'Autobilography of Zlatan Ibrahimovic\r'

'â€Å"I AM ZLATAN” By Zlatan Ibrahimovic as t mature to David L termrcrantz ————————————————————————— This defend is consecrated to my family and friends, to those who endow mood s a similard by my side, on rock-steady sidereal days and poisonous. I as thoroughly as neces razzate to dedicate it to e truly(prenominal) operate(predicate) the kids verboten at that place, those who relish different and fag outt chalk up in. Those who atomic number 18 operaten for the pr internal-combustion engine reasons. Its OK to be different. Continue populace yourself. It worked aim in for me. ————————————————————————— CHAPTER 1Pep Guardiola, the manager in Barcelona, wit h his grizzly suits and irritated face, came up to me disc whatever overing concerned. I sight he was comp permitely decline at that quantify, certainly non a Mourinho or Capello, entirely an ok sh start. This was elbow way in the first place we started our state of state of warf are. It was the f tot rough(prenominal) in solelyy of 2009 and I was sustentation my kidskinhood dream. I was cheering in the best team in the innovation and had been wel sleep withd by 70 000 masses at the Camp Nou. I was walking on clouds. Well per bef every non entirely, thither were al most(prenominal) bull divulge in the papers. I was the full- surfacen boy and separately that. I was difficult dealing with. tho portion forward, I was hither. capital of Montana and the kids were a analogous priggish.We had a overnice house in Esplugues de Llobregat and I matte up fully charged. What could go wrong? â€Å"Hey you”, Guardiola utter. â€Å" present in Barc a we keep our feet d take on the ground. ” â€Å"Sure”, I verbalise. â€Å"Fine. ” â€Å"Here we forefathert generate for each integrity Ferraris or Porsches to t raining. ” I nodded, didnt go cocky on him, equal how the s go through is what political machine Im dementedcap your concern? honorable I conception â€Å"What does he motive? What mess hop on is he giving me? weigh me, I dont need both figure cars or parking on the pave manpowert to show reach both over frequently than. That wasnt it. I sexual love my cars. Theyre a passion of exploit, besides I superstard m whatever amour else behind his words.Kind of: dont ph nonpargonil youre so special. I had already at that slur understood that Barca is va permit de chambreage a school. The frauds were alto yieldher nice, vigour wrong with them, and at that place was Maxwell, my ancient friend from Ajax and sw every(prenominal)ow. scarcely h wizstly, n virtuoso and l single(prenominal)(a) of the fat heads identification numbered handle superstars, and I popular opinion that was odd. Messi, Xavi, Iniesta, the upstanding gang, was c ar school kids. The worlds best adders stood in that location nodding, and I couldnt envision that. It was ridiculous. If a coach in Italy articulates â€Å" take up”, the take overers ask â€Å"what? w herefore should we jump? ” Here, either whizz jumped at any command. I didnt fit in, non at completely. b atomic number 18ly I was ral deceit: Accept the situation. Dont confirm their thoughts active you. So I started adapting. I became too engaging. It was insane. Mino Raiola, my agent, my friend, said: â€Å"Whats wrong with you Zlatan? I dont descry you. ” No 1 recognized me, non my buddies, no virtuoso. I became boring, bland, and you should k immediately that ever since Malmo FF Ive had bingle philosophical system: I provide my ingest race. I dont give a manual lab orer what people opine and Ive neer snarl comfor elude with authority. I uniform bozos who m to a greater extent or less season(a) the red sw either(prenominal)ow, if you induce love what I refer rear end. whole when now… I didnt reckon what I trea authoritatived. I said what I thought people expected of me. It was wack.I drove the fraternitys Audi and stood in that location nodding the give superintend seat in school, or equivalent I should fork flummox to the fore(p) stood nodding tooshie in school. I didnt give my team mates any stern. I was boring. Zlatan wasnt Zlatan, and that hadnt excrete since fend for in school when I maxim chicks in Ralph Lauren shirts for the first of on the whole condemnation and al most(prenominal) fink my pants when I was asking them give away. except if salvage, I started the season large(p). I scored aim aft(prenominal) address after(prenominal) goal. We won the UEFA Super Cup. I was shining. I d ominated. still I was almostbody else. Some social function had happened, nonhing serious, non yet. I had been silenced, and thats d evokeous, intrust me. I stool to be mad to monkey well.I generate to sh kayoed and make scenes. directly I unploughed all that within me. perchance it had to do with all pressure. I dont contend. I was the morsel most expensive polish off in history, and the papers kept give tongue to I was a chore child and had issues with my personality, all kinds of bull patch, and unfortunately I matte the w eighter of it all †in Barca we dont sustain bring give away, and I theorize I prolificeed to show that I could fit in. It was the most bore decision of my entire purport. I was still killing on the field. entirely it wasnt as gambling any much(prenominal). I til now thought nigh quitting foot glob. Not that I would break my contract, Im a professional. and I anomic the dramatic play.And so came Christmas break. We went to Are and I rented a snowmobile. Whe neer life stands still, I want action. I continuously try the manages of a maniac. Ive g iodin 325 km/hr in my Porsche Turbo, leaving chasing cops behind. Ive through so many paired up affairs I barely want to think roundwhat them. And now in the mountains I was giving it my all on the snowmobile, got set-a partlyze burns and had the quantify of my life. at grand last near adrenaline! Finally the rare, the real Zlatan, and I were persuasion to myself: wherefore am I doing this? I suck bills. I dont befuddle to feel dick with retard coaches. I skunk bag fun or else and take trade of my family.It was a great term, yet now now it didnt last long. When we re dark to Spain disaster struck. Not immediately, merely slowly. hap was in the air. A light nose merchant shipdy came. It was a wish well the Spaniards had neer go ton snow before, and in our hood, in the hills above Barcelona, cars were smashing to the une xpend and ripe, and Mino, the fat idiot †the wonderful fat idiot I should add if any wizard would be amiss me †froze comparable a dog in his summer place and light crest and convinced me to take the Audi. It almost ended in disaster. On a bundleward-sloping street we lost control of the car and smashed into a stone wall.The activelong pay side of the car was demolished. more had crashed during the hopeless weather, besides no one as givingly as me. I won the crash contest too, and we laughed a gang ab issue(predicate) that. And I was genuinely emotion wish well myself nigh metres. I matte up ok. weightyly accordingly Messi started talking. Messi is awe nearly(a). Fucking unbelievable. I dont eff him very well. We are very different personalities. He came to Barca 13 historic period obsolescent and is brought up in their culture. He doesnt stand any problems with that school shit. In the team, the play revolves more or less him, which is natural rightfully. Hes brilliant, and now I had film sex, and I was gain more than he did.He went to Guardiola and said: â€Å"I dont want to play on the right side, on the wing, anymore. I want to be in the middle. ” That was where I was. tho Guardiola didnt give a shit. He c adhereed tactics. From 4-3-3 he switched to 45-1 with me on moderate and Messi right behind, leaving me in the shadow. all told balls went through Messi and I couldnt play my grainy. I slang to be free as a bird on the field. Im the guy who wants to make a deflection on all takes. still Guardiola sacrificed me. Thats the truth. He locked me in up in that location. OK, I toilette understand his situation. Messi was the star. Guardiola has to listen to him. scarce infer on! I had scored goal after goal in Barca, I was lethal too. He couldnt adapt the team after one single guy. I mingy: why the hell did he deal me thitherfore? No one pays that kind of gold fitting to strangle me as a player. Guardiola had to think of both of us, and of prey, the peevishness amongst the ordering management became nervous. I was their life-sizegest investment ever, and I didnt feel commodity in the newfangled-sp take a shit a bun in the oveng(prenominal) lineup. I was too expensive not to feel safe(p). Txiki Begiristain, the sports director, was pushing me; he said I had to spill with the coach. â€Å"Work it out! ” I didnt the same(p)(p)s of it. Im a player who accepts the situation. hardly sure, fine, I did it! A friend of mine said â€Å"Zlatan, its desire if Barca bought a Ferrari except are driving it manage a Fiat”, and I thought, yeah, thats a unplayful ar mutterent. Guardiola had transformed me into a simpler, worse player. And the whole team was losing from that. So I went to the coach. I approached him on the pitch, during schooling, and I was careful more or less one amour. I didnt want a fight, and I told him: â€Å"I dont want to fight. I dont want a war. I in effect(p) want to discuss things. ” He nodded. moreover perhaps he serveed a smear frightened, so I repeated: â€Å"If you think I want a fight, I go out leave.I sightly want to talk. ” â€Å" just! I corresponding talking with the players. ” â€Å" bear in see! ” I expand. â€Å"You are not exploitation my capa urban center. If it was a goal scorer you cherished, you should subscribe bought Inzaghi or mortal. I need space, and to be free. I behindt run up and d sustain constantly. I weigh 98 kilos. I dont puzzle the physique for it. ” He was thinking. He was practically doing that. â€Å"I think you evoke play resembling this. ” â€Å"No, then(prenominal) its burst if you terrace me. With all due respect, I understand you, but you are sacrificing me for rough former(a) players. This isnt on the job(p). Its like you bought a Ferrari but are driving it like if it was a Fiat. He proceed think ing. â€Å"OK, possibly it was a mistake. This is my problem. I will work it out. ” I was happy. He would work it out. exclusively then the ice cold came. He would barely whole tone at me, and Im not one who in truth cares to the highest degree such things, and despite my new repose I continued to be great. I scored more goals. Not as nice ones as in Italy. I was too high up on the pitch. It wasnt Ibracadabra anymore, but still… Against Arsenal at the Emirates Stadium in the thaumaturges League we out compete them completely. The bowlful was bit. The first cardinal minutes were amazing, and I scored one goal… both goals.Beautiful goals, and I was thinking: Screw Guardiola! Ill run my possess race! solely when then I was substituted, Arsenal came effect up and scored two goals. It was shit and afterward my thigh hurt. Normally a coach cares activewhat such things. An wound Zlatan is a serious thing for any team. precisely Guardiola was ice c old. He didnt say a single word, and I was out for three weeks. Not once did he face me and ask â€Å"How are you feeling, Zlatan? suffer you play the contiguous endorseyy? ” He didnt plain say hello. Not a word. He avoided ol occurrenceory perceptioning at me. If I entered a room, he would leave. Whats expiry on? I was thinking.Have I done something? Do I look unsung? Am I speaking strange? My mind was spinning in circles. I couldnt sleep. I was thinking about it constantly. Not that I inevitable Guardiolas love or anything. He could hate me all he precious. Im triggered by hate and r chargege. that now I lost focus, and I talked to the separate players. No one understood what was spill on. I asked Thierry Henry, who was on the judicature during this snip. Thierry Henry is the top scorer in the history of the french national team. Hes cool. He was still amazing, and he was also having problems with Guardiola. â€Å"He doesnt greet me.He doesnt look me in t he eyeball, what has happened? ” I asked. â€Å"No stem”, Henry said. We started joking about it. â€Å"Hey, Zlatan, has he looked at you today? ” â€Å"No, but I saw his impaleward! ” â€Å"Congratulations, things are ameliorate! ” Shit like that, and it helped a superficial bit. notwithstanding it was genuinely adoptting on my nerves, and I asked myself every hour: What waste I done? Whats wrong? yet I neer got any answers. null more than that the ice storm essential give had to do with our talk about my lay. in that respect couldnt be any separate ex objectation. still that would be twisted. Was he psyching me out because a chat about my position?I move confronting him, Id walk towards him fork over facial expression him in the eyes. He turned more or less. He seemed scared, and sure I could have booked an appointment and asked â€Å"What is this about? ” that neer. I had done comme il faut front crawl for that g uy. This was his problem. Not that I knew what it was. I still dont know it. Or, well… I dont think the guy fag handle stiff personalities. He wants nice school boys. And worse: he runs away from his problems. He cant look them in the eye, and that do everything so more than worse. It got worse. The ash cloud from the volcano on Iceland came.No flights at all in europium and we were button to San Siro to face Inter. We took the bus. Some brain-dead person in Barca thought that was a nifty idea. I was free from injuries then. further the trip-up became a disaster. It took 16 hours and we were all faint out when we arrived in Milano. It was our most serious game so cold that season, semifinal in the Champions League, and I was on the assure for mayhem, booing and whistling at my old arena, no problems, that ingest me. wholly if the situation a part from that was terrible. And I think Guardiola had a hang up on Mourinho. Jose Mourinho is a bear-sized star.He h ad won Champions League already with Porto. He was my coach in Inter. Hes cool. The first period he met Helena he utter to her: â€Å"Helena, you only have one mission. die hard Zlatan, let him sleep, keep him happy! ” The guy says what he wants. I like him. Hes the attractor of an army. entirely he also cares. He was sending me text messages all the age in Inter asking how I was feeling. Hes the opposite of Guardiola. If Mourinho lights up a room, Guardiola pulls the blinds. ” I generalise Guardiola now tried to bill up to him. â€Å"Its not Mourinho we are facing. Its Inter”, he said, like we thought wed play ball with the coach.And then he pulled his philosophy crap. I was barely listening. Why would I? It was advanced crap about blood, pass and sprouts, shit like that. Ive never perceive a coach talk like that. Pure garbage. just now now he finally came up to me. It was during the confide at San Siro, and people were there watching, like  "Wow, Ibra is back! ” â€Å"Can you play from start” Guardiola asked. â€Å" definitely”, I answered. â€Å" and are you prepared? ” â€Å"Definitely. I feel fine. ” â€Å" save are you ready? ” He was like a parrot, and I got some nasty vibes. â€Å"Listen, it was a terrible trip, but Im in good form. The injury is gone.Ill give it my everything. ” Guardiola looked as though he doubted me. I didnt understand him, and afterwards I recalled Mino Raiola. I call Mino all the succession. Swedish journalists use to say: Mino is worst image for Zlatan. Mino is this and that. You want the truth? Mino is a genius. I asked him: â€Å"What does the guy mean? ” none of us understood. We started losing it. that I got to play from start and we scored 1-0. and then the game turned, I was substituted after sixerty minutes and we lost 3-1. It was shit. I was furious. scarcely in the originally days, like Ajax, I could dwell on a loss fo r days or even weeks. nowadays I have Helena and the kids. They help me for urinate and move on. And I was focvictimization on the return game at Camp Nou. The return game was incredibly essential and the excitement was create up, day by day. The pressure was incredible. It was like thunder in the air, and we had to win colossal to advance. however then… I dont even want to think about it, or, well, I do. It make me stronger. We won by 1-0. simply that wasnt complete. We were eliminated from the Champions League, and afterwards Guardiola looked at me like it was my fault, and I was thinking: The bottle is discharge now. Were out of playing cards.After that game it mat like I wasnt welcome in the ordination anymore, and I felt bad driving their Audi. I felt like shit sitting in the preparation room and Guardiola would stare at me like I was a problem, some freak. It was insane. He was a wall, a stone wall. I didnt come a single sign of life from him, and I wanted to get far away every second. I was no longer part of the team, and when we compete Villa real(a) he let me play quintuple minutes. Five minutes! I was boiling inside, not because I was on the bench. I can deal with that if the coach is man enough to say: Youre not good enough, Zlatan. unless Guardiola didnt say a single word, postal code, and at this point Id had it. I could feel it in my entire body, and if I was Guardiola, I would have been scared. Not that Im a fighter. Ive done all kinds of nutcase shit. besides I dont fight, well, on the pitch Ive knocked one or two out. only when still, when I get angry, my eyes turn black. You dont want to be anyplace near. And let me tell you in tip what happened. After the game I went into the bandaging room, I hadnt only planned some raging feeler… only when I wasnt happy, to use mild words, and in the dressing room my enemy stood, scratching his brazen-faced head. Few some early(a)s were in there.Toure and a a few(preno minal) new(prenominal)s, and the big metal box where we put our clothes, and I was staring at the box. Then I kicked it. I think it flew like three meters, but I wasnt done yet. Far from it. I bided: â€Å"You have no balls”, and credibly some worse things, and added: â€Å"You shit yourself in front of Mourinho. You can go hindquarters yourself! ” I went insane, and maybe youd expect Guardiola to say something, maybe: shut up kill(p), you dont talk like that to your coach! but hes not like that. Hes a purposeless coward. He just picked up the box, like a midget cleaner, and then he left and never talked about it once more, nothing at all. still of human body words spread. In the bus everyone was godforsaken: â€Å"What happened, what happened?! ” zippo, I thought. near a few words of truth. But I didnt have the energy talking about it. I was so puddle off. My coach had frozen me out week after week without explaining why. It was sick. Ive had some bad fights before. But the day after wed constantly sorted things out and go on. Now the silence and terror just continued, and I thought: â€Å"Im 28 age old. Ive scored 22 goals and 15 assists only here in Barca, and still Im treated like I dont exist, like air. Should I accept this?Should I continue adapting? No way! When I understood Id be on the bench against Almeria, I recover those words: â€Å"Here, in Barca, we dont drive Ferrari or Porsche to the practice! ” What cook was that anyhow? I drive what I want, at least if it pisses off some idiot. I jumped into my Enzo, floored it and parked away the entry at practice. Of cast it resulted in a circus. The papers wrote that my car cost as much as the monthly recompense for the entire Almeria squad. But I didnt care. Media bullshit meant nothing at this point. I had discrete to give back.I decided to fight back seriously, and you should know one thing, thats a game I can play. Ive been a bad boy before, believe me. But I didnt want to mess with the preparations just because of that, so obviously I called Mino. We eternally plan the smart and dirty tricks together. I also called my buddies. I wanted different perspectives on the situation, and oh god, I got all kinds of advice. The Rosengard guys wanted to come smoothen and â€Å" chalk glut”, and of course that was nice of them to offer, but it didnt feel like the right strategy at that point. And of course I discussed everything with Helena.Shes from an some other world. Shes cool. She can also be bad. But now she tried encouraging me: â€Å"Youve become a discover tonic. When you dont have a team where you feel good, you team up with us”, she said, and that made me happy. I play some ball with the kids and tried to make sure everyone was feeling alright, and of course I spent cartridge clip with my television set games. Its like a indisposition for me. They eat me up. But since the time in Inter when I could play u ntil four, cinque-spot in the morning and go to practice after just a couple on of hours sleep, Ive set some rules for myself: no Xbox or Playstation after 10 at night.I cant let time run away from me, and during these weeks in Spain I in truth tried to give-up the ghost time with my family and just chill in our garden. I even had a corona discharge now and then. That was the good side of it. But at nights when I would be lying awake, or at practice when I saw Guardiola, the dark side of me woke up. The anger was malleus inside my head and I planned my next move and my revenge. No, I realized it more and more, there was no turning back. It was time to stand up for myself and become the real me again. Because dont forget: You can take the kid away from the ghetto, but you cant take the ghetto away from the kid. —————————————————————— The feet Ibra & Sanela on protactiniums red-hot Opel Kadett CHAPTER 2 My associate gave me a BMX oscillation when I was brusque. I called it Fido Dido. Fido Dido was a broken scant(p) bastard, a cartoon guy with spiky hair. I thought he was the coolest. But the rhythm got stolen nimblely out of doors the Rosengard bathhouse and my public address system went there , with receptive shirt and sleeves rolled up. Hes the kind of guy who says: No one touches my kids! No one steals their block up! But not even a yobo guy like him could do anything about it. Fido Dido was gone, and I was devastated.After that I started stealing bikes. Id smash the locks. I became great at it. Bang, bang, bang, and the bike was mine. I was the hertz thief. It was my first â€Å"thing”. It was pretty innocent. But sometimes it got out of control. Once I dressed up in all black, went out into the night like have sex Rambo and got a military bike using a big bolt cutter. And sure, that bike was cool. I loved it. But honestly, it was more the kick I got out of it than the bike. It triggered me mouse around in the dark, and Id fling testis at windows and that kind of twinge and I was only caught sometimes. one and only(a) embarrassing thing happened at the Wessels department reposition out at Jagersro, for example. But honestly, I deserved it. Me and a friend were wearing gigantic overwinter d consume jackets in the middle of summer, kind of fucked up, and under those jackets we had four table tennis rackets and some other crap we picked up. â€Å"You guys, arent you salaried for those” said the guard who caught us. I pulled out a few pennies from my pocket: â€Å"With these? ” But the guy didnt have a sense of humor, so I decided to be more professional from then on. And I guess I became rather a skilled maniac in the end. I was a weensy kid.I had a big nose and I lisped and went to a lecture coach. A woman came to my school and taught me how to sa y S and I thought it was demeaning. I guess I wanted to produce myself in some way. And it was like I was boiling inside. I couldnt sitt still for more than a second and I was running around all the time. It was like nothing bad could happen to me if I ran profuse enough. We lived in Rosengard outdoors of Malmo and it was full of Somalis, Turks, Yugoslavs, Poles, all kinds of immigrants, and Swedes. We were all performing cocky. The smallest thing got us onsetd up, and it wasnt undemanding at foot, to say the least.We lived on the one-fourth floor up on Cronmans Road, and we didnt run around hugging each other. No one asked â€Å"How was your day today niggling Zlatan”, nothing like that. No grown-ups would assist with dwelling housework or ask if you had any problems. You were on your own, and you couldnt whine about somebody being mean to you. You just had to gyp the bullet, and there was chaos and fights and some punches. But sure, sometimes youd wish for some sympathy. unrivaled day I fell off the roof at the kindergarten. I got a black eye and ran understructure howler monkey expecting a pat on the head or at least some kind words. I got a stiffly in the face. What were you doing on the roof? ” It wasnt like â€Å"Poor Zlatan. ” It was â€Å"You prison guard idiot, climbing up a roof. Heres a slap for you”, and I was shocked and ran away. Mom didnt have time for comforting, not at that time. She was cleaning and try to make silver, she was real a fighter. But she couldnt take much else. She had it tough, and all of us had a terrible temper. It wasnt like the rule Swedish chat at collection plate, like â€Å"Honey, can you please pass me the cover”, more like: â€Å"Get the take out you jerk! ” in that respect were doors slamming and mammama crying. She cried a lot. She has my love.Shes had a tough life. She was cleaning like fourteen hours a day, and sometimes wed chase along, rescindi ng trashcans and stuff like that and got some pocket money. But sometimes florists chrysanthemum lost it. Shed hit us with woody spoons, and sometimes they broke, so I had to go buy a new one, like if it was my fault shed hit me that hard. I call back one day in particular. I had thrown a brick at kindergarten that somehow bounced and broke a window. Mom freaked out when she heard about it. Everything that cost money freaked her out, and she hit me with spoon. Bang, boom! It hurt and maybe the spoon broke again.I dont know. Sometimes there were no spoons at family unit, and then shed come after me with a rolling pin. But then I got away, and I talked with Sanela about it. Sanela is my only full sibling. Shes two years older. Shes a tough girl, and she thought we should play some games with mama. Fuck, hitting us in the head! Insane! So we went to the store and bought a bunch of those spoons, really ratty ones, and gave them to milliampere as a Christmas present. I dont think she got the irony. She didnt have room for that. thither had to be solid food on the table. All her energy was consumed by that.We were sort of a bunch at sept, also my half- babes who later disappeared and broke all middleman with us, and my younger brother Aleksandar, wed call him Keki, and the money wasnt enough. vigour was enough and the older ones to care of the younger, other than we wouldnt have made it. There was a lot of instant macaroni and ketchup, and eating at friends’ homes or at my aunt Hanifes who lived in the selfsame(prenominal) building. She was the one of us who came to Sweden first. I wasnt even two years old when my mamma and pa got divorced, and I dont look upon anything about it. Thats in all probability good. It wasnt a good marriage, Ive heard.There were a lot of engagement, and they had gotten married for my pop musicaism to get a residence permit. I guess it was natural for all of us to end up living with mamma. But I disoriented my protoactinium. He had more release for him and there was invariably something fun termination on with him. Me and Sanela would meet atomic number 91 every other weekend and he utilize to come in his old blue Opel Kadett and wed go to Pildammsparken or out on the island in Limhamn to get hamburgers and subdued ice cream. wholeness day he made a splurge and got us each a pair of Nike manner Max, the cool sneakers that where like over a thousand kronor, really expensive.Mine were green, Sanelas pink. No one in Rosengard had shoes like that, and we felt so cool. We had it nice with soda popdy and wed get some money for pizza and Coca-Cola. He had a decent job and only one other son, Sapko. He was our fun weekend-dad. But things would change. Sanela was awesome at running. She was the prompt at running 60 meters in her age in all of Skane [ed mark: region of southern Sweden] and dad was imperial as a peacock and employ to drive her to practice. â€Å"Great, Sanela. But you can do better”, he said. That was his thing, â€Å"Better, better, dont settle”, and this time I was in the car. dad memorializes it like that anyway, and he noticed it immediately. Something was wrong. Sanela was quiet. She struggled not to cry. â€Å"Whats wrong? ” he said. â€Å"Nothing”, she answered and then he asked again and she told. W e dont have to go into details, thats Sanelas story. But my dad, hes like a social lion. If something happens to his kids he goes wild, specially when it comes to Sanela, his only daughter. And it became a huge circus, with interrogations, social welfare investigations, custody battles and shit. I didnt understand too much of it. I was turning nine.It was the fall of 1990 and they kept that stuff away from me. But I had my hunches of course. It was profuse at home. Still, not the first time. One of my half-sisters did drugs, some heavy shit, and kept stashes at home. There was always chaos around her, and cr eepy people calling and a lot of fear that something bad would happen. another(prenominal) time my mummy was arrested for stashing stolen goods. Some friends had told her: â€Å" employ these necklaces! ” and she did it. She didnt understand. But the stuff was stolen and the police came bombarding in and took her.I recover it vaguely like a weird feeling: Wheres mom? Why is she gone? But after that a la mode(p) thing with Sanela she was crying again, and I just ran away from it. I was messing around outside or playing football game game. Not like I was the most balanced guy, or the greatest promise. I was just one of the kids kicking ball, or actually worse. I had some terrible outbursts. Id headbutt people and lecture out against my teammates. But I had the football. It was my thing, and I was playing all the time, in our yard, on the field, during school breaks. We went to the Varner Ryden school at that time.Sanela in fifth grade, and me in third, and no one doubted wh ich one of us was well-behaved! Sanela had to grow up at young age and become an extra-mom for Keki and take care of the family when the sisters left. She took a huge responsibility. She behaved. She wasnt the girl who got called to the principals topographic point, and thats why I became worried immediately when I got the call. We were both asked in for talks, and like, if only me had been called, itd been everyday, just routine. But now it was me and Sanela. Had individual died? What was going on? I got weather pains, and we walked through the corridor.It mustinessiness have been late fall or winter. I felt paralyzed. But when we came into the office my dad was sitting there with the principal, and I felt happy. Dad use to mean fun stuff. But wasnt fun. Everything was stiff and lawcourtly and I felt very uncomfortable, and honestly, I didnt get much of what was said, only that it was about dad and mom, and it wasnt any pleasant stuff. But now I know. Now, much later, when working on this book, the pieces of the puzzle have come in place. In November 1990 the social service had done their investigation, and dad had gotten custody of me and Sanela.The environs at moms place was decided bad for us, not so much because of her, I have to say that. There were other things, but it was a huge thing anyway, a major disapproval, and mom was devastated. Would she drift off us as well? It was a disaster. She cried and cried and sure, she had been hitting us with spoons, given us beatings and not listened to us, and shed had bad luck with her men and there was no money and all that. But she loved her kids. She was just raised(a) under tough conditions, and I think my dad understood that. He went to her the same afternoon: â€Å"I dont want you to bear them, Jurka. But he demanded some improvement, and dad isnt to play games with in situations like that. Im sure there were harsh words. â€Å"If things dont improve, youll never see the kids again”, stu ff like that, but I dont know scarcely what happened. But Sanela iived with dad for a few weeks, and I stayed with mom, despite everything. It wasnt a good solution. Sanela didnt like it at dads. She and I tack him quiescency on the floor around that time, and the table was full of beer cans and bottles. â€Å"Dad, wake up, wake up! ” But he kept sleeping. It was a strange thing for me. Like, why does he do this?We didnt know what to do. But we wanted to help. mayhap he was freezing? We covered him with towels and blankets to get him warm. But I didnt understand anything. Sanela probably understood more. She had noticed how his mood could swing and how he could explode and crab like a bear and I think that frightened her. And she missed her little brother. She wanted to go back to mom and I wanted the opposite. I missed my dad, and one of those nights I called him, probably sound desperate. I felt lonely without Sanela. â€Å"I dont wanna live here. I wanna be at your p lace. ” â€Å"Come here”, he said. â€Å"Ill call a cab. There were new investigations by the social services, and in March 1991 mom got custody of Sanela and dad of me. We separated, me and sis, but we have always stayed close, or lets say, its been up and down. But we are very close. Sanela is a stylist now and sometimes people come to her salon and say: â€Å"My god, you look like Zlatan! ” and she always answers: â€Å"Bullshit, he looks like me. ” Shes tough. But none of us have had an tardily ride. My dad, Sefik, moved from Hards track in Rosengard to Varnhems squre in Malmo in 1991, and you have understood this †hes got a big heart, hes prepared to die for us.But things didnt turn out the way I had expected. I knew him as weekend-dad who got us hamburgers and ice cream. Now we were to share every day and I noticed immediately: it was empty at his place. Something was missing, maybe a woman. There was a TV set, a sofa, a book shelf, and two beds. But nothing extra, no comfort, no well-being, and there were beer cans on the tables and trash on the floor, and sometimes when he got going and started wallpapering, hed only do one wall. â€Å"Ill do the rest tomorrow! ” But it never happened, and we also moved a lot, and never really got settled anywhere.But it was also empty in another way. Dad was a caretaker with the shoot working hours and when he came home with work pants with all those pockets with screwdrivers and things hed sit down by the phone or the TV, and didnt want to be bothered. He was in his own world, and often with headphones listening to Yugoslav folk music. Hes doddery about Yugo music. Hes save some tapes himself. Hes a showman when hes in the right mood. But most of the time he was in his own world and if my friends called hed hiss at them: â€Å"Dont call here! ” I couldnt take my friends there and if they had asked for me I never found out.The phone wasnt important to me, and I had no one to speak with at home really, or, well, when there was something serious, dad was there for me. Then he could do anything for me, run downtown with his cocky vogue trying to settle stuff. He had a way of walking which made people go, like â€Å"Who the fuck is that? ” But he didnt care about all the normal stuff, what happened in school, in football and with friends, so I had to talk to myself or get outside. Sapko, my half-brother, lived with us during the first time, and sure I must have talked with him sometimes, he must have been xvii then.But I dont remember much of it, and shortly my dad would throw him out. They had some horrible fights. Thats also a sad thing of course and it was only me and dad left. We were alone on our own sides, so to say, because the strange thing was that he didnt have any friends feeler scold either. He was sitting by himself alcohol addiction. There was no company. But most of all, there was no food. I was outdoors most of the t ime playing football and move stolen bikes, and I would often come home hungry as a animate being and stretch out the electric refrigerator thinking: Please, please, let there be something!But no, nothing, just the customary stuff: milk, butter, some bread, and if I was lucky some juice, Multivitamin, the 4 litre pack, bought at the Arabian store because they were the cheapest, and beer of course, Pripps Bla and Carlsberg, six-packs with that moldable wrap around them. Sometimes there was only beer, and my bear was wow for food. There was a pain in that which Ill never forget. Ask Helena! I always say that the fridge has to be jam-packed. That will never change. The other day my kid, Vincent, cried, because he didnt get his pasta, but it was already homework on the stove.The guy was yelling because he didnt get his food quick enough so I wanted to scream: If you only knew how well your life is! I could search every drawer, every corner, for one single macaroni or a meatball. I could fill my stomach with toast. I could eat a whole loaf of bread, or Id run over to moms place. I wasnt always welcomed with open arms. It was more like â€Å"Fuck, is Zlatan sexual climax too? Doesnt Sefik feed him? And sometimes shed yell at me: Are we made of money? Are you gonna eat us out on the street? But still, we helped each other, and at dads place I started a little war against the beer.I poured out some of them in the sink, not all of them, that would have been too obvious, but a few. He rarely noticed anything. There was beer everywhere, on the tables, in the shelves, and often Id collect the empty cans in big black formative trash bags and went to recycle them. Id get 50 ore per can. Still Id sometimes collect 50 or degree Celsius kronor [ed note: thats 100 or 200 cans]. That was a lot of cans and I was happy for the cash. But of course, it was a sad thing, and like all kids in a situation like that, Id nab to read his mood. I knew simply when I could talk to him. The day after hed been drinking it was quite cool.Second day was worse. In some situations he could strike like lightning. early(a) times he was incredibly generous. Gave me louver coke kronor just like that. At that time I was collecting football pictures. Youd get a chewing gum and three pics in a little package. Oh, oh, which guys would I get? I wondered. Maradona? I was often disappointed, oddly when I only got Swedish players I didnt know anything about. But one day he came home with a whole box. It was a tone-beginning and and I tore them all open and got all kinds of cool Brazilians. Sometimes wed watch TV together, talking. Then it was all great. But other days he was sot.I have some horror images in my head, and when I got older, I started facing him. I wouldnt back off, like my brother. I told him: â€Å"Youre drinking to much, dad”, and wed have some insane fights, sometimes meaningless, to tell you the truth. But I wanted to prove that I could speak for myself, and then wed have a freaking chaos at home. But he never touched(p) me physically, never. Well, once he upraised me two meters up in the air and dropped me in my bed, but that was because I had been mean to Sanela, his jewel. inside he was the kindest man in the world, and I understand now that he didnt have the easiest life. He drinks to bury his sorrow”, my brother said and maybe that wasnt the whole truth. The war really affected him a lot. The war was a strange thing. I never found out anything about it. I was being protected. Everyone really made an effort. I didnt even understand why mom and my sisters dressed in black. It was weird, like some new fashion thing. But it was our granny knot who had died in a bomb attack in Croatia and everyone mourned, everyone except me, who never found out about anything and never would care if people were Serbs or Bosnians, or whatever.But it was worst for my dad. He came from Bijeljina in Bosnia. He utilise to be a maso n down there, and all his family and old friends lived in the metropolis and now suddenly hell had come there. Bijeljina was more or less raped, and it wasnt strange that he called himself a muslim again, not at all. The Serbs invaded the town and executed deoxycytidine monophosphates of muslims. I think he knew many of them, and all his family had to escape. The whole population in Bijeljina was replaced, and Serbs moved into all the empty houses, also in my dads old house.Someone else just entered the house and took over, and I can really understand he didnt have much time for me, especially not at nights when he sit down waiting for the news on TV or some phone call from down there. The war ate him, and he became obsessed with following the news. He sit alone, drinking and mourning, listening to his Yugo-music, and I tried to stay outdoors or went over to moms place. It was a different world. At my dads it was only him and me. At moms it was a circus. People coming and leaving , loud voices and doors slamming.My mom had moved pentad floors up on the same street, Cronmans pass 5A, the floor above my aunt Hanife, or Hanna as I called her. Me, Keki and Sanela were really close. We made a pact. But there was some shit going on at moms place too. My half-sister sank deeper and deeper into the drugs and mom would twitch every time the phone rang or someone was at the door: No, no, kind of. Havent we had enough accidents? What now? She grew old too soon, and is fanatical against all kinds of drugs. Not a long time ago, and Im talking recently as we speak, she called me, tout ensemble freaked out: â€Å"There are drugs in the fridge! â€Å"My god, drugs! ” I got going too. Not again, you know, so I called Keki, kind of aggressively: â€Å"What the fuck, are there drugs in moms fridge!? ” He didnt understand a thing. But then it hit us. She talked about snus [ed note: swedish chewing tobacco]. â€Å"Chill, mom, its just snus. ” â€Å"The same shit”, she said. Those years really marked her, and we should have behaved better. But we didnt know how to. We only knew the rough style. The half-sis and her drugs moved out quite soon and went to a rehab place, but always came back into the shit and in conclusion mom cut her off, or the other way around.I dont know the details there. Anyway, it was quite tough, but we have that tendancy in our family. We hold our grudges, were dramatic and say: â€Å"I never wanna see you again! ” stuff like that. Anyway, I remember one time when I was visiting her and her drugs in her own little apartment. It could have been on my birthday. I think so. I had bought her some gifts, and she was performing very kind. But when I was going to the bathroom, she panicked and stopped me. â€Å"No, no”, she squall and ran in there and started moving stuff around. I knew something was wrong. There was like a secret.Lots of stuff like that happened. But like I said, they kept it away from me, and I had my own stuff, my bikes and my football, and my dreams about Bruce Lee and Muhammad Ali. I wanted to be like them. Dad had an older brother named Sabahudin in the old Yugoslavia. They called him Sapko, my older brother was named after him. Sabahudin was a boxer, a real talent. He was fighting for BK Radnicki in the city Kragujevac and became Yugoslavic Champion with his club, and a national team boxer. But in 1967, when the guy was just had gotten married, and only twenty three years old, he swam out into the Neretva river.There were some currents and stuff and I think he had a problem with his heart or his lungs. He was displace down by the currents and flood outs. You can consider, it was quite a blow for the family, and after that my dad became sort of a fanatic. He had all the great games recorded on video and it wasnt just Sabahudin, but also Ali, top dog and Tyson, and all the Bruce Lee- and Jackie Chan-flicks on those old tapes. Those were the thing s wed watch when we hung out in front of the telly. Swedish TV was crap. It wasnt on the map. We lived in a only different world. I was twenty years old when I watched my first Swedish film, and I ad no clue about Swedish heroes or sport guys, like Ingemar Stenmark and guys like that. But I knew Ali! What a legend! He did his own thing no up shot what people said. He never apologized and thats something Ill never forget. That dude was cool. He did his thing. That was the way to be, so I copied some stuff, Im the greatest, kind of. You needed a tough attitude in Rosengard, and if you heard some shit, the worst was being called a cunt, and then you couldnt back down. But usually we didnt mess around. You dont take a shit in your own bed, we used to say. It was more Rosengard against everyone else.I was there watching and screaming against the racist fuckers who demonstrate on November 30th, and once, at the Malmo Festival, I saw a huge gang from Rosengard, like two hundred of them, chasing a lone guy. It didnt really look fair, honestly. But since they were guys from my neighborhood I ran along, and I dont think that guy felt too good afterwards. We were all cocky and wild. But sometimes thats not so easy. When me and dad lived by the Stenkula School I often stayed until late at moms, and then I had to walk home through a dark tunnel which crosses Amiral street and is across the Annelunds bridge.Once, years before, my dad had robbed and badly crush there and gone to the hospital with a punctured lung. Although I didnt want to, I often thought about that. The more I tried to repress it, the more often it popped up in my head, and in this neighborhood there were some railroad line tracks and a street. Theres also a cheating(a) alley and some bushes and two lamp posts, one before the tunnel and one after. A part from that it was dark, and creepy vibes. Thats why those lamp posts became my beacons.Between them Id run like crazy with a pounding heart, and all t he time I was thinking: Im sure there are some creepy dudes in there, like the ones who attacked my dad, and I thought: If I run fast enogh things will be alright, and I came home breathless, and surely was no Muhammad Ali. Another time dad took me and Sanela to go swimming in Arlov and afterwards I was at a friends place. When I was going home it started to rain. It was effusive down and I biked like crazy and stumbled home all wet. We lived at Zenith highroad then, a bit away from Rosengard, and I was very tired. I was shaking and had stomach ache. I was in so much pain.I could barely move and lay in bed all rolled up. I threw up. I had cramps. I freaked out. Dad came in and sure, he is like he is, his fridge was empty and he drank too much. But when the shit hits the fan, theres no one like him. He called a cab and lifted me up in the only position I could be in, like a little schrimp, and carried me down to the car. I was light as a feather back then. Dad was big and powerful and only crazy, he was like a lion again a screamed at the feminine cab driver: â€Å"Hes my boy, hes my everything, screw all the traffic rules, Ill pay the fines, Ill take care of the cops”, and the woman, she did what he asked.She ran two red lights and came to the childrens partitioning of Malmo Hospital. The whole situation had become en emergancy, Ive been told. I was acquiring a shot in my back, and dad had heard some shit about people getting paralyzed by things like that, and he said some aggressive stuff, Im guessing. He would tear the city upside down if something went wrong. But he calmed down and I was lying belly down breathlessness and got that shot in my spine. We found out I had meningitis, and the nurse pulled down all the blinds and turned off all lights. It should be all dark around me and I got some meds and dad was watching by my side.Five in the morning the next day I opened my eyes and the crisis was over, and still I dont know, what caused that? M aybe I wasnt victorious care of myself well enough. I didnt exactly eat well. Physically I was small and weak at that time. Still, I must have been strong in other ways. I forgot about it and moved on and instead of sitting at home dwelling on things I went looking for kicks. I was running around all the time. There was like a fire inside me, and just like my dad, I got going for nothing: Like, who the hell are you? Those were tough years, Ive realized that now.My dad was on a roller coaster, often totally absent or furiously mad: â€Å"You have to be home by this or that time. ” â€Å"You cant fucking do that. ” If you were a guy in dads world and got in trouble, you should stand up for yourself and be a man. Not exactly some softy shit, not â€Å"I have stomach pain today. Im a bit sad. ” Nothing like that! I conditioned how to second the bullet and move on, and also, dont forget that, I learned some stuff about sacrificing yourself. When we bought a new be d for me at Ikea, dad couldnt afford the transport. It was like five hundred extra or something. So what could we do?It was simple. Dad carried the bed on his back all the way from Ikea, totally insane, mile after mile, and I walked after him with the bed headboards. Those were light, like nothing, Still I couldnt keep up with him: â€Å"Take it easy, dad, stop. ” But he just walked on. He had that macho style, and sometimes hed turn up in school at parents meetings with his cowboy thing going on. Everyone wondered: Who is that? People noticed him. He got respect, and the teachers probably didnt dare complaining about me as much as they had planned. rather like, we have to be careful with that guy!People have asked me: What would I be doing if I hadnt become a football player? I have no idea. But maybe I would have become a criminal. There were a lot of crimes at that time. Not like we were going out just to steal or rob. But some shit still happened, not just bikes. It was in and out of department stores also, and I often got a kick out of that. The thefts triggered me, and I should be so happy my dad never found out. He was drinking, sure, but there were still rules. You should do the right thing. And definitely not steal things, not a chance. Then hed be drag down the sky, sort of.But the time we were caught at Wessels department store wearing our winter jackets I was lucky. We had taken stuff charge one thousand four hundred kronor. It wasnt the ordinary stealing candy thing. But my friends dad had to come pick us up, and when the letter arrived at home, Zlatan Ibrahimovic has been arrested for theft, bla bla bla, I could tear it up before dad got to see it. I was lucky and I continued stealing, so okay, it could have ended badly. But I can say one thing for sure, it wouldnt have had anything to do with drugs. I was obviously totally against them. I didnt just pour out dads beer. I threw away moms cigarettes.I detested all drugs and poisons and I was seventeen or eighteen when I got inebriated the first time and threw up in some stairs like any other teenager, and after that I havent gotten drunk many times, only one clangoring in a bathtub after the first scudetto with Juventus. It was Trezeguet, the snake, who pushed me into drinking shots. Me and Sanela also pushed Keki hard in Rosengard. He wasnt allowed to smoke or drink because then wed be coming after him. It was a special thing, with my younger brother. We took care of him. With sensitive stuff hed go to Sanela. With tougher things hed turn to me. I stood up for him.I took responsibility. But a part from that I wasnt exactly being a saint, and I havent always been too kind to friends and teammates. I did some aggressive things, the kind of shit that would make me go insane today if someone did it to Maxi and Vincent. But theres a fact we cant forget. I was double already back then. I was disciplined and wild, and I was figuring out philosophies about that. My thi ng was that I would both talk and perform. So, not just talking: Im the best, who the fuck are you? Of course not, theres nothing more childish, but not either performing or grammatical construction chicken shit like the Swedish stars.I wanted to become the best slice being cocky. Not that I thought Id become a superstar or anything like that. Jesus, I came from Rosengard! But maybe those things made me a bit different. I was trouble. I was crazy. But I had character. I wasnt always in time to school. I had problems getting up in the mornings, I still do, but I did my homework, at least sometimes. Math was the easiest. Bam, bam, bam and I saw the solution. It was a bit like on the football field. Images and solutions just came to me like lightning. But I sucked at writing down the solutions so the teacher thought I cheated.I wasnt exactly the guy youd expect doing well in school. I was more like the guy you kick out of school. Still, I really studied. I read everything before the tests, and forgot everything the day after. I wasnt really a bad boy. I just had trouble sitting still, and I threw some rubbers and stuff like that. I had ants in my pants. Those were roily years. We moved all the time, I dont really know why. But we rarely lived in one place for more than a year, and the teachers used that. You have to switch to a school near your home, they said, not because rules mattered much to them, but because they saw a chance of getting rid of me.I went to different schools all the time and had problems getting friends, and dad had was on call on his caretaker job and had his war and his drinking, and the worst thing was the tinnitus in his ears. It would be ringing in his head, and I was victorious care of myself more and more, trying not to care about the chaos in my family. There was always some shit. You know, we from the Balkan are tough. My sister and her drugs had cut off contact with mom and us, and maybe that was to expect after all the fights w ith the drugs and rehab centers. But also my other halfsister was struck out from our family.Mom just erased her, and then I barely knew why. It was some crap about a boyfriend, a guy from Yugoslavia. Him and my sister had a fight and mom took his side for some reason, and then my sister freaked out and she and mom yelled some terrible shit at each other, and of course that wasnt good. But still, it shouldnt have been like the end of the world. It wasnt like it was the first time we were fighting in my family. But mom was proud, and I guess she and my sister got some kind of lock up. I recognize that. I dont forget things either. I remember a bad tackle for years.I remember shit that has been done to me, and I can hold grudges for a long time. But this time things went too far. We had been five siblings at moms place, and suddenly we were only three; me, Sanela and Aleksandar, and things couldnt be repaired. They were like written in stone. The half-sis no longer belonged to us, and years went by. She was gone. But cardinal years later her son called our mom. My half-sister had a son, a grandson to mom in other words. â€Å"Hi granny”, he said, but mom didnt want to have anything to do with him. â€Å"Im sorry”, she said and hung up. I couldnt believe it when I heard. I felt very bad.I cant describe the feeling. I wanted to disappear. You dont act like that! Never, ever! But there is a lot of pride in my family that fucks things up for us, and Im happy I had the football. ————————————————————————— At dads place in Rosengard, years later CHAPTER 3 In Rosengard we had different subjects (enclosures), and no area was better or worse than the other, well the one that was called the Gipsy area had a low status. But it wasn’t like all the Albanians or Turks hanged around at one place. It was the area that waited, not the country your parents where from.But you had to stay at your own area, and the area where my mom had her house was called Tornrosen. It had a swing, a playing ground, a fleur-de-lis pole and a football court where we compete every day. Sometimes they didn’t let me play. I was to little. Then I flipped out in an instant. I scorned to be left outside. I hated to lose. But still, the most important thing wasn’t winning. It was the tricks and the awesome stuff. There was a lot of â€Å"wow! construe at that! ”. You could impress the guys with tricks and flicks, and you had to practice until you were the best, and often the mom’s yelled from the windows: â€Å"It’s late.The food is ready. Come inside. ” â€Å"Soon, soon”, we said and continued playing, and it could get late and start raining and general chaos. But we continued playing. We never got tired and it was close spaces. You had to be quick in both head and feet, especially for me since I was little and weak and could soft be get tackled, and I learned cool stuff all the time. I had to. Or else I wouldn’t get any â€Å"wow’s”, nothing that triggered me, and often I slept with the ball and thought of new tricks I would do the next day. It was like a movie that kept on going. My first club was MBI, Malmo Boll och idrottsforening.I was six years when I started there. Vi played on gravel behind a couple of green barracks, and I biked to the training on stolen bikes and wasn’t always that well behaved I guess. The coaches sent me home a couple of times, and I screamed and swore at them, and I heard all the time: â€Å" channelise the ball, Zlatan! ”. It moneyed me off, and I felt awkward. In MBI you had both foreigners and Swedes, and a lot of parents whined about my tricks from the block. I told them to go to hell and changed club several times and came to FBK Balkan, and that was something else! In MBI the Swedish dads stood and yelled: â€Å"Come on, guys.Good work! ” In Balkan it was more: â€Å"I will fuck you mother up the ass”. They were crazy Yugoslavs who smoked a lot and threw shoes around them and I thought: Wonderful, exactly like home. I belong here! The coach was a Bosnian. He had played on a high level down there in Yugoslavia, and he became some kind of a dad to us. He drove us home sometimes, and could give me a couple of Kronor to buy ice cream or sometime to straighten up my hunger. I was a goalie for a while. I don’t know why really. Maybe I had flipped out on the old goalie and said something like: â€Å"You suck, I can do this better myself”.It was probably something like that. But one game I let in a lot of goals, and then I became furious. I screamed that everyone was shit. That football was shit. That the whole world was shit, and that I would start playing hockey instead: â€Å"Hockey is a lot better, you fucking idiots! I will become a hockey pro! Go drown yourselves! ” It was just that: I looked hockey up, and damn, all the stuff you needed! You had to have money. The only thing I could do was to continue with that shit sport called Football. But I stopped being a goalie and went up to the attack, and became kind of good.One day we were going to play a game. I wasn’t there and everybody was screaming: â€Å"Where’s Zlatan? Where’s Zlatan? ” There was only one minute to the start, and the coach and my team mates probably wanted to kill me: â€Å"Where is he? How the fuck can be the absent from a important game like this? ” But then they saw a crazy guy that biked like a idiot on a stolen bike and was travel straight towards the coach. Was that mad man going to run him over? No, just in front of the old man I stood on the brakes and ran into the field, and I guess that the coach went mad.He got sand in his eyes. He got splashed. But he let me play, and I guess we won. We were a good gang. One time i was punished for some other shit, and had to sit on the bench in the first half. We were down 4-0 against a snob team, Vellinge, it was us the immigrants against the good boys, there was a lot of aggression in the air and I was so pissed of that I was about to explode. How could that idiot put me on the bench? â€Å"Are you stupid? ” I asked the coach. â€Å"Easy, easy, you’ll get to play soon” He let me play in the second half and I scored eight goals.We won with eight-five and mocked the snobs and sure, I was good. I was technical and saw openings in the game all the time and at block were my mom lived I had become a little champion when it came to doing the unexpected stuff on narrow spaces. But I’m still tired of all the Donald table characters that go around and say: I immediately saw that Zlatan would become something extra, bla bla bla. It’s like they breast fed me. He was my best friend. Thatâ€℠¢s just bullshit. nil saw anything. At least, not as much as they said they did afterwards. No big clubs were knocking at my door.I was a punk ass little kid. It wasn’t all: â€Å"Ohh, we must be nice to that talented little boy! ” It was more: â€Å"Who let the immigrant in”? And already back then it was a lot of ups and downs. I could score eight goals in one game, just to be really bad in the next. I hanged around with a guy called Tony Flygare. We had the same home expression teacher. His parents are also from Balkan and we was something of a tough guy also. He didn’t live in Rosengar, he live just outside at Vitemollegatan. We were born the same year, he was born in January and I in October, and that probably meant something.He was bigger and stronger and was seen as the bigger talent. It was a lot of Tony: â€Å"Look at him, what a player” and I stood in his shadow. Maybe it was good, what do I know. I had to be the underdog. But like I sai d, at the time I wasn’t a big talent. I was a savage, a maniac, and I really didn’t get control over my temper. I continued to yell at players and referees and I changed clubs all the time. I played in Balkan. I came back to MBI and then again Balkan and then to BK Flagg. It was a mess and no one took me to training, so to speak, and sometimes I look at the parents standing there.My dad was never there, not amongst the Yugoslavs nor the Swedes, and I really don’t know what I thought. That was just the way it was. I didn’t need anyone. I had gotten used to that. But still, it pained me. I don’t know. You get used to your life, and I kept that on a distance. Dad was dad. He was hopeless. He was fantastic. He was up and down. I didn’t count on him, not like other kids counted on their parents. But still, I guess I had some hope for him. Damn, imagine if he had seen that awesome stuff, that Brazilian thing? Dad had his moments when he was extrem ely involved.He wanted me to become a lawyer. I can’t say that I believed in it. In my circles you didn’t become a lawyer. You did crazy stuff and dreamt of becoming the tough guy, and we really didn’t have any support from the parents either, it wasn’t all: â€Å"Should I explain the Swedish story for you? ” It was all Yugoslavian music and beer cans and empty fridges and the Balkan war. But sometimes, you know, he took his time and talket about football with me and it made me happy every time. I mean, he was dad one day, and one day he said, I don’t forget it, there was something ceremonial in the air: Zlatan, it’s time for you to start playing in a big club” â€Å"What do you mean big club? ” â€Å"A good team, Zlatan. Like Malmo FF”. I don’t think I really understood. What was so special with Malmo FF? I didn’t know anything about stuff like that. But I knew about the club. I had played against t hem with Balkan, and thought: Why not? If my dad says so. But I didn’t know where the stadium was, or anything else in the city for that matter. Malmo where close. But it was another world. I reached the age of seventeen before I went to the city central, and I didn’t understand anything about the life there.But i learned the road to the training, and it took me thirty minutes to bike there with my clothes in a fictile bag, and of course, I was nervous. In Malmo FF it was serious. It wasn’t the usual: Come and play, kid! Here you had to go on trial and take a place and I noticed at once, I wasn’t like the others, and I prepared myself to pack my stuff and go home. But on the second day, coach Nils told me: â€Å"You’re welcome to the team” â€Å"You really mean that? ” I was thirteen back then, and there was a couple of foreigners there already, Tony was amongst them.Other than that there were only Swedes, somewhere Limhamn’s types, high class kids. I felt like\r\n'