash hit, not at all. It was a ground shot and it went against the left post and into the goal, and instead of making a violent målgest only did I and waited, and from the bench and from the plane, they came all of them, first Patrick Vieira, I believe, and so Balotelli, then the whole gang, materials, machine, magazine guys, every one, all those who looked at me so appealingly, and I looked at them: the horror was released, and Dejan Stanković threw themselves down on the wet grass. It looked as if he prayed and thanked the gods. It was absolutely hysterical and high up there in the stands cheered Massimo Moratti, he almost danced at his place of honor, and it felt everywhere, in every club, every single one. A stone had fallen from their hearts. People got back the color of the
face. It was much more than a goal. It was as if I saved them from drowning some, and I saw the audience. Behind boos broke cheering from our fans up, and I made a gesture with his hand against ear: What I hear, like, and then came on stage even more and finally when the uproar subsided continued the match, and it was true. Nothing was guaranteed yet. Only a single goal from Parma and we were back to square one, and the nerves came back, not the old fear, not at all. But no one dared to breathe out. Worse things than an acknowledgment has happened in football. But then in the seventy eighth minute dribbler Maicon on right side, past one, two, three guys and then he hit a post and I rushed forward. I came simultaneously with a back, but got your foot on the ball and I shot on the half volley at goal and you can imagine. I had been gone for two months and journalists had written shit about me and about the team. It had snackats that Inter have lost the winning instinct, and that everything was about to slip away and I was not a real champion, not as Totti and Del Piero, or even that I was not good when it really was. But now I had shown them, and I sank to his knees in the soaking wet grass, just waiting to be attacked by them all again, and I felt throughout the body: this was great, and not much later was blown off and the match was our Scudetto. Inter had not won in seventeen years. They had had a long, heavy period, full of suffering and bad luck and shit. But I had come, and now had we won the league two years running, and it was full circus everywhere. People ran into the floor and tore at us, and inside the locker room all shouted and jumped. But so silent people. Mancini came in and he had not always been so popular, especially when he wanted on his future of the club and failed in the Champions League. But now he had taken the gold league and the players came out, one by one, a little solemn as there, and took his hand and said, "Thank you, you stuff it for us." But this step Mancini up to me, quite high of the victory and all congratulations. It was just that: he got no thanks from me. I said "go ahead", and then laughed, people, fucking like Ibra, and afterwards when I spoke to reporters asked several of them: "Who you dedicate this victory?" "To you," I replied, "to the media, to everyone who doubted me and disseminated, and Inter!" That is how I works. I always think of revenge. There are in late
Rosengard, that is what drives me, and I will not forget what Moratti told the media: "All Italy was against us, but Zlatan Ibrahimović was the symbol of our struggle." I was chosen as the best player in Serie A this year and not much later it came out there that maybe I was the world's highest paid football player, and then everything went crazy. I could hardly go out and wherever I went was the resurrection. Everyone thought that I understood negotiated contract to me after the game against Parma. But the deal had been seven, eight months earlier, and I thought: My God, Moratti could hardly have regretted it now, not after the conclusion, and I felt, now, life has turned again. Now, the clouds dispersed. Now I have to beat back. But of course, there was still cause for concern. I had noticed it right after the Parma match. My knee had swollen up again. I had never been healthy and I think it came as a shock to many when I was forced to abandon the Italian Cup final and it was sad of course. We had the chance of doubles, to take home both cup and league. But without me beat Roma revenge in the finals, and EM was approaching and I had no idea if my knee would hold. I had pushed myself too hard that season. I would have to pay a price. 20
I did not go out very often anymore. I stayed home with my family and this time I was recently become a father of two. Little Vincent was now also. Vincent! He was so nice and his name came from the Italian word for the winner, and it liked me. He had been born during a full circus He also understood. Yet he was number two and the media took it a bit easier. But frankly, two kids! There is no game. I began to understand how my mom had it in my childhood with all the kids and cleaning work, no parallels in other course. We had a very good, I and Helena, insolent well understood. But I suspected at least how hard it must have been for the mother, and after the drama with Maxi, I had become quite nojig: What is this rash? Why Vincent breathing so heavily? Why is my stomach so distended? All that stuff. We had a new baby girl then. Our last nanny had met a guy while she lived with us in Malmö the summer and resigned, and we had a little panic. We needed help and we wanted a Swedish for the sake of
the children and Helen phoned employment services abroad section to discuss the matter. How would we do? We could not directly place an ad: Zlatan and Helena are babysitting. It would hardly attract right people. Helena pretended that we were ambassadors or something. Swedish diplomat family seeking a nanny, she wrote in an ad and we had over three hundred responses. Helena read all. She was careful, as always, and I guess she assumed that it would be difficult. But she got stuck directly to a. There was a girl from a village in Dalarna, and it was just one point apparently. Helen wanted to have someone from the country. She goes from one small community, and this girl was a trained preschool teacher and was able language and liked to practice, as Helena, and seemed generally nice and clever. I put me in it. But Helen phoned that girl without telling us who she was. She was still ambassador's wife, type, and the girl seemed interested and easy to talk to, and Helena mailed: "Sample Work for us a week!" They decided to take Helena's car to the airport and fly together to Milan with the boys, and why would the girl first to get to Lindesberg. Her Dad drove her. But before they went off sent Helena for travel booking, and then began to wonder girl. According tickets called this Diplomatic family's children Maximilian and Vincent Ibrahimović, and it was a little weird. In and of itself could well be called diplomatic families as well, is not it? Perhaps there were many Ibrahimović in the country, what did she know? She asked her father about it. "Look at this," she said. "It looks as if you are going to be a nanny to Zlatan's children," he replied, and then wanted the girl to drop out. Help as well! She was scared. It sounded well cool. On the other hand, it seemed too late to pull out now. It was the tickets booked and everything, and so they stuck away, She and her father, and now she was really nervous, she said. But Helen ... what can you say about Helen? She's Evil Bitch Super Deluxe when she addresses up. It takes some courage to go up to such a woman. But honestly, she is incredibly relaxed. She is an expert at getting people feel comfortable and during that trip, she and the girl a long time to get acquainted with each other, far too long. At the airport the problems started. They would fly with Easy Jet. Just
Easy Jet flew to Milan on the day. But something was wrong with the plane. Flights was delayed one hour, then two, three, six hours, twelve, eighteen hours. It was not wise. It was pure scandal and everyone was tired and irritable and insane, and eventually I got game. I could not stand. I called a pilot, I know, he was flying a private plane available to me. "Get them," I said to him, and so it was. Helen and the girl picked out her luggage and then they were taken to a private plane, and I saw that there was catering on board with chocolate dipped strawberries, and the thing, and I was hoping they got it good. They deserved it after the ordeal, and finally I got hit girl. She was pretty nervous as well, what I understood. But we got along well and since then she has helped and stayed with us. She is part of the family, you could say, and we could not manage a day without her. The kids are crazy about her, and she and Helena is that siblings and train and studying together. Every morning at nine o'clock, they go and train together. Overall, we received some new routines and habits. One year we took off to St. Moritz. I felt at home there, do you think? Not really! I had never been skiing. Pulling to the Alps with my mom and Dad was like to stick to the moon, nature. St. Moritz was the fine folks. They drank champagne for breakfast. Champagne? I was sitting in underwear and wanted cereal. Olof Mellberg was also, trying to teach me to go. It went no further. I flew away like an idiot while Mellberg and the other in our gang was dancing down the the slopes. I looked absolutely ridiculous and to be on the safe side, I pulled on me a mug like that hood and large sunglasses. No one would know who I was. But one day I ended up in a chair lift and then sat an Italian guy next to me with his dad, and that kid was Staring. No problem, I thought. He does not recognize me in the hood. Not a chance. But after a while the guy said, it must have been my cursed Nose: "Ibra?" I FLATLY DENY. What do you mean Ibra? Who is it? But what I had for it? Helena began to laugh. It was like the funniest thing she had known, and Guy continued with his Ibra, Ibra, and finally I said, Behold, I am, and then there was a bit solemn silence. The guy was tokimpad. It was only one problem. He would not be so impressed when he saw me go, and I wondered, how could I solve that? I was a sports star. I could not expose myself as a sweep of the hill. But it was worse than I
thought. The talk was spreading. A great crowd showed up, and all were there to see me go. I had problems with the gloves. Was very careful how they sat around the fingertips. I was sure the jacket too, and with his pants and bonds, especially with them, because it was something I've seen. People were doing bindings all the time, snapped at them and by them, and who knew, maybe I was most careful professional who would have an absolute right closure before I flew away like Ingemar Stenmark. But hard work was, of course, the more I was doing, the greater were the expectations. Will he tricks, type? Shoot the gun with the football legs? I had to correct the scarf too and the hat and hair, and finally got tired of that gang. They pulled away. We do not care about him as well. I was certainly Ibra, but you can not look at me for all eternity for it, and I could calmly go down as the blueberries I was, and Olof Mellberg and all wondered, "Where have you been? What have you done? " "I had to get some." But mostly, it was hard work, of course. The summer after the match against Parma and second league victory with Inter, I would play the European Championship in Switzerland and Austria, and I was still worried about my knee. It was written much about my injury and I spoke with Lagerback about it, and neither I nor anyone else knew if I could run at full speed in the championship. We had Russia, Spain and Greece in our group, and it did not look quite easy. I have a contract with Nike. Mino was received that the deal, but I went for me, and certainly, it's been fun often. We've done some great films together, when I trick with a stick of gum, for example, and kicks it up in my mouth and my dad is actually the and pretend worried that I will get it in the neck, and so above all: Nike was involved in building Zlatan Court on Cronmans road in Rosengard, where I played as a kid. It was great. The plan was made by the soles of old sneakers. It was a nice rubber grip and electric lighting and stuff. The kids would not that we are forced to stop because it got too dark, and we sat there an inscription: Here's my heart. Here is my story. Here are my game. Bring it on. Zlatan. It felt great to give something back, and I was there and inaugurated the plan and you can imagine. "Zlatan, Zlatan, "cried the children. It was full uproar. It was a comeback and I was quite touched, frankly, and lirade with the kids in the dark and felt, wow, this did not you brat from Cronmans way!
But in EM I painted from Nike. Nike had gone hard with all of us who had the contract would have the same color of the shoes, and I thought: Okay then, run it, I do not care which. But as it turned out, another guy would get a different color though. I took it up with Nike: Why are you talking shit? All was supposed to be equal. We have decided it, they said, and I said what I thought about it, and then they changed their minds. Then suddenly I would get a different color too. But then it was no fun anymore. Things like that, do not have to nag you to, and I kept my old shoes. It may sound silly, perhaps. But people must be able to speak plainly. The first match was against Greece. I had Sotirios Kyrgiakos at me. Kyrgiakos is a talented back. He had long hair and a ponytail. Every time I jumped and ran, I had his hair in the face. I got hair in your mouth almost. He marked me hard. He made a good job, no doubt about it. He locked me. But he relaxed a couple, three seconds and more, I did not. I got a throw-in and began to dribble and suddenly Kyrgiakos far away, and when I got space. I shot straight up in the corner. It was a perfect start to the Championship. We won two-nil, and my family who were there took care of itself. We had all learned lessons from the World Cup in Germany. I played football. I could not be tour guides as well. Everyone took care of themselves, and it felt good. But my knee hurt and was swollen and we had Spain in the next game. Spain was one of the favorites in the tournament. They had beaten Russia four-one in the first match, and it would be tough, we knew, and there was much talk about my injury. Should I play or not? I was not sure. It hurt, and absolutely, I gladly ignored the pain. It was the European Championships and I could have run with a knife in the leg. But in football, as I said, there is always a short and a long perspective. It is the match today, and so the matches tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. You can sacrifice yourself in a fight and make a great effort, but will be eliminated. We had Spain now and then Russia, and so the quarter-finals if we went further, and there was talk that I would play on painkiller injections. In Italy I had done it many times. But team doctor was opposed to it. Pain is your body's warning signal. It is possible to remove the pain temporarily, but then you risk a serious injury. It's a bit of gambling. A game with injuries. How important is the match? How much should
we push to get the guy good today? Is it worth the risk that he will be gone for weeks or months later? It's the sort of considerations, and traditional doctors are more cautious in Sweden than in continental Europe. The guy looks more like a patient than as a football machine. But it is never simple, and as a player you are often at himself. There are games that feels so important to you to say: Fuck the future! I do not care the consequences. The only thing is, you can not escape the future and play the national team, there is always your club in the background. It is he who pays the big bucks, and I was a big investment. I did not break. Unable to sacrifice myself for an international that nothing had been with the Inter-making, and the national team's doctor got a call from the club doctor. That kind of talk can easily be heated. Two interests are of course against each other. The club wants their players for league and national team needs the same guy for the European Championships. It was also only a month until the preseason would launch, and I was Inter's key players.Still, both doctors were sensible people. It was a completely quiet conversation, I think, and they agreed. I would not bet on syringes and I received treatment in the hours of a naprapath, and it was decided that I would play, after all, against Spain. It was me and Henke on top, and it felt good. But Spain was skillful. They had a corner early. Xavi played the card of David Villa as played backward to Silva, who was free and got a post to Fernando Torres. Torres battled for the ball with Petter Hansson but came step ahead, and bumped or almost hip in a-zero, and there was heavy of course. No game to acknowledge against Spain. But the Spaniards fell and tried to secure the victory and their place in the quarterfinals and they gave us the chance to chance, and I forgot about my knee. I poured on. I tore and thirty-fourth minute, I got a nice long ball from Frederick Stoor in the penalty area and was free with goalkeeper Casillas, and I tried to hit the ball directly into the goal. It was that kind of situation that Van Basten told me about and Capello and Galbiati trained me before, that type of occasions you must be able to exploit. But I missed, I did not hit the ball and half a second later, I had Ramos in front of me, the young star hill at Real. But hell, I was not going to give me. I blockade, I kept away from him and fired again in a small gap between him and another
back, and the ball crossed the line. It was a one-and momentum in the match and I was definitely in shape. I had opened the tournament brilliant, but still, it did not help. When the referee blew for half and adrenaline disappeared, then I knew, I was in pain. The knee was not good at all. What would I do? It was not an easy decision. I had been crucial to the team, but I have to keep. It was at least one game left and our position looked good. We had three points from Greece match, and although we lost now, we could play us a spot in the quarterfinals on its own merits in the last group stage match against Russia. Therefore I went to Lars Lagerback during the break. "I was very hurt," I said. "Oh, shit." "I think we get to choose." "Okay." "What is most important to you: the second half now, or Russia match?" "Russia," he said. "We have a better chance against them!" That is why I was put on the bench in the second half. Lagerback picked up Markus Rosenberg instead, and it seemed promising. Spain had many chances in the second half. But we were away, and yes, it was obvious that I was gone.There was a quality game that was gone, a moment of somewhat erratic. I had been in great shape and I swore on my lap. That's when hell. But the guys were fighting and when ninety minutes had passed it was still one-one. It seemed to go the way and we nodded encouragingly at each other on the bench. Should we mess this anyway? But two minutes into additional time was Mark Rosenberg of the ball in a bad way far down on our court. Lagerback jumped up and was crazy. Fucking idiot to judge! It was a crystal clear free-kick, he said. But the judge let the game go, and it was angry faces. Many on the bench felt even before we had the referee against us, and people were screaming and lived on but not for long. The disaster came. Joan Capdevila who took the ball from Rosenberg struck a long cross ball and Fredrik Stoor tried to stop it. But he was completely exhausted. All had torn the life out of him, David Villa raced past him and Petter Hansson and also shot two-one, and almost immediately blew the referee of the match and it is easy to say, there was a heavy loss. In the next match against Russia was crushed us. I was in pain and it felt as if Russia was better in everything and we went out of the tournament and we
was totally sick disappointed. What began so well was nothing. It was cruel. But as always,when one is gone, something new and just before the European Championships, I had been told that Roberto Mancini was sacked as coach of Inter. He would be replaced by a guy named Jose Mourinho. I had not met him yet. But he hadalready surprised me. He tied me to the themselves even before we met. He would be a guy I could die for just about. 21
I HAD YET NO ONE really knows him. But of course, Mourinho was The Special One back then, and I had heard much about him of course. He should be cocky and he held shows in his press conferences and said exactly what he thought. But I knew nothing really, and I thought Type: He is well that Capello, a tough leader, and be happy for me. I like the style.But I was wrong, at least in part. Mourinho is Portuguese, and he likes to be at the center. He manipulates the players like no other. Yet it tells us nothing. The guy learned a lot from Bobby Robson. Robson was an old coach of England. He trained football club Sporting Clube de Portugal at the time and needed a translator, and it happened to be Mourinho.Mourinho was a great language. But Robson sensed soon the guy was different, too. It was quick in the mind of the kid and he was easy to bounce ideas off, and one day asked him Bobby Robson write a report on an opposing team. I have no idea what he expected. What can a translator as well? But Mourinho Analysis was absolutely first class apparently. Robson just amazed. Here was a guy who never played football at a high level, but still gave him more material than he ever received. What the hell, like, I must have underestimated the one where the translator. When Bobby Robson changed the club, he took the guy and Mourinho learned all the time, not just tactics and facts, but also the psychological stuff. He used to say: "When your team wins, you are part of the team. But when they lose, you're a bag of shit ", and eventually he became a trainer himself in Porto. It was in 2002. He was completely unknown then. He was still The translator for many, and Porto was perhaps a good team in Portugal. But come on, it was not a big club. Porto had stopped in the middle of the series last year and the Portuguese league, what was it? Not much in
comparison. Nobody counted on Porto in the European tournaments, least in the Champions League. But Mourinho came to the club with something entirely new: in control of every detail of the opposing team, and yes, I understood nothing of it then. But I would make, believe me. On the time he talked a lot about this achievement in football, when one team's offensive is broken and the guys suddenly have to regroup from attack the defense game. It is important seconds. In that kind of situations, a single unexpected maneuver, one small tactical error, determine and Mourinho studied the more accurate than anyone in football and got the players to think analytically and quickly.Porto became a master at exploiting those moments, and against all odds, the team won not only the Portuguese league. It went further in the Champions League and met the team that Manchester United and Real Madrid, clubs where one player earned as much as all of Porto's players together. But Mourinho and His guys won yet throughout the Champions League. It was Earth bang, and Mourinho was the hottest coach in the world. This in 2004. Roman Abramovich, the Russian billionaire, had bought Chelsea and poured money into the club, and, above all, he bought over Mourinho. But what do you think? Mourinho was accepted in England? He was a foreigner. A Portuguese. Many snobs and journalists questioned him, and at a press conference he said: "I'm not the guy from nowhere. I have won the Champions League with Porto. I'm special. I am a special one ", and it stayed there there. Mourinho was The Special One in the English media, but I guess that was said just as much of scorn as of respect, at least at first. The guy teased people. Not just because he looked like a movie star. He said the cocky stuff. He knew its value, and sometimes he went hard on the competitors. When he thought Arsene Wenger at Arsenal was fixated on his Chelsea, he was talking about Wenger as one of those Hair Free, a guy with binoculars home as well as looking into how other families have it. It was always a fucking life if Mourinho. But he was not talking only. When he came to Chelsea, the club had not won the league in fifty years. With Mourinho won it two seasons in a row. Mourinho was The Special One, and now he was then on his way to us, and given his reputation I expected harsh commands on a time. But already during the European Championships I was told that Mourinho would ring and I thought, something has happened?
He just wanted to talk. Say, fun to work together, look forward to meeting you, no strange stuff, not then, but he spoke Italian. I did not. Mourinho had never trained an Italian club. Yet he talked better than I am. He had learned the language in no time at all, on three weeks, it is said, and I could not keep up with. We walked over to the English, and I knew even then, he cares. He asks different questions, and after the match against Spain, I received an sms. I always get a lot of income. But this was from Mourinho. Well played, he wrote and gave advice, and I promise, I bounced to. It was nothing I had. Income from the trainer! I mean, I played with the squad, it was not his business. But he got involved, and I responded and got new mess. It was wow, Mourinho watching me. I felt seen. The guy may not be as tough and hard, anyway. Okay, I understood, he had a purpose in their mess. He wanted pep. Create loyalty. But I liked him immediately. It clicked. We understood each other, and I realized at once, this man works hard. He wears twice as much as everyone else. Viewing soccer around the clock and make their analysis. Never met a coach with that kind of knowledge of opposing team. It's not just the usual, watching the plays so and so, they have the and the tactics, you have to fit you for him. It was everything, every little detail, down to the third goalkeeper shoe size, type. That's it. It was a sense directly, the guy in the know. But it was before I met him. It was the European Championship and vacation, and I do not know quite what I expected. I had seen mass pictures of him. He is elegant, he is self-evident, but then, I was surprised. He was a short man with narrow shoulders, and he saw little in close to the players. Yet, I felt immediately, it vibrated around him. He made people stand in line, and he went to the guys who thought they were untouchable and ran with them. He stood there, head shorter, and did not try to ingratiate himself, not for one second. He went straight on and he said quite cold: From now on you doing this and this. Get it! And they all started listening. They ranged themselves in order to understand every nuance of his words. Not that they were afraid of him. He was not Capello, who said. He created personal ties to the players through their income and their emails and their commitment and knowledge of how we all had it with wives and children and he did not scream. People listened anyway, and everyone realized early on, the man read on. He rips hard to prepare ourselves. He built us up before
games. It was like a theater, a psychological game. He could show movies when we played poorly, and say: "Look at that! So sad! So hopeless!Those might not even be you. It must be your brothers, your lower self, "and we nodded, we agreed. We were ashamed. "So there I will not see you today!" He continued. No, no, we thought, no way. "Go out like hungry lions, as a warrior," he continued, and we shouted: "Absolutely, nothing else will do." "In the first duel will you be this ..." he went on. He hit his fist against his palm. "And in the second duel ..." He kicked the board as it flew into the room, and adrenaline injected into us, and we went out like savages. It was that kind of stuff all over time, unexpected things that triggered us, and I felt more and more, this guy gives everything for the team, then I want to do everything for him. It was a kind of quality he had. They wanted to kill him. But it was not just pep talk. The guy could pocket a few words, like get into the locker room and say, quite coolly: "You have done zero today, Zlatan, zero. You have not done a damn thing ", and in that kind of situations I shouted back. I was defending me, not because I was scared or had exaggerated respect for him, but because I knew he was right. I had not accomplish a thing, and Mourinho did not mean a thing what you did yesterday or the day before. It was currently in force. It was now: "Get out and play football." I remember one game against Atalanta. The day after I receive the prize for best foreign player and best player overall in Serie A, but in half we were in with two-zero and I had been quite invisible, and in the locker room came Mourinho against me. "You should get paid for tomorrow, huh?" "Huh, yeah." "Do you know what to do when you receive it where the price?" "No, what?" "You should be ashamed. You should blush. You should know that you have not won a damn thing. You can not get prices when you play so worthless. You should give it away that where the price for your mom, or someone who deserves it better, "he said and I felt: I'll show him, he will see that I'm worth it where the award, just wait until the second half, does not matter if it tastes blood in his mouth, I'll show him. I'm going to dominate again. There were some things like that all the time. He pumped me up and lowered me. He was a master at manipulating the team, and only one thing really bothered me, his facial expressions when we played. No matter what
I did for stuff, or what goals I shot, he looked like cold out. The was never a smile or a few gestures, or anything at all. It was as if nothing happened at all, as if it were stationary games on the plane, type, and then I was still more cruel than ever. I was quite extraordinary things, but Mourinho looked as if it rained. We met Bologna, for example, and in the twenty-fourth minute dribbler Adriano, brass on the left, and went down to the short line. He got off a post, a hard hit ball that was too low to nod and too high to shoot on the volley, and I stood right in the constricted penalty area. But I took a step forward and heels. It looked like a karatespark, just bam, straight into the net. It was totally sick. It was chosen to this year's goal later, and the crowd was crazy, people stood up and shouted and applauded, everyone, even Moratti in the official gallery. But Mourinho, what did he do? He stood in his suit with his hands along the sides of the worst rock face.What the hell is with that man, I thought. About he does not react to such a thing, what is he going to do? I spoke with Rui Faria about it. Rui Faria's Portuguese he. He is a fitness coach and Mourinho's right hand. The two have followed each other from club to club and know each other inside out. "Explain something to me," I said to him. "Okay, sure!" "I have scored this season that I do not understand how they happened. Mourinho could hardly have seen anything like it. Yet he only there like a statue. " "Take it easy, man," said Rui. "He's like that. He does not react the rest of us. " Maybe not, I thought. But anyway ... I'm going to hell then be sure to get life in him, if I have to do a miracle. In one way or another, I would get the man to rejoice. 22
I HAD A LITTLE HANG UP the Champions League. We had started the league and my knee was getting better and I shot one incredible goal after second and we were quite early a sense, we take home Scudetto this year. But understand me right, it was not so special anymore. I had won Italian league four times already, and named best player in the series. Champions League felt that the important thing. I had never taken me far in the tournament, and these days we would meet Manchester United in
the eighth finals. United was one of Europe's best teams. United had won the Champions League last year and had players like Cristiano Ronaldo, Wayne Rooney, Paul Scholes, Ryan Giggs, Nemanja Vidic, but none of them bore up the game, none of them was crucial to the club, on the contrary: you got really a feeling that United were a team. No player was bigger than the club. No coach drove the philosophy harder than Alex Ferguson, Sir Alex Ferguson may well say. Everyone knows Sir Alex. He is a god in England, and he never pulled out his stars. He rotated them. At the bottom is the Ferguson a working kid from Scotland, and when he came in 1986 as coach of United, it was not much with the club. United seemed to have its glory days behind them. All tangled, and the players drank in bars. It was considered a cool thing as well! But Ferguson took a war against that. What the fuck, drink beer! He had to discipline the boys. He took home twenty-one titles with the club and was knighted in 1999 when United won both the league, FA Cup and Champions League. So you get it, there was a rivalry between one of those guys and Mourinho. There was a constant chatter. It was Mourinho v Sir Alex and it was Cristiano Ronaldo against Zlatan. There were loads of us. We were the two poster child for Nike and we had made a commercial together, a duel in which we trick and shot towards goal, a fun thing with Eric Cantona as a host. But I did not know him. We never met during the shooting. Everything was done remotely, and I cared not about the where the media stuff. But I was psyched. I thought we had a good chance and Mourinho had prepared ourselves thoroughly understood. But first match at the San Siro was a disappointment. We were just zero-zero and I did not come into the game proper, and afterwards wrote the English newspapers shit of course. But it was their problem, not mine. They could almost write their rubbish. I ignored it. But I really wanted to win the return at Old Trafford and get me further in the Champions League. It was one thing that grew in me, and I remember when I ran out of the stadium and heard the applause and boos. It was full of nerves in the air, and Mourinho was wearing a black suit and black coat. He looked serious, and as usual he was not down. He stood close to the touchline and followed the game, as a general on the battlefield, and repeatedly singing or screaming audience: "Sit down Mourinho", and often waved his own hands. He roared: "Up and help Ibra!" I was too
lonely at the top and I was heavily guarded. Very hung on me. So it would have been throughout the season, and Mourinho also played four-five-one with me on top, and I felt the pressure to score, and certainly, I liked it. I wanted the responsibility. But United were sharper and I was too isolated and crowded up there, and I swore at it.But worst of all, after just three minutes played Ryan Giggs a corner and Vidic nodded one-zero. It was a cold shower. The entire Old Trafford stood up and shouted: "You're not special anymore, Jose Mourinho." It was Mourinho and I who got the worst of boos. But it came off more and more and the fact was, it was enough with one goal in that situation so we would move on. We did only one-one so victory was ours, and I began to shine. It went better and better and after thirty minutes, I was a long post in the penalty area and nodded hard, straight down on the goal line. The ball bounced up and took the crossbar and out. That was how closely any time, and I felt more and more, this takes us anyway, and we had a chance to chance. Adriano fired a volley shot in the post. But no, it did not work. Instead dribbler Wayne Rooney outside the penalty area and struck a post for Cristiano who nodded two-zero, and it felt like a bitch. There was heavy minutes and went without us managed to reduce. Towards the end of the match sang the whole scene: "Bye, bye, Mourinho. It's over ", and I wanted to kick up the grass and break something valuable and I remember when we came into the locker room. Mourinho tried to encourage, now we concentrate on the league type. He is fierce during and before the matches, and sometimes when it gone one day and he analyzed the loss, he can attack us because we will not repeat our mistakes. But in these kinds of situations, there was no reason to kill us. It would serve no purpose. We were sufficiently distressed anyway. It felt as if everyone wanted to kill some, and I think that's when the idea began to germinate in me. I wanted to continue. I am a restless type. I have always moved. I changed schools, homes, clubs, even as a kid. It was a poison in me at last, and now while I sat there and looked down at my legs, I began to suspect: I could never win the Champions League with Inter. The team were not good enough, I thought, and already in the first interviews after the game I had imagined my doubts. Or rather, I just replied honestly, it was not the usual: Of course, we win next year.
"Can you win the Champions if you stay at Inter?" Asked the journalists. "I do not know. We'll see, "I answered, and certainly the fans sensed something even then. It was the beginning of tensions, and I spoke with Mino. "I want to continue," I said. "I wish to Spain." He knew exactly understood. Spain meant Real Madrid or Barcelona, the two top clubs, and of course, Real seemed tempting.Real had great traditions and had had players Ronaldo, Zidane, Figo, Roberto Carlos, Raúl. But I am leaning more and more to Barca, who played brilliant this year and had guys as Lionel Messi, Xavi and Iniesta. But how should we act? It was not easy. Could not say: I want to Barca. Not only because it would be a disaster for my reputation in Inter Milan. It would be like to explain: I can play for free. Unable to offer themselves in that way. When the first director that they can get you cheap. No, the club must come to you. Management must know that they want you at all costs. But the real problem was not there. The problem was my status and my condition in Italy. I was seen as too expensive. I was a player who could not leave. I heard it often. It was I Inter and Kaká in Milan, and Messi in Barca and Cristiano of United. No one was able to match our contracts. Our price tags would be too high. Even Mourinho talked about it. "Ibra stay," he said. "No club can pay the sums required. No one can offer one hundred million ", and it seemed absurd. Where I too expensive for the market? A fucking Mona Lisa, which was not possible to sell? I did not know. The situation was uncertain, and perhaps it was stupid to be as open in the media, after all. I should certainly have run the same bullshit as many other stars: I will always stay in my club, blah blah blah. But I can not keep on like that. I could not lie. I was unsure of the future and I said so, too, and it irritated many, of course, especially the fans. They saw it as a betrayal, or at least something like that, and many were worried. Would I lose my motivation in team? Especially when I threw out my stuff like "I would like to try something new. I have been in Italy for five years now. I like technical football and that they play in Spain. "There was lot of talk and speculation. But it was not a tactic, not a ploy to get away from the club. It was truly just, nothing was easy, not for a player at my level. I was the main guy in the Inter and no one wanted me to leave. There was life on every word I said about it, and possibly was
the whole thing meaningless. We had no bids, and I was not just cheaper. Sure, I longed for something new. But it did not affect my game; On the contrary, I was injury-free now, and better than ever, and I continued to do everything possible to get Mourinho react. Against Reggina example, I made a nice rush, a dribbling almost from the plane. I made my way past three defenders and frankly, it was an achievement just in itself, and the audience thought surely I would finish with a hard shot. But I saw that the goalie was too far out, and I got a picture, a thought, and with the left foot, I chipped the ball over the guy, and it could not have been more perfect. The ball sailed into a nice track inwards towards the cross and the whole stadium cheered, all but Mourinho, of course, standing there in a gray suit and chewing gum a little grimly. It was as common in other words. Yet it was more beautiful than most of what I did, and with that goal, I went up in the shared leadership of the top scorer with Bologna Marco Di Vaio. To win the top scorer in Italy is great, and I started putting more and more focus on it. It was a challenge I needed. I became more aggressive than ever in front of goal, and no one loves scoring as much as the Italian fans. Nobody hates scorer who want leave his club so much, for that matter, and nothing was easier when I explained after the game: "I am totally focused on winning the league title this year, but for next season so we'll see." It is easy to say that tensions built up: What is it with Ibra? What is happening? It was still far to the silly season, and we had no concrete. But newspapers speculated already. It was me and Cristiano at Manchester United. Real would buy any of us? And they had advice? There were constant rumors. For example, it was speculated that Real could do a swap, shift their star Gonzalo Higuain against me. In this way the club would not have to pay as much. Higuain would become part of the price. But as I said, it was just talk, or rather I said, nothing in the media is just talk. It affects how false it is, and many want to put me on the spot. There was a lot: No larger than the club and stuff, and Ibra are ungrateful and a traitor, the whole thing. But I ignored it. I showered and against Fiorentina I shot an incredible free kick in injury time as measured hundranio miles per hour and that just thundered Case from afar and we looked to secure league victory, and as I said,
everything is connected. Everything had two sides. The better I was, the more upset became supporters that I wanted to leave the club, and before the match against Lazio May 2, 2009 the mood was explosive. Ultra fans had written "Welcome Maximilian" and that kind of stuff. They were able to show love. But they could also hate, not only opposing but also their own players, and I knew when I came in, the San Siro was boiling. All week there had been in the papers that I wanted to leave Italy and try something new.Nobody could have missed it, and early I tangled myself up in the penalty area. I struggled, but did not get the ball, and in situations like that are usually supporters applaud. Nice try, type. But now I heard the boos and whistles from the Ultra fans. What the hell, like, we tear down here and we lead the league, and so will you with this. Who are you? I shushed against them. Put his finger on his mouth. But it was not better, not at all, and just before the half, it was still zerozero, even though we pushed on me, and when they started booing the whole team, and I lit the wrong, or rather, I was pumped up the adrenaline. I would show them, and as I said, I play better when I'm angry. Think about it, you see me mad, do not be worried. Okay, I can do something stupid and get a red card. But mostly it's a good sign. My whole career is based on the will to fight back, and in the second half, I was the ball fifteen yards outside the penalty area. I turned. I rushed into. I am fine, and between two hills I shot at goal. It was a shot at pure anger, a fine goal. But it was not the case people talked about. It was my gesture, for I rejoiced not. I ran back towards our half of the field with his face turned towards Ultra fans and constantly shushed I with the finger at them again. It was shut up as well: Here is my response to your crap. I score, you boo, and that there was at once the great thing from the game: Did you see? Did you? It was something completely new. It was an open conflict between the fans and the team's biggest star, and away on the sidelines was Mourinho, and of course, no victory gesture from him. Who would have expected it? But he agreed with me of course. Damn, booing at his own team, and he pointed with his finger to his head, like: You're stupid up there in the stands, and you get it, if it had been strained before it became even worse now, it rumbled in the arena. But I continued to play well. I went on pure anger and took up to two-zero. I
dominated and was pleased when the referee blew off. But it was not an end, not at all. When I left the plane, I heard that the heads of ultras waiting for me down in the locker room. I have no idea how they get down. But down there in the culverts they were, seven, eight guys and no guys who say: Sorry, sorry, we exchange a few words? It was kind of my types of streets: boys full of aggression and all around me became nervous, and I got a hundred and fifty of the pulse. I was totally stressed out, frankly. But I said to myself: You can not chicken out now. A guy from my area will not back down.Therefore, I went up to them and I noticed directly, they got worried, but at the same time, the kaxade up. What the hell, Ibra will be against us? "Are they few that have problems up there in the stands?" I said. "Well, that is, many are angry ..." they began. "Say to them to come down on the floor, we will solve this one for one!" Then I went, and my heart pounded. Still, it felt good. I had pallets of stress. I had stood up for me, but shit went on. Supporters Club required an official meeting. But come on? Why would I meet them again? What had I to gain by it? I was football players. The fans may be loyal to his club. It is so beautiful. But a football player has a short career. He had to see if their interests. He changes clubs. The fans knew. I did, and I told them: Apologize to your website for your boos and whistles era, I'm happy. When we forget this. But nothing happened, and yes, Ultra fans decided that they would not booing or cheering for me. They would pretend I was not. Good luck, I thought. I was not easy to ignore, not then, not later. I was in the form and the talking continued.Should he go? Should he stay? Does anyone have advice to pay? It was a tug of war and I was afraid to come to a deadlock. Be a player who stays in the club with his tail between the legs. It was a nervous game, and I called Mino: Is there any bids? If something happens? Nothing happened and it became increasingly apparent, it was necessary record amounts of money to get off me, if that would suffice, and I tried to turn off the ears and eyes and do not listen to all the tours in the media. But it was not easy. Not when you were in that situation. I had constant contact with the Mino and I was hoping more for Barca. Barca won the Champions League in the vevan. The team beat Manchester United with two-nil after goals by Eto'o and Messi, and I thought, wow,
that's club, and I continued to call Mino: "Damn, what are you doing? Are you asleep? " "Go and fuck yourself," said Mino. "You are shit. Nobody wants you! You may go back to Malmö FF. " "Fuck you!" But of course, he tore the life out of itself to fix this, not only because he always fought for me. This was the deal we both dreamed of. Sure, it could go to hell, stop with that we have not won anything except to annoy ultras and directors. But it could also be the biggest ever, and we were ready to play loud. While lirade I. We had secured the Scudetto even then. But I wanted to really win the top scorer. Becoming Capocannoniere is enter in the history books, and no Swedish had done so since Gunnar Nordahl won the 1955thBut now I had the chance, nothing was clear, not at all. There were evenly on top. Marco Di Vaio of Bologna and Diego Milito of Genoa lay alongside, and, of course, it was not Mourinho's business, not really. He coached the team. But he stepped up in the locker room and said: "Now we see that Ibra wins top scorer too," and it became a thing. All would help me.Everyone said it openly. But Balotelli, the bastard, in one of the last games he got the ball in the penalty area and I came running. I was completely free. I had perfect mode. But Balotelli dribbler just on and I looked at him: What are you doing? Would not you help me? I was pissed, but okay, the guy was young. He had scored. I could not begin to bark at him. But I was angry, the whole bench was angry: Hell, run there and shoot targets when Ibrahimovic was located, and I thought, should it be so, I do not care about the top scorer. Thank you for Balotelli. But I got over it. I scored a goal in the next game, and before the last round, the situation was pure horror film. Me and Marco Di Vaio had both done twenty-three goals, and just after low Diego Milito of Genoa with twenty-two. It was the thirtyMay 1 All the newspapers wrote about the fight. Who will win? It was hot the the day. League was settled. We had secured the victory long ago. Yet it was lot of nerves in the air. With luck, would this be my farewell to the Italian league. I hoped so. I did not know. But whether this was my goodbye-show or not I wanted to make a brilliant match and take home top scorer. Hell, no, I did not finish with a flat match.
But of course, it was not just me. It hung on Di Vaio and Milito also, and they played together. VAIO di Bologna met Catania while Milito Genoa were against Lecce, and I did not doubt, those bastards would certainly score goals. I was whipped to respond. I must put it, and it is not easy to order. Are you trying too hard to unlock it. It knows each scorer.You may not think too much. The acting on instinct. You just have to hit, and it was immediately apparent, it would be a swinging match against Atalanta. It was one-one after only few minutes. In the twelfth shot Esteban Cambiasso a long ball, just outside our penalty area, and I stood up there on the line with the slopes. But so I slipped away, I was just on the verge of offside and the defense did not have time. I ran like an arrow and was alone with the goalie. But the ball bounced. It bounced and bustle and I pushed it forward with his knee and nearly collided with the goalkeeper. But just before the shot I am a broadside, a shot to the right, and there was a goal, two-one, and in that position, I was one of the top scorer. People screamed it to me, and I began hope, maybe it would go the way. But things happened and I did it never really. Sure, they shouted from the sideline. "Milito and Di Vaio has scored ", something like that. I did not believe it. It sounded like something the guys on the bench just threw out themselves. It is much like that in football, bullshit to trigger and tease, and I'm on. I shut out everything else, and I thought that one goal would be enough. But it was really dramatic in the other fighter. Diego Milito was then third in the league shooting. He is Argentina. He had a terrible målfacit. Just weeks earlier he had become clear for Inter. So if I did not get away from the club, we would play together. But now, against Lecce, he had an incredible fluency. In just ten minutes He made two goals and was now running twenty-four goals, just like me, and it felt clearly in the air, it could get a third goal at any time. But it was not just Milito. Even Marco Di Vaio fired goals. I had no idea about it.But we were now three of the shared leadership of top scorer, and there is no way to win. You should not share. You should take it home alone, and although I did not know surely, I began to realize more and more, I must make a case to. I felt the atmosphere. It was noticeable on the expressions on the bench, the pressure in the stands. But the minutes went
by. None happened. It looked to be a draw. It was three or three and it was only ten minutes left.Mourinho switched into Hernan Crespo. He needed new blood. He wanted to invest aggressively, and he was waving his arms, like: Move up and sleeping in! I was about to lose grip on the top scorer? I was afraid of it and I tore. I yelled for the ball. But many were tired. It had been a tight game.Though it is true, Crespo had strength left. He dribbler on the right wing and I ran towards goal. I had a long post and it immediately became a battle for the ball. I pushed aside a guy and ended up with his back to goal but the ball bounced around and I saw a situation.But as I said, I was facing the wrong direction, and what do you do? One heels. I heeled backward, and yes, I had done many klackmål in my career, it is against Italy in the Championship course and so karate thing against Bologna. But this, and in that situation, it was just too much. It could not go in goal. It was an exercise which at Mum's house, and you win, not the entire top scorer on such a thing in the last match. The does not exist. But the ball rolled into the goal. It was four-three, and I tore off my shirt, even though I knew it would give me a warning. But my goodness, this was great, and I stood with bare chested down by the corner flag and everyone was on me, of course, Crespo and everyone. They pressed down my back. It looked almost aggressively out, and they shouted at me, one by one: Now, you win the top scorer! And slowly it began to sink in to me, this was historically, and I thought, this is my way of giving back. When I came to Italy, said People: Zlatan does not have enough goals. Now I had won the top scorer. No one could doubt no longer. But I kept right cool anyway. I walked in towards the plane and that really made me bounce was a different matter. It was Mourinho, the old stone face. He never moved a muscle had woken up. He had been as crazy. He cheered like a school kid and jumped up and down and I smiled: Failed to get you started, despite everything. But it required no little. I had to win the top scorer with a heel. 23
THE THIRD June went Kaka to Real Madrid for sixty-five million euros, and somewhat later sold Cristiano Ronaldo for a hundred million to same club. It said something about the level of it, and I went to Moratti. Moratti was pretty cool anyway. He had been with. He was business. "Listen," I said. "It's been an incredible year and I stay happy, and I do not care if United or Arsenal will, or which at any time. But if Barca would show up ... " "Yes," he said. "Then I want you to at least talk to them. Not that you should sell me this or that sum, not really. It is up to you. But the promise that you talk to them, "I continued, and when he looked at me with his glasses and his tousled hair, and of course, he did, it was money to serve, how reluctant he wanted to release me. "Okay," he said. "I promise." We went to Los Angeles for training camp not long afterward. It was early in the preseason. I shared a room with Maxwell, and it sounded promising, as the old days. But we were jetlaggade and tired, and journalists were wild.They flocked outside the hotel and stuff for the day in media was that Barca could not afford me. They would bring David Villa instead, not because the newspapers did a crap, but still, I doubted myself. It would have been up and down last week. I had despaired. I had hoped, and now it felt like running again and did not get the better of that damn Maxwell. Maxwell is the world's nicest, as I said. But then he ran me crazy. We had followed one another ever since the first day in Amsterdam and now we were once again in the same situation. We were both going on to Barca. But he was one step ahead of, or worse, he was really on the way while the door is perhaps being closed off to me. Moreover, he could not sleep. He just talked on the phone: Is it clear? Is that it? It was on my nerves. He talked constantly. It was Barca Barca here and there. All the while he kept on, day and night, so it felt, anyway. I was surrounded by the hum there while I did not hear anything about my deal, not much at least.I was mad at it. I was mad at Mino, cursed Mino, fix it for Maxwell and not for me, and I called him. "So he can work for you and not me?" I said. "Go and fuck yourself," said Mino, and not much later became Maxwell really ready for Barca. Unlike me there every step of the process followed by the media, he had managed to keep the negotiations secret. Nobody believed that he
would be to Barcelona. But when the day got in the locker room where everyone sat in a circle, waiting for us, he said that it was: "I'm ready for Barcelona!" People flew up: Do you mean? Is it true? The talk started walking. That kind of stuff gets the things in people. Inter was not Ajax. The guys were more cool, but still, Barca had won the Champions League. Barca was the world's best teams.Clearly some guys were jealous, and Maxwell began almost embarrassed to pack their stuff and their soccer shoes. "Take my sneakers too," I said aloud. "I come after you," and then laughed all, which type jokes. I was too expensive to be sold, they thought. Or so I had it too good in Inter. No, Ibra remains. No one can afford him. That was what they thought. "Sit down! You're not going anywhere, "cried the people, and I joked a little with them, but frankly, I myself was not sure. I only knew that the Mino worked as best he could for me, and that nothing or everything could happen. One of those days we met Chelsea in a friendly game, and then I got a foul by John Terry. Afterwards, I had a sore hand. But I ignored it then. The hand? I did not care well in it. You play with your feet, and there were other things to think about. Barca were buzzing in my head and I called Mino again and again. It was as a fever in the body. But instead of good news I received another blow. Joan Laporta was president of Barcelona. He was really a big shot. It was during his time as the club started to dominate in Europe again, and I had been told that he was flown by private plane to Milan to have dinner with Moratti and Marco Branca, Sport Director. I had hoped much of the meeting of course. But it had not been any. Laporta had barely had time to get through the door until Moratti said: "Are you here for Zlatan, you can go home again! He is not for sale. " I was mad when I heard about it. What the hell, they had promised, and I phoned Branca: What keeps Moratti doing? Branca blamed from him. The meeting was not about you, 'he said. It was a lie. I knew that by Mino and I felt betrayed. But okay, I also realized, it was a game. It could at least be there. Not for sale could be a euphemism for expensive. But I had no idea what really going on, and they damn journalists were crazy. They asked all the time: How will it be? Are you ready for Barca? Do you stay at Inter? I had no answers to give. I found myself in a new no man's land, and even Mino who worked as an idiot started to sound pessimistic:
"Barca is on, but they must not loose you!" He said. I was on pins and needles, and it was hot and messy in LA Some things also happened that seemed to confirm that I would stay. To the next season with Inter, I would be number ten on the shirt, the same number that Ronaldo had.There was some stuff, promotional stuff and other things I engaged for. Everything was uncertain. There were nerves in the air. I heard that Joan Laporta and Txiki Begiristain, Barca's sporting director, was sitting in his private plane again. The trip had nothing to do with me do. The guys were on their way to Ukraine to buy Dmytro Tjyhrynskyj, one of the key players in the FK Sjachtar Donetsk who unexpectedly won the UEFA Cup that year. But the trip was important for us anyway. Mino is a fox. He can tricks.He had just had another meeting with Moratti, and sensed an opening, after all. Therefore he called Txiki Begiristain who sat in the plane with Laporta. They were on their way back home to Barcelona. "You ought to land in Milan instead," said Mino. "Why?" "Because I know that Moratti is back in his house right now, and knocks you on, I think you can stitch together a deal with Ibrahimovic." "Okay, wait five minutes. I have to discuss it with Laporta. " There were long minutes, and it was a good game. Moratti had not promised anything, and he had no idea that he might be visited. But now happening all at once. Txiki Begiristain called me back. "Okay," he said. "We turn. We land in Milan instead, "and of course, I found out right away. Mino called. The voice and text messages back and forth. The phones were glowing.Moratti was informed: "Barca's management is on its way to you!" Maybe he thought it came in suddenly, I do not know, or that the guys could at least have booked the meeting in advance. But of course, he received them. He had style. He did not fail in respect, and in that situation I did not hesitate. I wanted to do what I could. I sent a text message to Marco Branca. I wrote: "I know that Barca's management is going to Moratti. You have promised me to talk to them, and you know I want to the club. Foul not to it now, so I will not foul it up for you ", and while I waited for an answer. I got nothing. They had their reasons. It's a game, as I said. But now I felt it in the air, now it's
serious. Now it happens! Or shut the door. It is either or, and the minutes passed. What they talked about in there? I had no idea. I knew when they would meet and I looked at the clock and expected it would take hours.But after twenty-five minutes rang Mino, and I jumped, of course. What was it? Moratti had driven them out once again?Heart rate went up. I was dry in the mouth. "Yes," I said. "It is clear," he replied. "What do you mean clear?" "You're going to Barcelona. Pack your bag. " "You can not fucking joke about that." "I'm not joking." "How the hell has it gone so fast?" "No time to talk now." He hung up and I both did and did not take. The buzzing in my head. I was at the hotel.What would I do? I went into the the corridor. I needed to talk to someone, and there was Patrick Vieira and the guy goes of course to be trusted. "I'm ready for Barca," I said. He looked at me. "Impossible," he replied. "Well, I promise." "How much is it about?" I did not know. I had no idea and I noticed him, he doubted. He thought I was too expensive, and I myself was not sure. Could it really be true? But not much later called Mino again, and then the pieces fell into place.Moratti was surprised. He had only been a requirement, not as requirements anywhere in and of itself. He wanted to beat Milan on the fingers and sell me for more than Real bought Kaka for, and it was not a little, it would be the second most expensive transfer service ever, and Joan Laporta apparently had no problem with that. He and Moratti had quickly agreed, and it took a while to digest when I heard about the totals. My old eighty-five million in Ajax Dealer, what was it? Small change in comparison. Now, we talked nearly seven hundred million Swedish kronor. Inter would have forty-six million euros for me in cash, while getting over Samuel Eto'o as part of the settlement, and Samuel Eto'o was not just anyone. He had done thirty goals last season. He was one of
the best goalscorer in Barcelona's history and he valued to twenty million. Overall, the sixty-six million euros, a million more than what Milan sell Kaka for, and you get it. It was uproar when it came out. I had not experienced anything similar. It was forty degrees. It was as if the air was boiling. Everyone was on me, and it felt ... I do not know, frankly. Unable to think clearly. We should have a training match against a Mexican team, and for the first time I had that jersey number ten in the International, and for the last time for that matter. The years of the club was over. It began to sink into. I had arrived when Inter have not won the series in seventeen years. Now We had won three years in a row, and I took home top scorer. It was not wise, and I looked towards Mourinho, Mourinho that I have finally got responding to a target and I noticed, of course, he was pissed, and sad. He did not want to lose me, and he banged me that training match, and I felt I am, how happy I was to go to Barca, was it is sad to leave Mourinho. He is special to the man. The following year he ran himself from Inter to Real Madrid and in the vevan he dismissal of Materazzi. Materazzi's like the world's toughest back. But when he hugged Mourinho, he began to cry, and I understand him somewhere. Mourinho evoke emotion, and I remember when we met the day after at the hotel. Then he came to me: "You can not leave!" "Sorry, I must take this chance." "But if you leave do I do that too." My God, what answer you on that? It was something that took. If you leave I do it too. "Thanks," I said. "You have taught me a lot." "Thank you," he said. We talked for a while, it was fine. But the man, he is like me. He is proud and he wanted to win at any cost, and of course, he could not not to. He gave me a sneer also: "You, Ibra!" "Yes?" "You go to Barca to win Champions, huh?" "Well, maybe a little." "But you, it is us who will win it, do not forget it. It is us! " Then we took farewell. I flew to Copenhagen and came home to our house on Limhamnsvägen and met Helen and the children. I had longed to talk about
all of it and land a little. But our home was besieged. Journalists and fans slept outside the house. They rang on our door. People shouting and singing outside. They waved flags Barcelona. It was pure insanity, and my whole family was stressed out, my mom, dad, Sanela, Keki, no one dared go out. People were after them, too, and I rushed around and yes, I noticed that his hand hurt, but I did not think much of it. Things are happening all the time, the details of my contract which was fine-tuned, Eto'o who screwed and wanted more money, Helen and I discussed where we would live, all that. There was no chance to land or to think through the thing seriously, and after only two days I stuck to Barcelona. At that time I was already accustomed to private jet. It may sound snobbish. But it is not easy for me on the regular flights. All are on me. There will be chaos both at the airport and on board. But now, I still a common plane. I had talked to Barca gang on the phone, and as you know, Barcelona and Real warrior. They are the major rivals, and there is much politics in the bottom, Catalonia against the central power, all that, but the clubs also have different philosophies. "In Barcelona, we have feet on the ground. We are not like Real. We take the usual plan, "they said to me, and yes, it sounded sympathetic. I went Spanair and landed quarter past five in the afternoon in Barcelona, and if I took the level of it, I understood now. It was chaos. Hundreds of fans and journalists were waiting for me and the newspapers wrote page after page. The talk was about Ibramania. The was not wise. I was not only Barcelona's most expensive purchase ever. No new players had not brought the kind of attention. I would presented on the day at the stadium Camp Nou. It is a tradition in the club. When Ronaldinho arrived in 2003 were thirty thousand people there. Equal many took Thierry Henry. But now ... at least double that was waiting for me, and I shuddered, frankly, and I was out the back door from the airport and driven by a safety car to the stadium. We would first hold a press conference. Several hundred journalists jostling inside the premises. It was chock-full and restless: Why will he Never? Yet we could not step into. Eto'o screwed with Inter until the very end and Barcelona were waiting for a definitive confirmation of the transaction and the time went and cast in it became increasingly excitable and nervous, there was an outbreak in the air. We heard it as clearly as if we were in the middle of
it. I, Mino and Laporta and the other dignitaries sat backstage and waited: What happens?Shall we sit here forever? "Enough," said Mino. "We must have confirmation ..." "We do not care about it," he said and ended up with the others and so we went to the end. I had never seen so many reporters and I answered the questions, but all the time I heard it roared out of the stadium. Everything was crazy, I promise, and after I left and changed into my clothes Barca. I had number nine, the same number that Ronaldo had in the club, and Now it started to get really emotional. The stadium was boiling. There were sixty or seventy thousand people in there and I took a deep breath, and so I walked out. I will never be able to describe it. I had a ball in my hand and I went up to the position where they sat up and around me roared the audience. All screaming my name. The entire stadium roared and the press guy was running around saying stuff to me all the time: "Tell VISCA Barca!" Cheer Barca, and I did as he said, and I said, tricks, upside down, on chest, head, heels, all those things, and the crowd screaming for more and so I kissed club sticker on the shirt, and I must tell you. I got a lot of shit for that thing: how could he kiss club mark when he was just leaving Inter? He ignored the their old fans? All sorts of whining about it. There were skits and shit. But the press guys had asked me about it. They were completely wild, "Kiss mark, kiss mark, "and I was like a little boy. I obeyed. The whole body vibrated, and I remember I wanted to get into the locker room and calm me down. It was too much adrenaline. I was shaky, and when it finally was over, I looked at Mino.Mino had never been longer than ten feet away. In moments like that, he is everything to me, and together we went into the locker room and looked at all the names on a wall, Messi, Xavi, Iniesta, Henry and Maxwell, all of them, and so my, Ibrahimović. It was there already, and I looked at Mino again. He was much taken. It was as if he had a child. None of us could understand. It felt bigger than we imagined, and in that moment ping an sms in my phone. Who was it? It was Patrick Vieira. "Enjoy," he wrote. "This does not happen to many players," and frankly, you can hear everything from all possible. But when a guy like Vieira will send such a message, then you know, you've experienced something incredible, and I sat down and panted.
Afterwards I said to reporters: "I am the happiest! '" This is the biggest thing that happened since my boys were born, "that kind of stuff that athletes certainly have said before in similar situations. But I meant it really. This was great, and I went to the hotel Princesa Sofia As it was besieged by fans who thought it was the earth thing just to see me drink coffee in the lobby. At night, I had trouble sleeping, not surprising of course. The whole body jumped and yes, I knew, his hand is not quite good. But I thought not much on it then either. So much else was buzzing in his head, and I did not think it would be a problem in medicine control next days. When you are new to the club is the routine that you examined from top to bottom: How much do you weigh? How tall are you? What percentage of fat has you? Do you feel completely healthy? "I have pain in my hand," I said to the survey, and the doctors x-rayed me. I had a crack in his hand, a crack! It was not wise. Among the most important thing when you come to a new law is that you may be with the pre-season and get to know the guys and the game. Now it seemed to be driven, and we had to take a quick decision. I spoke with coach, Guardiola. He sounded nice and apologized that he could not join in and see me.He had been in London with the team, and just like everyone else, he explained: I need to be fully fit as soon as possible. Nothing was compromised and therefore it was decided that I would undergo surgery at once. A hand surgeon inserted two steel nails into my hand to the fracture was fixed and heal faster. The same day I slipped back to Los Angeles for training camp. It was absurd somewhere. I had just been there with Inter. Now, I arrived with a new club with a large plaster around your hand. It would take at least three weeks before I got well. 24
WE WOULD MEET Real Madrid at home in the Camp Nou. It was in November 2009. I had been away for fifteen days again. I had had a hypo in the thigh and I would start on the bench, and it was not fun of course. Few things are as El Classico. The pressure is enormous. It is war, and newspapers allows attachment of type sixty pages. People do not talk about other things. It's the big teams, the great enemies against each other. I had a good season start, despite the fracture in my hand and the entire
shift. I had five goals in my first five league games and acclaim everywhere. It felt good and it was quite clear in La Liga it would be. Real and Barca had invested nearly two and a half billion in Kaka, Cristiano and me, and Serie A and Premier League had become poorer. La Liga was the hottest now. Everything would be amazing. I thought so. Already in the preseason when I run around with plaster and nails in hand, I got into the gang. It was not easy with the language course and I was hanging a lot with those who spoke English, Thierry Henry and Maxwell. But it went well with everyone. Messi, Xavi and Iniesta are simple, nice guys, awesome on the flat and easy to deal with, certainly not a "Here I come, I'm the greatest and most beautiful", not a trace of and there are no fashion shows in the changing rooms like so many players in Italy are doing. Messi and the guys showed up in tracksuits and had a low profile and so were Guardiola, of course. He seemed okay. He came up to me after every workout, and talking. He really wanted to get me into the team and indeed, the style of the club was special. I had known right away. It was like a school, that about Ajax. Yet it was here Barca, the world's best teams. I had expected me a little more violent attitude. But this was all quiet and nice and conform to the group, and sometimes I thought: These guys are superstars. Yet they act as students, and it might be sympathetic, what do I know? But I could not help but wonder: How would these the boys were treated in Italy? They had been gods. Now they stood on line for Pep Guardiola. Guardiola's Catalans. He is old midfielder. He won La Liga five or six times with Barcelona, and was captain of the 1997th When I arrived he had been coach of the club for two years and had great success. The man deserved certainly all due respect and I saw it as natural to try to flow. There was no unfamiliar thing for me. I had changed the club many times, and I have never thundered straight and told you where furniture should go. I feel the mood.Who is strong? Who is weak? How do the talking and what are the groups? While I knew my grades. I had black and white what I could do for a team with my Win It, and I used quite quickly take place anyway, and joke a lot. Not long ago I kicked the Chippendale little Lattjo on a national team set and I took nothing when I opened the newspaper the next day. It was seen as the worst attack. But it was nothing, not one bit. So there we are. It is play and deadly serious at the same time. We are a bunch of guys that are seen throughout the day and run with some sick stuff to keep going. It is
as simple as that. We're kidding. However, in Barca, I was boring. I was more than kind, and I dared not scream and yell on the plan that I need. The newspapers wrote that I was a bad boy and the one and the other helped. It made me want to prove otherwise, and certainly, I went to in length. Instead of being myself, I tried to be the nicest guy and it was stupid. You must not let the media talk push you down. It was unprofessional. I confess. Yet it was not the big thing. It was there where: "Here we have feet on the ground. We are Fabricants. Here we work. We're regular guys! " It sounded not so strange, but something was strange about those words, and I began to wonder: Why Guardiola says that there Me? Does he think that I'm different? I could not put my finger on it, not first. But it did not feel quite well. Sometimes it was like in the boys' team in MFF. I had a coach again who saw me as the guy from the wrong suburb? Yet I had not done anything, not a teammate, not thrown a bike, nothing. I've never been so wimpy in my entire life. I was the opposite of what the newspapers wrote. I was the guy who walked on tiptoe and thought for the whole time. Gone was the old wild Zlatan! Gone were all sorts of things! I ended up in my own shadow. It had never happened before, and so far there was no great thing. It's all right, I thought, I'll be myself again. It comes off, and Maybe everything is just imagination and nojor. Guardiola was not rude, not at all. He seemed to believe in me. He saw how I scored and how much I meant to the team, but still ... that feeling did not disappear: he understands me as different? "Here we have feet on the ground!" I was the guy who did not have it, according to Guardiola? I did not understand and I tried to shake it. Say: Focus instead. Forget it! But the vibe was still there, and I wondered more and more: Should all be equal in this club? It did not feel healthy. No one is equal. People pretend sometimes of course. But when they do violence to themselves, and fucks up for the team. Absolutely, Guardiola had been successful. The club had gained much in him. I must applaud it, and a victory is a victory. But afterwards, I think it had a price. The price was to the great personalities were chased away. It was no coincidence that the man had problems with guys like Ronaldinho, Deco, Eto'o, Henry, and me. We are not
"ordinary boys". We have threatened him and then he tries to get rid of us, more difficult it is not, and I hate that stuff. If you are not a "regular guy" you should not need to be.Nobody wins in the long run. Damn, if I tried be provided by the Swedish guys in the MFF, I had not been sitting here today. Listen, listen not, is the very foundation of my success. It does not apply to everyone. But it applies to me, and Guardiola did not give a damn of it there. He thought he could do for me. In his Barca would all be like Xavi, Iniesta and Messi. Nothing bad in them, as I say, not a second, opposite. It was wonderful to be in the same team they. Good players triggers me and I looked at them as I have always done with great talent: Can I learn anything? Can I push myself even more? But look at their background. Xavi came to Barca when he was eleven. Iniesta was twelve, Messi thirteen. They were shaped by the club. They did nothing else and it was certainly good for them. That was their thing, but it was not mine. I came outside, I came with my personality and there seemed to be room for it, not in Guardiola's little world. But as I said, it was just a little when in November. So far was simpler problems: Would I play and I would be sharp after the break? The pressure was great on all of us before El Classico at Camp Nou. At that time, the Chilean coach Manuel Pellegrini at Real. There was speculation that that he could get fired if Real did not win. There was talk about me, Kaka, Cristiano, Messi, Pellegrini and Guardiola. It was much the guy against it. The city seethed with expectations, and I came to the venue of the club's Audi and step into the dressing room. Guardiola started with Thierry Henry on the top and with Messi on the right and Iniesta on the left. It was dark then.The arena was illuminated, and the cameras flashed everywhere up there. It felt directly, Real was more. The team created more chances, and in the twentieth minute dribbler Kaka incredibly elegant and witty and played to a completely free Cristiano. He had a brilliant location, but missed. Víctor Valdés, our goalkeeper, saved with his foot, and only minutes afterwards was Higuain of Real on the way through. It was close, close. There were many chances, and we played to a standstill and had problems with passningsspelet. Nervousness spread in the team and home crowd booed, not least Casillas of Real's goals. He delayed the kick-off are. But
Real continued to dominate and we were lucky that had zero-zero after the first forty-five. At the beginning of the second half baths Guardiola me to warm up and it was a nice feeling, I must say. The audience screamed and cheered. Roar filled me, and I applauded back in return, and the fifty-first minute Thierry Henry went out and I came in, and I was a gambling mood. I had not been gone long. Yet it seemed so, perhaps because I missed a Champions League match in group play against my old Inter Milan. But now I was back and it had not gone many minutes before the thymus, Daniel Alves received the ball on the right wing. Alves has a fast games and offensive idea passed quickly. There was unrest in Real's defense, and in that kind of situations I think not. I just rushes towards the penalty area, and then came a cross ball, a post. I thundered up. I got free and fired on the volley with the left foot, bang, boom, Case, and the stadium was awakened by a volcano and I felt throughout the body, nothing can stop me now. We won by one-zero. I was a match winner, and I was hailed everywhere. No one questioned at that moment that I had cost seven hundred million. I was hot. Then came the Christmas break. We stuck to Åre and I drove the scooter, as I said, and had fun. But it was also triggered. After New Year it became who were heavily in the fall even worse and I was no longer myself. So it felt. I had become a different, more uncertain Zlatan, and each time Mino had had meetings with management in Barca, I asked him: "What do they think about me?" "That you're the world's best striker!" "I mean private. As a person. " I had never cared about it before. I have ignored that. I want to play well. Then let people say what they want. But now it was important suddenly, and it showed that I was not feeling well. My confidence cracked and I felt inhibited. I almost cheered when I scored. I dared not get angry, and it is not good, not at all. I nested into stuff, and then I really do not hypersensitive. I'm tough. I have gone through a lot. But anyway, that day after day get looks and comments as if I did not fit or was different, it will take. It was as be thrown back in time, to the years before his career took off. Much of it went almost to speak of, it was small stuff, glances, comments, ordlägen, things I never cared about before. I am used to harsh noises. I grew up with it.But now I got the feeling: If I type
unborn child in the family, the guy that does not belong? And how crazy was not it? The first time I really tried to float up, I ran out, and as if that was not enough was that thing with Messi. You remember it from first chapter. Messi was the star. In a way, the team was his. The guy was shy and kind, absolutely. I liked him. But now I arrived and also dominated on the field and brought the Earth's resurrection. It must have been a bit like I knocked at the home of him and put me in his bed. He explained to Guardiola he did not want Lira on the edge anymore. He wanted to play in the middle, and I was locked up there and did not get many balls, and the situation was reversed in autumn. Now it is no longer I who made the goal. It was Messi, and I had that conversation with Guardiola. The directors had pressed me: "Talk to him. Fix it! " But how did it go? It was the beginning of the war, the ostracism. He stopped talking to me. He stopped watching. He said good morning to everyone else. To me he did not say a damn thing, and it was unpleasant, unfortunately, it was there. I would have said: I ignored it. What do I care if a guy running with bullying? In another situation, I had certainly done that. But I was not strong then. The situation broke me down and it was not easy. To have a manager with such a power over those who deliberately ignores you, it creeps in under the skin at last, and now it was no longer just me who noticed it. Others saw, and wondered: What will happen? What is this about? They said to Me: "You must talk to him. This is unsustainable. " But no, I had talked enough with the guy. I did not crawl and I clenched, and started playing well again despite my position on the field and the catastrophic atmosphere of the club. I entered a crank when I was five or six goals. But Guardiola was as cool anyway, and it was not weird, I understand it now. It had never been about my game. It was my person, and day and night buzzing in my mind: Is it something I said or done? I see strange? I went through everything, every little meeting or event. I found nothing. I had kept quiet, been clean bore. Yet I continued: Is that it, or it? So no, I reacted not only with anger. As much I searched the error in myself. I thought about it all the time. But
the guy did not give up and it was not just a bitch. It was unprofessional. The whole team suffered from it and the management became increasingly nervous. Guardiola was about to ruin the club's biggest investment and the Champions League waited for important matches. We would meet Arsenal away, and the stalemate between me and the coach continued, and he had certainly wanted to poke me altogether. But he dared not well go to any length, and I started on top with Messi. But I got some direction? Nothing! It was just going on for yourself. It was the Emirates Stadium. It was great, and as usual in England, I had the audience and journalists against me, and the snack was plenty: He never makes case against English teams. I held a press conference. I tried to be myself, after all. "Wait and see," I type. "I'll show you." But it was not easy, not with the coach, and I stepped in, and it was tough. It was Earth's pace and Guardiola disappeared from my thoughts. It was magical indeed. Never played a game that was so good, I think. But it's true, I missed chances. I shot in the middle of Arsenal's goalkeeper, or outside. I should have put it, but it was nothing and we went to the half-time rest with zero-zero. Guardiola picks certainly me out, I thought. But he let me play, and the second half had barely begin until I received a long ball from Pique and I rushed into the depth, I had a back next to me and the goalie ran out and the ball bounced, and then lobbied me. I lobbied him and Case. It was one-zero, and only about ten minutes later, I received a beautiful adaptation of Xavi and I ran like an arrow. But now I lobbied no. I thundered on. I shot with a terrible force of two-zero, and the match seemed decided. I had been brilliant. But what did Guardiola? Applauded him? He replaced me. Smart move! After the team fell through and Arsenal managed to sign two-two in the final minutes. During the match, I had not felt anything. But afterwards I had a sore calf, and it became worse, and it was crap. I had found the form again. But now I would be away from the return against Arsenal at home and this spring's El Classico, and no, I had the support of Guardiola. I got new mind games. I came into a room, he went out. He would not even be around, and afterwards when I think about it, it feels completely insane. No one understood what was happening, not management, not players, no. But it is strange that man. That said, I do not want to take away him his success, or say that he is not good as a trainer in other ways. But
he must have serious problems. He can not seem to deal with guys like me. Perhaps it is so simple that he is afraid of losing their authority.That's not unusual, right? Managers who certainly has certain qualities, but are not capable of strong personalities, and see no alternative but to freeze them out. Cowardly leaders in other words! Anyway, he asked not for my injury. He did not dare. Or yes, he talked to me about it before the semi-finals of the Champions League away against Inter. But then he was weird, and it went to hell, as I said. Mourinho was right.It was not us but he has won Champions and afterwards treated Guardiola me that everything was my fault, and then began the explosion in the air. It was scary in a sense, the feeling that all the things you kept inside you now have to go out and I was glad I had Thierry Henry. He understood me, and we joked, as I said. It relieved the pressure, and somewhere, I began to ignore the whole thing. What could I do? Football was the first time not so important. I went for the Maxi and the Vincent and Helen and I got them closer this time. I grateful for that. The children are everything. That is the truth. But still, the atmosphere in the club was unable to shake off, and the outbreak has been smoldering in the body was of course really. IN locker room after the match against Villarreal I shouted to Guardiola. I cried on his balls and how he was defecating on themselves for Mourinho, and you can imagine. It was war and we were two people. He frightened the little brooder who did not dare meet my gaze, or even health, good morning, and so I, I who certainly has been quiet and careful long, but that had exploded and become myself again. It was no joke. In another situation with another person would not have been any danger.Rages is no big deal for me, neither have them or accept them. I grew up with them. It is routine for me, and often have that kind of stuff even been good. The outbreak has cleared the air. Vieira and I became friends after a big brawl. But with Pep ... it was immediately apparent. He managed it. He avoided me quite often and I lay awake thinking about the whole situation: What next? And what should I do? One thing was clear: it was that the MFF's boys teams. I was seen as different. So I must be even better as a player. I have to be so into hell good that even Guardiola Bank could me. But I was not going to try to become a different person anymore, not a chance. Damn thus: Here we are so and so. Here we are regular guys. I took more and more how immature it was. A real coach handling different personalities. It belongs to his job. A team thrives on variety. Some are a little tougher. Others are as
Maxwell or Messi and the gang. But Guardiola tweaked it and for that he would retaliate. It felt. It was in the air, and that it would cost the club hundreds one million did he apparently not. We would play our last game in the league. He banged me. I would not have expected otherwise. But now Suddenly, he wanted to talk to me. He called me into his office in the stadium. It was in the morning, and hung in there Shirt and pictures of himself and that kind of stuff. The atmosphere was icy. We had not spoken since my outburst. But the guy was too nervous. His eyes flickered. The man has no natural authority, no real charisma. If you did not know that he was the coach of a good team, you would hardly notice that he came into a room and now there he bolted on. Surely he waited for me to say something. I did not say a word. I awaited. "Well then," he began. He did not see me in the eye. "Next season I do not know what I want with you." "Okay." "It's up to you and Mino what happens. I mean, you are Ibrahimović. You're not a guy who plays every third game, right? " He wanted me to respond. It was noticeable. But I'm not stupid. I know very well: those who talk the most in that kind of position, he loses. Therefore I was silent. I did not flinch. I sat still. But of course I realized: he had a message, what was not clear. But it sounded as if he wanted to get rid of me and it was no small thing. I was the club's biggest ever investment.Still, I sat quietly. I did nothing. Then he repeated himself: "I do not know what I want with you. How about that? What is your comment? " I had no comment. "Is that all?" I replied simply. "Yes, but ..." "Thank you then," I said and left. I guess I looked hard and cool. At least that is what I wanted. But I was boiling inside, and when I came out I called the Mino. 25
Perhaps sometimes I run on too tough. I do not know. It was one thing with me right from the start. My father lit like a bear when he drank, and
all the family was afraid or stuck from there. But I went against him, man to man, and I yelled stuff like: "You have to stop drinking!" He was insane. "Bloody hell, this is my house. I do what I want. I'll throw you out! " It could be pure chaos. The whole apartment rumbled. We never fought. He had a big heart. He could die for me. But honestly, I was prepared for a fight. I was prepared for anything, and sometimes, absolutely, I realized it was pointless. It would only lead to confrontation and anger. We would not get a single step forward, reverse. Still, I drove on. I took the fighter, and do not think I'm trying to brag that I was the tough in the family. Not at all. I'll tell you just who it was. I had that feature soon. I stepped forward. I did not flee, and it was not just Dad. It was everywhere. My entire childhood was full of tough types who lit by lightning: My Mom, sister, the boys around the farm, and since then I have it in me, that watchful feature: What is happening? Who would argue? The body is always ready for battle. It was the path I chose. Others in the family took other roles. Add Sanela went with his feelings. I was the fight ended. Fuck no, damn I'm back. It was my way of surviving, and I learned not to wrap things. I said the thing right out, there was no "You are great, you look great, but ... "It was right on:" You have to fuck sharpness you. "Then I took the consequences. So be it. That was my upbringing, and Of course, I had changed a lot when I came to Barcelona. I had met Helena and had a baby and calmed me down and said, "Please and hand me the butter "type. But most of it was still sitting in. I clenched fists those days the club and prepared me to stand up for my cause. It was early summer 2010th It would be the World Cup in South Africa, and Barca ended Joan Laporta. A new president of the club would be selected, and stuff like that always creates turbulence. People become uncertain. A guy named Sandro Rosell was elected. Rosell had was vice president until 2005 and a friend of Laporta. But something had happened. Was now the enemy, reported it. So naturally, people were worried about. Would Rosell clean out all the old gang? No one knew. Sports director Txiki Begiristain resigned even before the Rosell could fire him, and himself I wondered, of course: What does this mean in my conflict? It was Laporta who bought me for record sums, and it was not
unreasonable given that Rosell would lather to him by showing that the investment was idiotic. Many newspapers also wrote that Rosell's first assignment was to sell me. The journalists had certainly no idea about what happened between me and Guardiola, and it had neither am I in a sense. But they had made that something was wrong, and frankly I said, you did not have to be football expert to understand. I hung my head and I did not react as I used on the field. Guardiola Sabbath had me, and I remember Mino called the new president. He told me what Guardiola said at that meeting. "What the hell did this guy?" He asked. "Will he get rid of Zlatan?" "No, no," said Rosell. "Guardiola believes in him." "But why does he do that?" Rosell could not answer. He was new and no one seemed to know. The situation was uncertain. We won the league and there was a holiday. It was a long time since I did it so well. I needed to get away, and Helena and I went around LA, Vegas, everywhere, and during World Cup. I looked barely. I was disappointed. Sweden was not there, and frankly, I did not think about football at all. I tried to repress the soup in Barca. But it was not in the long run, of course. The days were counted down. I would be back soon, and how little I wanted, returned all the questions. What will happen? What should I do? It roared at me, and of course, I realized there was an obvious solution. I could see to be sold. But I did not want to give up my dream so easily easily.. Never in my life. I decided to wear like an animal in training to become better than ever. No one would break me. I would show them all. But what do you think happened? I did not show anything. I had not even sat on me football shoes when Guardiola called called me again. It was July 19, I think. Most had not yet returned from the World Cup. It was right calmly around us, and Pep attempted some small talk. He was clearly a case. He was nervous and uncomfortable. Yet he did well be a little nice at first, for the sake of it. "How has your holiday been? ' "Good, good!" "And how does it feel for the new season?" "Fine, too. I'm psyched. I will give everything. " "You ..." "Yes." "You must prepare yourself to sit on the bench," he said, and as I said, this was the first day. Pre-season had not taken off yet. Guardiola had not seen me play, even a minute. The words could not be
interpreted as anything but a new personal attack. "Okay," I replied simply. "I understand." "And as you know, we have bought David Villa from Valencia." David Villa Villa was hot, no doubt about it. He was one of the stars s tars of the Spanish national team at that time were winning the World Cup, but still, he was a winger. I played in the middle. He had nothing to do with me, not really. "And what do you say?" He continued. Nothing, I thought at first, more than kind congratulations. But then it hit me: why not try Guardiola? Why not check it at all has something to do with football, or if everything just about to drive me me out of the club? "What I say about that?" I began. "Yes." "Well, I'll work harder. I should be driving like an idiot to take a place on the team. I will convince you that I am good enough ", and honestly frankly, I could hardly believe it was true. I had never courted a coach like that before. My philosophy has always been to let my game speak. It's just ridiculous to go around and talk about you to give everything. You are paid to give everything. But this was my way of trying to understand. I wanted to hear what he said. He said: Okay, then we'll see if you places, then it meant something. But now, only he looked at me. "I know. But how should we proceed? "He asked. "Just so," I continued. "I will run hard, and do you think I'm good, I play on the position you want to, behind or above or below Messi. Anywhere. You decide. " "I know that. But how should we proceed? " It was the same sentence all the time and not once has he spoke plainly. He has no talent for that. Yet it is not needed. I did. Nothing was said about my site or not. This was a personal thing, and instead of saying outright that he has not fixed my personality,, he tried to wrap it in a single ambiguous phrase. personality "How should we proceed?" "I do like everyone else, I play for Messi," I said. "I know that. But how should we proceed? " It was ridiculous, and I guessed that he wanted me to turn slightly to the last, and roar: This I do not accept. I leave the club! Then He could safely say: Zlatan himself wanted out of here, it's not my decision. But maybe I am a savage, a guy who goes on too confrontational
often. But I also know when I have to control myself. I had nothing to gain by declaring me for sale, and I thanked him quietly for call and put away. I was furious, of course. I cooked. But the meeting had yet been fruitful. I had understood the seriousness: he would not let me play if I taught me to fly through the air, and the question was really now: should I bother with it, and go every day to workout and have that guy in front of me? I doubted. Maybe I have to change tactics. I thought about it. I thought about it all the time. We went off to Korea and China in the pre-season training, and where I got Lira few matches. It meant nothing. The key players had yet come from the World Cup. I was still the black sheep, and Guardiola stayed away. away. If he wanted something, he sent others to talk to Me and all the time, the median as crazy. crazy. It had been going on all summer long: What happens to Zlatan? Should he sell? Should he stay? They were on me incessantly, incessantly, and it was the same for Guardiola. He had questions about it all the time, and how do you think he said? Straight, fine: I do not like Zlatan, I want to get rid of him? Not directly. directly. He looked uncomfortable, uncomfortabl e, and he talked his nonsense. "Zlatan's discretion its future." Shit, and it started ticking in me. I felt singled out and pissed off. I wanted to do something explosive. But also, how should I say, something something kicked off in me also. I knew of course: the thing had entered a new phase. Now it was not just war. war. Now the fight in the transfer market started and the game I like, and by my side, I had the guy who is best of all of it - Mino. He and I talked all the time and we decided to play tough and hard: Guardiola deserved nothing else. In Korea, I had meeting with Josep Maria Bartomeu, the new vice president of the club.We club.We sat at the hotel and talked, and the guy was at least clear. "Zlatan, if you have any offers, consider them," he said. "I'm going nowhere," I replied. "I am Barcelona Players. I stay in Barca. " Josep Maria Bartomeu looked surprised. "But how do we solve this?" "I have an idea," I replied. "Have you?" "You can call Real Madrid." "Why should we call them?" "Because if I really have to leave Barca, I would go to Real. You You can be sure I will be sold to them. "
Josep Maria Bartomeu was terrified. "You're kidding," he said. I saw the grave serious. "Not at all. We have a problem, "I continued. "We have a coach who is not man enough to say that he does not want me here. I want to stay. But he wants to sell me, so he may tell himself, loud and clear. clear. And the only club I want to be Real, just so you know. " I left the room, and now it was no doubt about it. The game had begun. Real, I had said.But of course, it was just a move, a provocation, a strategic fine. In reality reality,, we had Manchester City and Milan again. Sure, I knew, knew, of course, to all the unbelievable has happened in the City and all the money that seemed to exist since the gang from the United Arab Emirates has taken of. City could certainly be a big club in a few years. But I would soon be twenty-nine. I had no time for long-term plans, and money was never the important thing. I wanted to go to a team that could be fine now and no club in Europe had such history as Milan. "We are investing in Milan," I said. Now that I think about it afterwards, it is right incredible. Ever since the day Guardiola called me and told me to sit on the bench, we drove a very hard game, and we noticed, of course: we stressed Guardiola and management. It was quite according to plan. The guys would be so mind that the forced to let me go cheap. Which in itself would help us get a good personal contract! We had a meeting with Sandro Rosell, the new president, and it was immediately apparent, Sandro Rosell was sitting in a leghold trap. He had not understood what the problem was between me and Guardiola. He had just realized that the situation was untenable and that he was had to sell me any price if he could not kick the coach. But he could not. Not after all the successes the club had. Rosell had no choice. Whether he loved or hated me, he must get rid of me. "I'm sorry for this," he said. "But the situation is what it is. Do you have any particular club you want to? " Mino and I ran the same thing as the Bartomeu. "Yes, actually," I said. "There is one." "Good, very good." Sandro Rosell lit up. "What club?" "Real Madrid."
He paled. To release a Barca star to the Real is as high treason. "Not possible," he replied. "Anything but that." He was shaken, and now felt both Mino and I: Now we play our game, and I continued calmly: "But you asked and I answered, and I say something again: Real Madrid is the only club I can think of. I liked Mourinho. But then you need to call and tell it themselves for real. Is that okay? " It was not okay. Nothing in the world was less okay, and we knew, of course, and now began to Sandro Rosell to panic. The club had bought me for seven hundred million. The guy had been under pressure to get the money back, but if he sold me to Real, which of course became Mourinho's new club, would Rosell shot by fans more or less. It was not easy for him, it is impossible to say. He could not keep me because of the coach. He could not sell me to the arch-enemy. The guy had lost the initiative, and we went really hard: "But think of what the smoothly it will go. Mourinho has said he wants me! " If we knew nothing. But we ran on that line. "No," he said. "How boring. Really! Real're the only club we can imagine. " We went out and we smiled. Real, Real, we were on the east. It was our official line. But we had Milan again, and we worked for them. If Rosell was desperate, it was no good for Barca. But it was good for Milan. The more whipped Rosell was to sell, the cheaper it would be to buy me; and favored us in the long run. It was a game, and it went on several levels, one outside and one behind the scenes. But the clock ticked down also. Transfer window closes the thirty-first of August, and the twenty-sixth, we would play friendly against Milan at the Nou Camp. Nothing was ready yet. But the thing was still out there in the media. There was speculation everywhere, and Galliani, Milan's vice president, declared solemnly that he would not leave Barcelona without Ibrahimovic. In the arena waving supporters carrying signs: "Stop Ibra!" There was much focus on me of course. But mostly, it was Ronaldinho's game. Ronaldinho is god in Barcelona. He played in Milan, but he had been to Barca and then his election to the world's best player two years running. Before match we would see his best stuff on a large screen in the stadium, and he'd run a lap of honor there. But the guy that is ... he
do what he wants. We sat in the locker room and waited to run into the arena. It felt weird. Outside was heard the roar from the audience. Guardiola did not look at me, of course, and naturally, I wondered: Is this my last game with the team?What will happen? I had no idea. Then snatched all. Ronaldinho looked through the door, and Ronaldinho, he has charisma. He is one of the largest. All stared at him. 'Ibra', he shouted and grinned. "Yes," I replied. "Have you packed your bags? I'm here to take you to Milan! "He continued, and then laughed all, typically as Ronaldinho, sneak to us like that, and people looked at me. All had suspected, of course. But no one had heard it right out like that before. Now it was repeated again and again. I got to play from the start. The match meant nothing really, and just before kickoff, I went and Ronaldinho to Clown about it: Are you crazy, kind? The pictures of us laughing on the plane was all over then. But the worst was in the play time on the way out in the second half. Then shouted all the major names at me, Pirlo, Gattuso, Nesta and Ambrosini: "You have to Ibra! We need you! " Milan had not had it easy lately. Inter had dominated the Italian league in recent years, and everyone in Milan longed course after a new era of greatness, and I know now that many of the players, especially Gattuso, had pressed the club management: "For Christ's sake, buy Ibra. We need It to Win on the team. " But it was not easy. Milan did not have as much money as in the past, and how desperate Sandro Rosell than was he tried to enter the last get as much as possible for me. He wanted to have fifty, forty million. But Mino has continued to play tough. "You will not get shit. Ibra to Real. We do not want to Milan. " "Thirty, then?" The clock was ticking and Rosell went down in price again and again. It felt more and more promising, and Galliani came and visited Helena and me in our house in the mountains. Galliani is a heavyweight and an old friend and business associate of Berlusconi. He's a hell of a bargain. I had to do with him before. It was when I was about to leave Juventus, and the time he said: "I offer you this, or nothing! "Juventus was in crisis then, and he had the upper hand. Now the situation was reversed. Now he had the pressure on themselves. He could
not come home without me, not by the promises he made and the pressure from players and fans. In addition, we had helped him. We had seen to bring down the transfer rate. He seemed to get me on sale. "These are my terms," I said. "It's them or nothing," and I saw what he thought about it and was sweating. There was no bad requirements. "Okay," he said. "Okay." We shook hands and afterwards continued negotiations on my price. It was between clubs and I did not, not really. But it was a drama and there were a number of things that came into play. The time was one.The clock was ticking. Seller's concern another. The trainer could not handle me a third. For every hour that passed, Sandro Rosell increasingly nervous, and my rate went down and down. In the end I was sold for twenty million euros. Twenty million! Thanks to one person, the price had fallen on me with fifty million. Because of Guardiola's problems forced the club to make an emergency business, it was not wise, and all that stuff I said also to Sandro Rosell. Not that it now needed. He knew it. He had probably lain awake and sworn at it. I mean, I had done twenty-two goals and fifteen assistant during my season in Barcelona. Yet I had lost nearly seventy percent in value. Whose fault was it? Sandro Rosell knew very well, and I remember how we were all there, he, Mino, I, Galliani, my lawyer and Josep Maria Bartomeu in office at the Camp Nou. In front of us low contract. It only remained to write in and say goodbye. "I want you to know ..." began Rosell. "Yes?" "That I do my worst business all my life," he continued. "I sold off you, Ibra!" "You see what bad leadership can afford." "I know it is not managed well," he said and wrote on. Then it was my turn. I was in that pen and everyone looked at me and I felt it was time to say something. Or the mode and location. I perhaps should have been quiet. But I wanted to clean personally get a few things. "I have a message for Guardiola," I began, and then everyone was nervous of course.What happens now? Has there been enough trouble? Can not the guy just write on? "Must you?"
"Yes. I want you to tell him ... "I began, and I said exactly what I wanted them to greet him. Everyone in the room swallowed, and I noticed them, why will he with things like that now?But believe me, I needed it. Something happened in my head in that moment. I regained the motivation. Just the idea of getting to retaliate turned me on, it is the truth. As I sat there my signature on that paper and said those words, I became myself again. I was awakened as from a bad dream and for the first time in a while I longed to play football. Gone were all those thoughts about adding and afterwards I went into a period when I lirade of pure joy. Or rather, I'm on the pure joy and pure anger, joy at having escaped from Barca and anger that a single man ruined my dream. It was as if I had been liberated, and I began to see clearly the whole thing. When I had been in the middle of it, I most tried to cheer up myself: How dangerous is it not, I will come again, I'll show them. I was doing so all along. But then, when it finally was over, I realized, it had been tough. There had been heavy. The person would mean the most to me as a footballer had frozen me out completely, and the was worse than most of what I went through. I had a terrible pressure on me and in that kind of situations you need your coach. But what had I? A guy who avoided me. A guy who tried to treat me like I was. I would be the worst of the star. But in Indeed, I had walked around down there and felt unwelcome. What the hell, I had Mourinho and Capello, the two most disciplined trainers in the world and I had never had any problems with them. But then came that Guardiolan ... I cooked when I thought about it, and I can still remember when I said to the Mino: "He screwed up everything." "Zlatan" he replied. "Yes." "Dreams can come true, and make happy." "Yes." "But dreams can be fulfilled and the dead one," and it was true, that I felt right away. A dream had both met and crushed in Barca, and I continued down the stairs to the sea of journalists who were waiting outside, and the Then I thought: I did not call the guy by his real name. I needed something else, and I remembered all the nonsense he was thrown out of themselves, and then suddenly there outside the Nou Camp in Barcelona, I found it. The
philosopher! I would call him a philosopher. "Ask the philosopher what the problem is," I said with all the pride and anger I felt. 26
THERE WAS QUITE ILL RESURRECTION, and I remember one thing Maxi said afterwards, or two things really. The first one was just fun. He asked: "Why are all of you, Dad?" And I tried to explain that it was "Daddy play football. People see me on TV and think I am good ", and after that I felt proud: Dad is not so stupid. Then it took a new turn. It was our baby girl who told me. Maxi had asked why everyone looks at him, for it is clear, there was also something he experienced those days, especially when he arrived with me to Milan and worst of all, he had added: "I do not like when they look at me so." I am sensitive to that. He will also begin feel different now? I hate it when children feel singled out, also because so much of my childhood comes back: Zlatan hear do not belong here. He is si. He is so. That's me, and I tried to be a lot of Maxi and Vincent this time. They are wonderful, wild guys. But it was not easy. Madness had started. After I talked to reporters outside the Nou Camp, I went home to Helena. She had not expected to move as fast again, and she probably would liked to have stayed.Yet she knew better than anyone: if I do not thrive on football field, I become like a withered flower. Then it's out of everyone in the family and I told Galliani: I want to go to Milan with the whole gang; Helen, boys, dog, and Mino. Galliani nodded, si, si. Did you get the whole gang! He had obviously prepared for anything really, and we hope all into one of the club's private jet and left Barcelona. I remember when we landed at Linate airport in Milan. It was as if Obama would come. There were eight black Audi Cars lined up in front of us and a red carpet was rolled out, and I went out with Vincent on his arm. During the few minutes I was interviewed by a few selected journalists, guys from Milan Channel and Sky and the and the other side of the fence hundreds of fans stood and screamed. It was great. It was in the air. The club had waited long for this. Five years ago when Berlusconi booked table with me at the restaurant Giannino had believed everything was ready and made all possible preparations, among other things, created a thing of website, a cool effect where it first was black, and then brightened in the
middle, and let boom, boom, the worst sound effect, just before my name appeared, Ibrahimović, like a flashing, thundering streamer, and so the words "At last our." It was heavy and the thing ran the now, and no one had apparently been prepared for the onslaught. The site came crashing down. The extinct completely, and I remember I walked past those fences at the airport where the fans stood and screamed my name, "Ibra, Ibra". Then I jumped into one of Audi cars, and so we drove through the city. It was chaos. I promise. Zlatan has landed, type. There were cars and mopeds and TV cameras following us, and of course, I got a kick. The adrenaline was pumping, and I understood more of what black holes I lived in Barca. It was as if I were trapped in a prison and met with a festival outside the walls, and everywhere I felt the same thing all over Milan had waited for me and they all wanted me to take responsibility. I would lead them into trophies again, and frankly, I liked it. The street outside the hotel Boscolo where we were staying was cordoned off. All around screaming and waving Milan residents, and inside the building was hotel management lined up and bowed. In Italy's footballers as gods, and we got the big suite, and we noticed it right away. Everything was so organized. This club had the strength and traditions, and frankly, it tricks the body. I wanted to play football. The same day the Milan face Lecce in the opening match in Serie A this season and I asked Galliani on to be with. It did not work. My paper was not clear. Still, I went to the stadium. I would be presented in half, and I will not forget that feeling. I did not want to go into the locker room. I did not want to disrupt the upload. But right next to there was a lounge, and there I sat with Galliani and Berlusconi and other big shots. "You remind of a player I had," said Berlusconi. I sensed understood who he was talking about, but I wanted to be polite. "Who?" I said. "A guy who could take care of situations on their own." It was Van Basten, of course he was talking about and he welcomed me in the club: "It's a great honor," and all that, and so we went up to the stands together. I would be sitting two seats away from him because of this or that political reason. It's always a lot around the the man of course. Yet it was quite quiet then, at least in view of what followed. Two months later blew up the whole circus around
Berlusconi, with rumors of young girls and lawsuits. But as he sat there and seemed happy, and I began to feel vibes. People were screaming in the middle name again and I went down on the floor, and down there they rolled out a red carpet and set up a small stage, and while I waited on the sidelines, or at least it felt that way. The stadium was boiling. San Siro was packed, even though it was August and holidays, and so I walked out. It rumbled around me, and I was like a little boy again. It was not long ago I stood at the Camp Nou in the same situation, and so I went over all the roars and the applause and standing next to carpet lots of children. I fivade them all, and got up on stage. "Now we will win it all," I said in Italian and then it got even worse. The stadium shook, and afterwards I got a Shirt. It was Ibrahimović on it, but no number. I had nothing yet. I had received any to choose from, but none of them were good, and perhaps I could get lineup, as Klaas-Jan Huntelaar had now. Huntelaar was posted on transfer list, but because he was not sold yet, I must wait. In any case, it would start now.Now I see that Milan won their first Scudetto in seven years. A new era of greatness would start, I had promised. Both Helena and I had bodyguards and maybe find someone: what's the luxury? It is not a luxury. In Italy, the hysteria surrounding football stars; it is a terrible pressure, and frankly, it had happened some scary stuff, not just the fire outside our door in Turin. When I was in Inter and would play the match at San Siro we were visited by Sanela. She and Helen drove there in our big new Mercedes. In front of the arena was chaos and traffic jams. Helen could only crawl and people around her have all the time to stare into and see who she was. Then drove a guy on vespa past a little too fast and too close and slammed into the rear view mirror. In that situation did not know Helen if it was intentional or not. There was more: Oh no, what is he doing? She opened the car window to correct rearview mirror and saw something from the page: a new guy in the motorcycle helmet rushed at her and then she seized, there is something fishy, a trap. She tried to close the window but the car was new and she had no track of keys and she did not recognize the box in time. The guy got there and beat her in the face. It was wild fights and Mercan slammed into the car in front and the guy tried to pull her out of the window. But fortunately, Sanela was there. She took hold of Helen's body and held it, it was completely insane. It was
a tug of war to the death, so it felt, and finally succeeded Sanela tear into Helena in the car again and then turned to Helena in any way. She received a kick in the face of the idiot from an impossible position, and she was kind eleven inch high heels. It must have made substantial evil, and the guy ran away. People had begun to gather around the car. It was quite chaotic, and Helena was bruised. It could have gone bad. It's been a lot of stuff, unfortunately. That is the truth. We needed protection, and anyway, my bodyguard, a pleasant good guy, drove me out the first day to Milanello, the club's Fitness. I would take all the usual medical tests. Milanello is almost an hour from Milan, and down at the gates waiting supporters, of course, and so we went. I felt the full weight of tradition in Milan and I visited all the legends on the team, Zambrotta, Nesta, Ambrosini, Gattuso, Pirlo, Abbiati, Seedorf, Inzaghi, and the young thymus, Pato, and the coach Allegri, who had just arrived from Cagliari and who had not much experience, but that seemed fine. Sometimes when you are new to the club, questioned you. It will fight for your status, type: Do you think you are the star here? But here, it was immediately apparent. I got respect for once, and thought maybe I should not say it. But many players told me afterwards: We took twenty percent when you came. You pulled us out from the shadow. Milan had not just had a setback in the league for years. The club had not been the best in town for many years. Inter had dominated. Inter had dominated ever since I joined the club in 2006 with the whole setting in which I brought with me from Capello and that somewhere said, training is as important as the matches. You can not train the software and play aggressively. You have to fight in every moment. Otherwise, I search for you, and I walked around and tried to pep and jokes, all that was natural for me at all locations except Barcelona. In some ways it reminded of my first time at Inter. Lead us, guide us, it seemed the guys say, and I thought: Now, the balance of power disturbed again. I went completely crazy psyched for every single workout, and just like before Barcelona I barked at people. I lived on and screamed. I made fun of those who lost and people said to me: What is happening? To tag, we have not seen the guys in ages. There was another new guy on the team. His name Robson de Souza. He was called Robinho. I had been involved in the purchase. Galliani had
asked me already in Barcelona: "What do you think about Robinho? Can you play with him? " "A wonderful player, get him here only. The rest will dissolve. " The club paid eighteen million euros for him, and it was seen as cheap, and Galliani received prestige for that too. He had managed to buy both Me and Robinho for the SALE PRICE. Not long ago Manchester City had paid far more than double for Robinho. Still, buying a bit of a gamble. Robinho was a child prodigy gone a bit awry for. Nobody is a greater god than Pele in Brazil, and in the nineties he chefe for Santos youth activities, Santos was Pele parent club, and who had had a hard time in many years.People dreamed that he would find a new super talent, not because many believed it seriously. A new Pele! A new Ronaldo, one of those players are not born many times in a century even. But the very first workout was Pele on absolutely flabbergasted. He even blew off, it is said, and went to a poor, skinny guy on the plane. "I almost started crying," he said. "You remind me." It was Robinho, a guy who grew up and became the big star everyone expected, at least initially. He was sold to Real Madrid and later to Manchester City, but recently he had a lot of negative publicity. It would have been much drama around him. We came close to each other in Milan. We were two guys who grew up under difficult circumstances, and there were similarities in our lives. We both had taken, because we dribbler too much, and I loved his technique. But he was a little too unfocused on the plane, and said the trick for much of its own borders. I was on him much for that. I was on all the team, and before my first match against Cesena away I burned for energy, and you can imagine hype around my person. The newspapers wrote page after page: now I would show you what I did for my new club. It was me, Pato and Ronaldinho on top, and it sounded heavy. Robinho started on the bench. But it was hopeless. I was in flames, just which was my first time at Ajax. I wanted too much. Therefore, it was too little, and after the first half, it was two-nil to Cesena. Cesena and we were Milan! It was not wise, and I was mad and crazy on the field. But hell, nothing left. Still, I fought like an animal, and the end, we were punished. Who knew, maybe we could turn it around? I would add penalties, and I stepped forward and shot - in the post. We lost, and
how do you think I felt? I would make doping test after the match, and I came in there in the room, so angry that I broke a table, and Doping guy in there was completely terrified: "Take it easy, take it easy." "Listen," I said. "You do not say to me what to do. Because otherwise you may end up with the table down there. " It was not pleasant, and it was against an innocent doping controller. But with that attitude I had entered Milan, and when we lost I saw black. Then you let me break things in peace. I seethed with anger and was only happy when the newspapers went off on me the day after and put the bottom grades. I deserved it and I clenched fists. But still, it came off not in the next game either, and not after, either, although I then made my first goal against Lazio away, and it looked like we would win. But in the final minutes we released into an EQUALIZER, and the time it was no doping control. I went straight into the dressing room and there hung that picture in which the trainer writes up tactics, and it kicked me to the all my strength. The painting flew off like a projectile and touch a player. "Do not play with fire. It is dangerous, "I shouted, and then there was silence in the room because I guess everyone knew exactly what I meant: we would win, otherwise, we would not fucking let any unnecessary goal towards the end. We could not go on like this. After four games we only had five points and Inter went up in the top league, as usual, and I felt more and more pressure on my shoulders. We still lived in hotels Boscolo, and had some order on our procedures. Helen has stayed away from public life made its first interview. It was for Elle magazine, and it became a full circus. Every word of us gave headlines. I could say totally useless stuff, like: "It has become smaller meatballs and macaroni since I met Helen. "In the newspapers it was Zlatan's big declaration of love for Helen and I felt more and more, I was changing. I always got a kick out of attention began to be afraid of people. I did not like having too many people around me, and we lived withdrawn. I kept indoors, and after a few months we moved to an apartment club arranged for us in the middle of town. It was nice of course, but it was not our furniture and our stuff, that's fine; but quite impersonal. In the mornings bodyguard waited on me down in the foyer, and so we drove out to Milanello, and I had breakfast before training and after lunch, and often it was a lot of promotional stuff, images that were
taken and there, and as always in Italy, I was away a lot from the family. We stayed at a hotel for the away games and was locked up at Milanello to home fighter, and there began to be felt. I missed a lot at home, Vincent grew, he talked more and more. It was crazy really. Maxi and Vincent had moved around so much that they spoke three languages fluently, Swedish, Italian and English. Life came into a new stage, and I often thought: What should I do when my career ends, and Helen begins her again? There were some things like thoughts. Sometimes I longed for the time after football. Sometimes I did not. But I was no less psyched for it, and pretty soon came off, it is also on the pitch. I decidedseven, eight games in a row, and the old ecstasy and hysteria awoke again. It was "Ibra, Ibra" everywhere. The newspapers made the montage. It was me, and on top of me the whole team, which if I wore the entire Milan on my shoulders. It was that kind of talk. I was hotter than ever. But one thing I knew better than most at this point: In football, you can be God one day andnot worth a shit the next, and stepstep closer to the key game in the league the autumn, the derby against Inter at San Siro, and no doubt was just, Ultra fans would hate me. The press would be even greater. I also got a problem with a guy on the team. He was called Oguchi Onyewu and was American and the size of a house, and I told a friend on the team: "Something serious will happen. I feel it in me. " 27
It was said that he was the world's nicest guy. Oguchi Onyewu looked like a heavyweight boxer. He was above six feet and weighed nearly hundred pounds. Although he did not site said the team he had previously been selected as the best foreign player in the Belgian league and this year's main American football players. But he tweaked not me. He wanted for me. "I'm not like the other hills," he said. "Okay, what good then!" "I will not let me psyche of your talk. Of your mouth that goes all the time. " "What are you talking about?" "Hey, I've seen you at the games, you just psych and psyche," he continued, and which annoyed me.
Not just because I was tired of all the slopes that would provoke. I'm not the one talking. I give back the plan. I have heard so a lot of crap over the years, fucking gypsies, stuff about my mom, all that. The worst thing is: I'll see you after the game! What the hell is that? Shall we meet on parking lot or? It's just nonsense. I remember Giorgio Chiellini, a central defender with Juventus. We had played together, and later when I was at Inter we met on the plane and then he was on me all the time: "Come on then, it's not like before, right?" He tried to provoke, and then tackled he had me from behind. It is cowardly, it takes you. You do not see the guy coming, and I went down and was in pain. I was in great pain. But I said nothing. I do not do that in these kinds of situations. I think I give in the next close combat. Then I will thunder so the guy does not stand up in a long time so no, no, I'm not one to talk. I tackle instead. I bang like a bomb in the close control. But the time was no opportunity, and so after the final whistle I went up to him and grabbed his head and drew him like a disobedient dog, and then became Chiellini afraid. I saw it on him. "You wanted to fight. So why do you poop on you now then, "I snapped and went off to the locker room. No, I give back to the body and not with words and I said also to Oguchi Onyewu. But he just went, and once when I shouted: "That was not a free kick!" Shushed him with his finger, like: You see, you're talking crap, and I thought: That's enough, now enough is enough. "Beware," I said. He shushed again and then I saw black. But I said nothing, not one word. The bastard should know how I'm talking in these kinds of situations, and when he got the ball the next time I rushed toward him and jumped to his feet and studs in front of me, and it is the worst form of rigging. But he saw me. He threw away and we collapsed in the grass, both of them, and first I thought, hell, a miss. I'll get him next time. But when I got up and walked away, I received a blow on the shoulder, and it was not a good idea, Oguchi Onyewu. I rang him, and then we smoke together. I am not talking about something a little scrimmage. We wanted to smash each other. It was brutal and we were two guys on over ninety pounds, and we rolled over and knelt and fought, and of course, the whole team rushed forward and tried to tear us apart. It was not
easy, not at all. We were mad and furious, and certainly, yes, I admit, you should have epinephrine on the plane, you are going to war. But that was over the limit. It was as life and death. Yet what happened the sickest thing afterwards. Oguchi Onyewu started praying to God with tears in his eyes. He made the sign of the cross and I thought: What is that? I freaked out even more. It was provocative, and in that situation came Allegri, coach, front: "Calm down, Ibra." He had nothing for it. I just took him away and ran towards Oguchi again. But when I was stopped by teammates, and it was probably good. It could end badly, and afterward called Allegri us both. We shook hands and apologized. But Oguchi was cold as a fish, and be happy for me. Is he cold, I recall, no problems, and afterwards I drove home. Then I called Galliani, boss, and one thing you should know, I do not like to blame me. It is written oman. It's crap, especially not on a team where you have put on a leadership role. "Listen," I told Galliani. "It has happened a boring thing in training. It was my fault and I take full responsibility. I want to apologize and you can give me any punishment you wish. " "Ibra" he said. "This is Milan. We do not work that way. You have apologized. We now look forward. " But it was not over, not yet. It had been supporters along the sideline and it was spread in the newspapers. No one knew the background. But fight became known. It took ten people to tear us apart, it said, and spoke of concerns about the team and Ibra as a bad boy and all that where ordinary. I ignored it. Write what you want only! But I felt, hell, I have chest pain, and we check it out. I had broken a ribs in the fight and broken ribs are nothing to do about. The doctors wrapped me only. It was not exactly the best thing that could happen. Build up for the derby against Inter began. We had Pato and Inzaghi injured and newspapers wrote page after page, of course, not least about the duel between me and Materazzi. It would be particularly hateful, it said. Not only because Materazzi was a tough guy and we had fightats sooner and played together.Materazzi had derided me for that kiss on the Barca brand in Camp Nou. It was the one and the others. There was talk the most, but one thing was certain: Materazzi would go against me hard, it was his job. It was important for the team to stop me and in that kind of position is only one way to respond. You have to fight back just as hard. Otherwise, you lose
initiative and risk being damaged. No fans are worse than Inter's Ultras. They are not guys who like to forgive, believe me, and for them I was the enemy number one. No one had forget our fights from Lazio match, and I knew, of course, there would be boos and mind games. But my goodness, the stuff belongs to. I was not the first Inter player who signed for Milan. I was in good company. Ronaldo arrived in Milan in 2007 and then shared Inter Klacken out whistles to disturb him. The matches between Inter and Milan, Derby della Madonnina, always move up emotions, and nowhere are politics and shit in it too. There is a huge rivalry. It's like Real-Barca in Spain, and I remember the players in the arena. You could see in their faces. This was great. This was important. We were in top in the league now and a win would mean a lot. Milan had not won a derby in years. Inter had won the Champions League that year. It was Inter who dominated. But if ... if we would win, which was a change of power in the air, and outside the stadium roars were heard and the thundering music from the speakers. There was hatred and folk festival in the air at one time and I was not exactly nervous. I was tagged only. I was sitting and jumped to get run into and war. But of course, I knew you could syringe of adrenaline. You can still be completely outside the game, and not get shit. You do not know, and I remember so well match the start and the sound in there at the San Siro. You get used to Never really. It boils around you, and almost immediately had Seedorf a nod across goal.The game flowed back and forth. In the fifth minute, I had a ball on the right wing. I dribble and got into the penalty area and I had Materazzi on me. Materazzi did understood as well say at once: You can not get away, just wait! But he made a mistake.He pulled me down and I fell down in the grass, and of course I thought: Is it criminal? Is it punishment? That should be it. But I did not know. It was a terrible noise and all Inter players threw out his arms, of course, my ass, kind. But the judge ran towards the penalty spot and I took a deep breath. It was I who would put it and you can imagine. Behind me was my team and there was no need to doubt what they thought: Do not miss Ibra! Miss for God's sake do not! Before me was the goal and the goalkeeper and behind Inter's Ultra fans. They were mad.They booed and shouted. They did everything to psych me
and some of them had gadgets with laser beams. I got the green light across the face, and Zambrotta switched to. He went to the judge: "What the hell, they interfere with Ibra. They dazzle him! " But what would you do? Search the entire gallery? It was not and I was fully focused. They could have protected me with main beam and headlights. I just wanted out and shoot and this time I knew exactly: the ball was in the goalkeeper's right corner, and I stood still a few seconds, and of course, somewhere stuck it to me: I was whipped to put it. I had started my season with the bar a criminal. It did not happen again. But I did not think about it. You should never think too much on the pitch. You should just play and I ran up and shot. I shot just as I thought, and sat, and I raised my arms and looked Ultra fans right in the eye as well: you bloody tricks will not work. I'm stronger than this, and I must say, when the whole stadium roared and I looked at the big picture, "Inter-Milan, zero-one, Ibrahimović," when I felt it's good. Then I was back in Italy. But anyway, we were just a few minutes into the match, and fight hardened. Fifteen minutes into the second half we had to Abate sent off, and it is no game to play with ten men against Inter. We worked like animals. Materazzi was on me like a leech, and in a clinch few minutes later rushed I am against the ball and struck against him and floored him completely. It was unintentional, of course. But he remained on the ground, and doctors and all Inter players ran to and hatred of Ultra fans only grew, especially when Materazzi was carried out on a stretcher. The last twenty minutes was pressure on us terribly, and I was completely exhausted. I wanted to vomit from exhaustion. But we made it. We maintained our management, and won. The day after I receive my fifth Gold Ball in Sweden. I had prior knowledge of it, and I really wanted to get to bed early, so early it is now possible when such a match is spinning in his head. But we decided that we were going out and partying at the nightclub Cavalli. Helena hung. We sat right quietly in a corner with Gattuso while Pirlo and Ambrosini and all parties like crazy. It was such a relief above all, a crazy joy, and we did not get home until four in the morning. In December, Milan Antonio Cassano. Cassano has a bit of a bath boyrykte like me, and he likes to be seen and talk about himself as a fantastic player. The guy has been through a lot and often been involved in
fights with players and coaches, including with Capello at Roma. Capello found even in an expression - Cassanata, which means something irrational and insane.But Cassano has a wonderful quality of his game. I really liked him and we became better and better teams. But there was a problem. The feeling came creeping. I began to feel burned out. I had given everything in every game, and I do not think I have ever felt such a pressure. It may sound strange considering everything I went through. It was tough to come to Barca. It was not easy at Inter either. But here I felt more than ever, we need to win the league and it was I who would lead the team. I played every game as if it were a World Cup final around, and I paid a price. I was worn out. In the end, I had no outlet for my ideas and images on the plane. The body was a step behind, and surely I should have rested for a match or two. But Allegri was new. new. He wanted to win at all costs, too. He needed his Zlatan and he squeezed every drop out of me. Not that I'm one second blamed him. He looked just the job and I wanted to play. play. I was floating. I had rhythm. I had wanted to play with a broken leg and Allegri Allegri triggered me good. We had respect for each other. But I paid a price, and I was not quite young anymore. I was physically large, not as in Juventus second season, not at all. There was no junk food, no excess weight. I had been eating a strict diet. The muscles were all together, together, but I was older and a different player than the beginning of their careers. I was no longer dribbler, no Ajax Boy. I was a heavy explosive striker and I had to play smarter to keep all the matches and in February I began to feel tired. It would be a secret within the club, but it came out in the press and the talk was much about it. Does he? Stools he? We started also lose at the end of several matches. We We were not all the way and we went on a whole range of unnecessary baklängesmål, and in a month I shot no goal. The body lacked the real explosiveness, and we went out against Tottenham in the Champions League and it was heavy, of course, we were the better team, I thought. But even in the league, we lost the initiative, and Inter played great again. Would they go for us in the table? Would we lose the grip we had on the league? There was talk about it. It was written about everything, and nothing was better of my expulsions. The first was against the Bari, a bottenlag. We were in with a zero-and I was in the penalty area and a back stuck
me and I felt cornered. I reacted instinctively instinctively. I hit him with the palm of the stomach and he went down in the grass, completely idiotic of me. I confess. But it was a reflex, nothing else, and I wish I had a better explanation. I have not. Football is a fight. You are attacked and you give again, and sometimes go too far without knowing why. I've done it many times. Over the years I learned a lot. I'm not madman in MFF longer, longer, but the thing never goes out of me completely. My Win It has a downside. I leaking from, and the time of Bari, I got red cards. Red cards can make anyone crazy crazy.. But I went directly from the plan without saying a word. Cassano acknowledged not long afterwards. It was a consolation. But hell, I was turned off, not just the next match against Palermo, but also in the new derby against Inter. Milan The management tried to protest. It was quite a circus around it. But it did not, and it was a bitch of course. Still, I took it as hard as ever for years. It's true. Where did the family. family. It does not go down further. further. The children come in between. But the curse continued. I'm back against Fiorentina and it looked as if I would take care of me. We led and it was just a few minutes left. Then I a throw at me. I was furious, and shouted "vaffanculo," go to hell, to linjedomarenn and of course, that was not good, especially with linjedomare Given what happened against Bari. But come on? Have you been there on the field?People say vaffanculo vaffanculo and stuff all the time. They appear not get it. They does not shut off in several matches. The T he judges let it pass, at least usually. usually. The shouting harsh words the whole time out there. But I was Ibra. Milan was Milan. We We led the league. It was politics in it. They saw a chance to punish us. I think so. I was shut down in three games. The idiotic thing looked like it could cost us Scudetto and the club did everything possible to save the situation. We made up a defense. We said that I swore to myself. We were forced to fight back: "He was angry about his mistakes on the pitch. He spoke for itself. " But frankly, frankly, that's bullshit, sorry for that! On the other hand, the punishment was ridiculously hard. Vaffanculo? It was stupid of me. Yet it was no. As an expletive is vaffanculo not even particularly rough. You should know,, I've heard worse. But it was as it was. I had to buy mode and take know scorn and bark and no turkey price of a television channel, Tapiro Tapiro d'Oro as it was called.That's the game. You hailed. You lowered. I was used.
The table was then Napoli emerged as table runner just before Inter, Napoli, which had its heyday in the eighties when Maradona played for club, but in recent years had all sorts of difficulties and only now was back in top form. We were three points ahead, but it was six games left and three of them, I was turned off. It was crap, and yet, I had opportunities to rest and think of my life. I worked on this book. I had to remember and it hit me, I have not been thenicest guy. I have not said the right things all the time, and I take full responsibility, of course, for everything. I do not blame anyone else. But still, there are many people like me out there, young boys and girls who get yelled atbecause they are not like everyone else, and sometimes, of course, be they get yelled at. I believe in discipline. But what makes me so mad, all those trainers who themselves have never made their way to the top and still are so sure: This is how we do and in no other way! It's so simplistic. So stupid! There are a thousand ways to go, and that is special and a bit wrong is often the best. I hate it when those who stand out are pressed. had I not been different, I would not be sitting here and what I mean is of course not: Be like me.Try to be like Zlatan! Not at all! I'm talking about to go its own way, what the road now, and it should not fucking be on any lists or come withbeing ostracized just because you are not as the other. But of course, that's not good if you fucks up the Scudetto you promised to your club just because you have a fucking mood. 28
Adriano Galliani was sitting up there at the Stadio Olimpico in Rome with his eyes closed and prayed, may we win, we must win, and I understand him really.. It was the seventh May 2011. It was half past eleven at night, and really the minutes passed. They ticked too slowly on the bench bolted to Allegri and the guys. Whether you believe in God or not was the mode of prayer.We met with Roma, and we arranged only one point Scudetto would be ours, the first in seven years. I was back on the field. How nice was not it? I had been away a long time because of my exclusions. But now I could be with and decide the league, not because I thought it would be easy. It was the war between Rome and Milan as well, not only because it is the major
cities against each other. other. It was an important game for both teams. We fought for the league title and Roma for fourth place. A fourth place is a great thing for like four, you will be in the Champions League and the means a lot of money in TV rights. But it happened also something back in 1989, and in Italian football to forget not that easy easy.. Stuff is in the walls, as I said. They are still hanging in the air. We all remember Ronaldo who did not get with it penalties that time. But this was something very worse. It was Antonio, Antonio, the Falchi, a young Roma supporter who traveled to Milan to see the away match against Milan. He had an uneasy Mom: "Do not wear something red and yellow. yellow. Do not show that you are a Roma supporter. "And the guy obeyed. He dressed anonymously. He could be a guy from any club, but when one of Milan's hardcore supporters came up and asked for a cigarette, he revealed in his dialect, it was like "Are you y ou at Roma, motherfucker?" motherfucker?" and so he was surrounded. He was kicked and beaten to death. It was a terrible tragedy and before our match was a Tifo for him. A Tif Tifoo is a tribute from the stands, and Antonio De Falchis name lit up the arena in yellow and red colors, and it was a nice gesture, of course, but it also affected the mood in there. It was a great day and nerves. In Roma's Totti the big star. He has played for the club since He was thirteen years old. He is like a god in the city. He has won the World Cup top scorer, Golden Boot, everything, and although he was not exactly young He had shown great form lately, so self-evident: it was Totti panels everywhere and Roma signs, but it was full of Milan and Ibrabanderoller also. We We had many ditresta fans who hoped to celebrate the league win, and the reputation of fireworks in the stands. The match was blown up twenty and forty-five, as usual. It was me and Robinho on top.Cassano and Pato sat on the bench and we started well. But in the fourteenth minute Vucinic Vucinic came free. It felt like targets, he puts it. But Abbiati, our goalie, kanonräddade.Det was pure reflex, and it began to feel uneasy. Roma had beaten us the last meeting at the San Siro, and we struggled even harder. We drove up there, and I had several chances and Robinho shot through the post. Prince Boateng had the earth's position but we did not score, and time passed. Zero-zero-handed, and the clock ticked and ticked and in the end had gone ninety minutes. It should be clear. So they say damn the judges: Five minute additions! Five minutes, and we played on, and frankly frankly,, more than Galliani asked enough. Seven years
without a Scudetto is a long time for a club like Milan, and now it was close, and do you remember?I had promised that we would win again. It was the first thing I said when I presented at the San Siro, and of course, athletes says it all possible. They promise you the moon, it will be crap anyway. But some, as Muhammad Ali, they kept their promise and I really wanted to hear them. I wanted to talk and perform. I had come to Milan with all my crazy Win and sworn, promised and fought and toiled, and now ... now the remaining seconds, ten, nine, eight, seven ... and there! The referee blew off, and victory was ours. All stormed into the arena and smoke billowed up. People shouted and sang. It was beautiful and hysterical. It was absolutely wonderful, and Allegri, our coach, was thrown into the air and Gattuso were racing with a magnum bottle of champagne and sprayed down all. Cassano was interviewed by television and everyone around me was completely crazy.There was a lot, "Thank Ibra, you did what you promised," but also crazy stuff. We were all high on adrenaline, and Cassano was a nice guy. He could use a kick. I walked past him and the television reporter and pulled the one foot in the mind of Cassano, not hard, of course, but not completely solved either and the guy jumped. "What's he doing?" Said the reporter. "He's crazy." "Seems so!" "But a player who will help us win the league can do what he wants," said Cassano, laughing. But he was in pain. He walked around with an ice pack on his head afterwards. It was a bit heavy-handed love, perhaps, and so began the party. I fell asleep In no bath that night. But it was the right game yet, and frankly, when I thought about it, it was great. I had been six years in Italy and won the Scudetto every year. Has anyone else done something similar? I doubt it, and we won not only the league. We took home Super Cup meeting between the league winner and cupvinnaren. We went to China. There was a hysteria around me down there too, and I scored a goal and became a man of the match and got my eighteenth title trophy, my eighteenth, and I was happy, quite frankly.
But something had happened to me. Football was not longer. I had my family and I had said no to the national team. I liked Lars Lagerback. Yet I had not forgotten thing in Gothenburg. I will not forget so easily, and I wanted more time to Helen and the boys. Therefore had I have not played with Sweden at a time, but still, it would have been that last summer at Barca when so much was heavy and I felt that the different annoying guy from the suburbs again, he who does not really fit. The summer was a lot of my teammates in Barcelona and won the World Cup, and I felt more and more I miss it there, not so I was going to be in the squad for that. It took too much time. I was almost never home with the kids. I missed so much. But on the period ended Lasse Lagerback. Erik Hamrén became new national team coach. He called me: "Hello, hello. I am the new coach. " "I have to say directly," I said. "I have no plans to come back." "What?" "I do not know what has been said to you. You may have received false promises, but I do not play. " "Damn, Zlatan. You take me by surprise. I had no idea. " But he was a stubborn bastard. I like the stubborn bastards. He went on: It will be awesome. It will be all right, all that stuff, and I invited him to our house in Malmö and I knew right away, the guy is nice. We worked out. He was no ordinary Swedish coach. He dared to go outside borders and those guys are always the best. I do not think the prefect, you know.Sometimes you have to break the rules. That's when you move on. I says: what happened to the guys in the MFF's boys teams who always behaved? Written the books about them? I said yes to the end and we agreed, I'd get the captain armband and become a leader also in the squad. I liked it. I even liked that I was the one who would take the crap in the media if we lost. I kicked up about it, and when I met the guys on the team, I looked at them. They thought: What the hell is this? Normally, it pops up a few fans and watch the training sessions. Now came the six thousand on a single small national team gathering in Malmo, and I said calmly: "Welcome to my world!" To come to Malmö is always special. Sure, I'm often there of course. Malmo is our home.But when we stay in our house for the most part. It is something else to play there. That's when the memories return. The summer after the Scudetto and Supercupvinsten would Malmo FF and we
play in Milan a friendly match. The negotiations had lasted a long time between clubs and the sponsors, but when tickets went on sale people streamed to the the stadium. It was raining, I've heard. People stood in long lines with their umbrellas and tickets sold out in twenty minutes. It was a completely crazy prints and queues back and forth to Pildammsparken. I've said some shit about Malmo FF over the years. I have not forgotten what Hasse Borg and Brian Madsen did, but I love the club also, and I will not forget when we came to Malmö on the day. The entire city embraced me. It felt like carnival. There was chaos everywhere and barriers and hysteria and crowds. People jumped and waved and shouted when they saw me. Many had been standing there for hours just to to get a glimpse of me. The whole Malmo had a party. All were waiting for Zlatan, and I have run into many arenas that boiled and thundered. But it there was special: it was both then and now. It was my life that came back and the whole stadium sang and shouted my name. In that old documentary True Blue I sit on a train and talk right into the air: "I've decided one thing," I say. "That I will have a purple Diablo, a car, Diablo, it's a Lamborghini. And so it should stand on license plate: Toys, toys ... in English. " It is a bit childish. I was young. I was eighteen, and a cool car was the best ball that was for a guy like me and the world was open to me. But those words went round everywhere: Have you heard what that Zlatan says, that flushing. A purple Diablo! It was a long time ago. It was far away, yet close in any way, and then that night at the stadium in Malmo unfurled fans out a giant fabric around the grandstand and I stared at it, and it took a second. Then I took. It was a drawing of me, and beside it a car with license plate Toys. "Zlatan came home. We fix dream car ", it said. It felt in the heart, or as a friend of mine once said: It is a story all together. It is a journey from suburbia to a dream. Not long then I got a picture sent to me, a photograph of Annelund Bridge. Annelund Bridge is on the verge of Rosengard, and on the bridge had no also put up a sign: You can take a guy from Rosengard but you can not take Rosengard from a guy, it was signed Zlatan. I had not had a clue about it. It was completely new to me and this time I was hurt. I hurt my foot and went home to Malmö few days and drove rehab. I had with me a fyskille from Milan, and one afternoon we took off out to the bridge to look at that quote. The
