Autobilography of Zlatan Ibrahimovic

I AM ZLATAN By Zlatan Ibrahimovic as told to David L bestridercrantz This book is dedicated to my family and friends, to those who vex s withald by my side, on ripe days and uncool. I a handle compulsion to dedicate it to both last(predicate) the squirts turn erupt at that rump, those who pure t superstar several(predicate) and dont garb in. Those who ar seen for the wrong reasons. Its OK to be different. Continue macrocosm yourself. It worked emerge for me. CHAPTER 1Pep Guardiola, the animal trainer in Barcelona, with his grey suits and troubled face, came up to me odouring concerned. I thought he was whole(a) full at that measure, certainly non a Mourinho or Capello, merely an ok computed axial tomography. This was instruction so mavenr we started our war. It was the reconcile of 2009 and I was living my childhood dream. I was functioning in the best team up in the homo and had been wel countd by 70 000 people at the Camp Nou. I was walking on clo uds. Well perhaps non entirely, thither were nearly bull fuzz in the docuwork forcet. I was the poorly boy and in all that. I was difficult dealing with. solely distillery, I was here. Helena and the kids were also exhaustively.We had a nice house in Esplugues de Llobregat and I mat fully charged. What could go wrong? Hey you, Guardiola give tongue to. Here in Barca we keep our feet d convey got on the ground. Sure, I said. Fine. Here we dont drive all Ferraris or Porsches to training. I nodded, didnt go cocky on him, tender how the fuck is what railway car Im driving your concern? notwithstanding I thought What does he cow dungch for? What message is he giving me? Believe me, I dont need any fancy cars or park on the sidewalk to show off any more than(prenominal). That wasnt it. I recognize my cars. Theyre a passion of mine, scarcely I sensed nearly subject else behind his linguistic process.Kind of dont rally youre so special. I had already at that poin t unders to a faultd that Barca is handle a school. The players were all nice, nothing wrong with them, and thither was Maxwell, my old friend from Ajax and immerse. plainly h unmatchablestly, n unrivaled of the guys acted bid superstars, and I thought that was odd. Messi, Xavi, Iniesta, the unit of measurement gang, was interchangeable school kids. The hu small-armkinds best players s in additiond in that location nodding, and I couldnt learn that. It was ridiculous. If a coach in Italy studys jump, the players engage what? why should we jump? Here, every(prenominal) integrity jumped at any command. I didnt fit in, not at all. scarcely I was thinking Accept the office. Dont confirm their thoughts astir(predicate) you. So I started adapting. I became too kind. It was idiotic. Mino Raiola, my agent, my friend, said Whats wrong with you Zlatan? I dont recognize you. No sensation recognized me, not my buddies, no wiz. I became boring, bland, and you should k at prese nt that ever since Malmo FF Ive had one philosophy I ferment my confess race. I dont declare a damn what people think and Ive never entangle comfortable with authority. I a homogeneous(p) guys who draw protrude the red light, if you agnise what I believe. precisely now I didnt say what I wanted. I said what I thought people expected of me. It was wack.I drove the base lubber night clubs Audi and stood there nodding standardised bum in school, or standardised I should pack stood nodding plump for in school. I didnt give my team mates any crap. I was boring. Zlatan wasnt Zlatan, and that hadnt retrieve since clog in school when I saw chicks in Ralph Lauren shirts for the commencement exercise succession and al well-nigh shit my gasp when I was asking them out. notwithstanding still, I started the succession gr feast. I scored end of later on design after goal. We won the UEFA Super Cup. I was shining. I dominated. entirely I was mostbody else. Something h ad happened, nothing serious, not yet. I had been silenced, and thats dangerous, believe me. I learn to be sen perplexive to play well.I deport to shout and make scenes. flagrantly I unplowed all that within me. possibly it had to do with all pres current. I dont hold out. I was the second most expensive transfer in history, and the papers kept saying I was a problem child and had issues with my personality, all kinds of bullshit, and unfortunately I snarl the weight of it all in Barca we dont stick out, and I guess I wanted to show that I could fit in. It was the most stupid decision of my entire life. I was still killing on the field. totally it wasnt as fun anymore. I as yet thought virtually quitting football game. Not that I would break my contract, Im a professional. a lone(prenominal) I garbled the fun.And thusly came Christmas break. We went to Are and I rented a snowmobile. Whenever life stands still, I want action. I eternally drive exchangeable a mania c. Ive departed 325 km/hr in my Porsche Turbo, red apart chasing cops behind. Ive done so many fucked up things I hardly want to think most them. And now in the mountains I was giving it my all on the snowmobile, got freeze burns and had the epoch of my life. Finally slightly adrenaline Finally the old, the truly Zlatan, and I were thinking to myself Why am I doing this? I have money. I dont have to quality shit with idiot coaches. I empennage have fun kind of and micturate care of my family.It was a great time, plainly it didnt last bulky. When we returned to Spain disaster struck. Not immediately, but slowly. disaster was in the line of business. A light snowfall came. It was standardised the Spaniards had never seen snow before, and in our hood, in the hills to a higher place Barcelona, cars were smashing to the left and right, and Mino, the fat idiot the wonderful fat idiot I should add if anyone would see me froze handle a dog in his summer enclothe and l ight jacket and convinced me to take the Audi. It almost ended in disaster. On a stamp outhill street we lost control of the car and smashed into a scar wall.The whole right side of the car was demolished. Many had crashed during the bad weather, but no one as badly as me. I won the crash contest too, and we laughed a muckle nigh that. And I was actually feeling like myself roundtimes. I felt ok. provided wherefore(prenominal) Messi started public lecture. Messi is awe round. Fucking unbelievable. I dont know him very well. We are very different personalities. He came to Barca 13 days old and is brought up in their culture. He doesnt have any problems with that school shit. In the team, the play revolves near him, which is natural in truth. Hes brilliant, but now I had come, and I was scoring more than he did.He went to Guardiola and said 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. but Guardiola didnt g ive a shit. He changed tactics. From 4-3-3 he switched to 45-1 with me on top and Messi right behind, leaving me in the shadow. All balls went through Messi and I couldnt play my game. I have to be free as a bird on the field. Im the guy who wants to make a difference on all levels. precisely Guardiola sacrificed me. Thats the truth. He manoeuvered me in up there. OK, I washstand understand his situation. Messi was the star. Guardiola has to listen to him. scarcely come on I had scored goal after goal in Barca, I was permithal too. He couldnt adapt the team after one single guy. I mean why the hell did he buy me wherefore? No one turn outs that kind of money exclusively to strangle me as a player. Guardiola had to think of both of us, and of run-in, the mood amongst the club management became nervous. I was their tremendousgest investment ever, and I didnt feel good in the sensitive lineup. I was too expensive not to feel good. Txiki Begiristain, the sports director, was p ushing me he said I had to speak with the coach. Work it out I didnt like it. Im a player who accepts the situation. only when sure, fine, I did it A friend of mine said Zlatan, its like if Barca bought a Ferrari but are driving it like a Fiat, and I thought, yeah, thats a good argument. 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 training, and I was careful close one thing. I didnt want a fight, and I told him I dont want to fight. I dont want a war. I scantily want to discuss things. He nodded. only when by break he looked a bit frightened, so I repeated If you think I want a fight, I will leave.I just want to take to task. Good I like converseing with the players. Listen I proceed. You are not using my capa city. If it was a goal scorer you wanted, you should have bought Inzaghi or individual. I need space, and to be free. I cant run up and down cons tantly. I weigh 98 kilos. I dont have the mannikin for it. He was thinking. He was practically doing that. I think you can play like this. No, then its bankrupt if you work bench me. With all due respect, I understand you, but you are sacrificing me for different players. This isnt working. Its like you bought a Ferrari but are driving it like if it was a Fiat. He continued thinking. OK, maybe it was a mistake. This is my problem. I will work it out. I was happy. He would work it out. But then the ice cold came. He would barely look at me, and Im not one who really cares about such things, and despite my new station 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 Champions League we outplayed them completely. The stadium was boiling. The first twenty minutes were amazing, and I scored one goal devil goals.Beautiful goals, and I was thinking Screw Guardiola Ill run my own race But then I was substituted, Arsenal came ski binding and scored two goals. It was shit and afterwards my thigh hurt. Normally a coach cares about such things. An injured Zlatan is a serious thing for any team. But Guardiola was ice cold. He didnt say a single word, and I was out for three weeks. Not once did he face me and ask How are you feeling, Zlatan? Can you play the next game? He didnt even say hello. Not a word. He avoided looking at me. If I entered a path, he would leave. Whats going on? I was thinking.Have I done something? Do I look redundantneous? Am I speaking strange? My take care was spinning in circles. I couldnt sleep. I was thinking about it constantly. Not that I needed Guardiolas love or anything. He could hate me all he wanted. Im triggered by hate and revenge. But now I lost focus, and I talked to the different players. No one understood what was going on. I asked Thierry Henry, who was on the bench durin g this time. 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. He doesnt greet me.He doesnt look me in the eyes, what has happened? I asked. No idea, Henry said. We started joking about it. Hey, Zlatan, has he looked at you today? No, but I saw his back Congratulations, things are up(p) Shit like that, and it helped a little bit. But it was really be deceaseting on my nerves, and I asked myself every hour What have I done? Whats wrong? But I never got any answers. zilch more than that the ice storm essential have had to do with our talk about my coiffure. there couldnt be any other(a) explanation. But that would be twisted. Was he psyching me out because a impose about my position?I tried confronting him, Id walk towards him try looking him in the eyes. He turned around. He seemed scared, and sure I could have booked an appointment and asked What is this about? But never. I had done enough escape for that guy. This was his problem. Not that I knew what it was. I still dont know it. Or, well I dont think the guy can handle strong personalities. He wants nice school boys. And worse he runs away from his problems. He cant look them in the eye, and that disgustede everything so much worse. It got worse. The ash cloud from the volcano on Iceland came.No flights at all in Europe and we were going to San Siro to face Inter. We took the bus. Some brain-dead person in Barca thought that was a good idea. I was free from injuries then. But the trip became a disaster. It took 16 hours and we were all worn out when we arrived in Milano. It was our most in-chief(postnominal) game so furthest that season, semifinal in the Champions League, and I was prepared for mayhem, booing and pennywhistle at my old arena, no problems, that drive me. But the situation a part from that was spartan. And I think Guardiola had a hang up on Mourinho. Jose Mourinho is a big star.He had won Champions League already with Porto. He was my coach in Inter. Hes cool. The first time he met Helena he whispered to her Helena, you simply have one mission. Feed Zlatan, let him sleep, keep him happy The guy says what he wants. I like him. Hes the leader of an army. But he also cares. He was sending me text messages all the time in Inter asking how I was feeling. Hes the opposite of Guardiola. If Mourinho lights up a room, Guardiola pulls the blinds. I guess Guardiola now tried to prise up to him. Its not Mourinho we are approach. 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, excrete and tears, shit like that. Ive never heard a coach talk like that. Pure garbage. But now he finally came up to me. It was during the practice at San Siro, and people were there watching, like Wow, Ibra is back Can you play from start Guardiola a sked. Definitely, I answered. But are you prepared? Definitely. I feel fine. But are you ready? He was like a parrot, and I got some nasty vibes. 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 called Mino Raiola. I call Mino all the time. Swedish journalists use to say Mino is bad image for Zlatan. Mino is this and that. You want the truth? Mino is a genius. I asked him What does the guy mean? None of us understood. We started losing it. But I got to play from start and we scored 1-0. Then the game turned, I was substituted after sestetty minutes and we lost 3-1. It was shit. I was furious. But in the earlier days, like Ajax, I could dwell on a going away for days or even weeks.Now I have Helena and the kids. They help me for draw off and move on. And I was focusing on the return game at Camp Nou. The return game was incredibly important and t he excitement was building up, day by day. The pressure was incredible. It was like thunder in the air, and we had to win big to advance. But then I dont even want to think about it, or, well, I do. It made me stronger. We won by 1-0. But that wasnt enough. 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 expel now. Were out of playing cards.After that game it felt like I wasnt experience in the club anymore, and I felt bad driving their Audi. I felt like shit seance in the medical dressing 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 get 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 played Villa Real he let me play phoebe bird-spot minutes. Five minutes I was boiling intimate, 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.But Guardiola didnt say a single word, nothing, 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 haywire shit. But I dont fight, well, on the pitch Ive knocked one or two out. But still, when I get angry, my eyes turn black. You dont want to be anywhere near. And let me tell you in detail what happened. After the game I went into the dressing room, I hadnt on the button planned some raging attack But I wasnt happy, to use mild words, and in the dressing room my enemy stood, scratching his bald head. Few others were in there.Toure and a few others, and the big surface 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 yelled You have no balls, and in all probability some worse things, and added You shit yourself in fr ont of Mourinho. You can go fuck yourself I went insane, and maybe youd expect Guardiola to say something, maybe Calm down, you dont talk like that to your coach But hes not like that. Hes a weak coward. He just picked up the box, like a little cleaner, and then he left and never talked about it once again, nothing at all.But of course words spread. In the bus everyone was whacky What happened, what happened? vigour, I thought. Just a few words of truth. But I didnt have the energy talking about it. I was so pissed 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 unendingly sorted things out and moved on. Now the silence and terror just continued, and I thought Im 28 years 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 marked those words Here, in Barca, we dont drive Ferrari or Porsche to the practice What bullshit was that anyway? I drive what I want, at least if it pisses off some idiot. I jumped into my Enzo, floored it and parked outside the verge at practice. Of course it resulted in a circus. The papers wrote that my car cost as much as the monthly hire for the entire Almeria squad. But I didnt care. Media bullshit meant nothing at this point. I had unyielding 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 always 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 down and altercate farce, 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 another world. Shes cool. She can also be cap. But now she tried encouraging me Youve reach a better pascaldy. When you dont have a team where you feel good, you team up with us, she said, and that made me happy. I played some ball with the kids and tried to make sure everyone was feeling alright, and of course I spent time with my video games. Its like a disease for me. They eat me up. But since the time in Inter when I could play until iv, five in the morning and go to practice after just a couple 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 really tried to spend time with my family and just chill in our garden. I even had a Corona now and then. That was the good side of it. But at nights when I would be prevarication awake, or at practice when I saw Guardiola, the dark side of me woke up. The anger was pounding inside my head and I planned my next move and my revenge. No, I agnize 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 pop musics blue Opel Kadett CHAPTER 2 My pal gave me a BMX ride when I was little. I called it Fido Dido. Fido Dido was a tough little bastard, a cartoon guy with spiky hair. I thought he was the coolest. But the bike got stolen quickly outside the Rosengard bathhouse and my popping went there , with bold shirt and sleeves rolled up. Hes the kind of guy who says No one touches my kids No one steals their clobber But not even a tough 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 bik e was mine. I was the bicycle thief. It was my first 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 fucking Rambo and got a military bike using a colossal 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 creep around in the dark, and Id throw eggs at windows and that kind of squeeze and I was only caught sometimes.One upset thing happened at the Wessels department s bust out at Jagersro, for example. But honestly, I deserved it. Me and a friend were wearing huge winter down jackets in the middle of summer, quite fucked up, and under those jackets we had four table tennis rackets and some other crap we picked up. You guys, arent you paying for those said the guard who caught us. I pulled out a few pennies from my pocket With these? But the guy didnt have a sense of humor, so I decided to be more professional fro m then on. And I guess I became quite a skilled maniac in the end. I was a small kid.I had a big nose and I lisped and went to a speech coach. A woman came to my school and taught me how to say S and I thought it was demeaning. I guess I wanted to assert myself somehow. 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 fast enough. We lived in Rosengard outside of Malmo and it was full of Somalis, Turks, Yugoslavs, Poles, all kinds of immigrants, and Swedes. We were all acting cocky. The smallest thing got us absquatulated up, and it wasnt easy at home, to say the least.We lived on the fourth floor up on Cronmans Road, and we didnt run around hugging each other. No one asked How was your day today little Zlatan, nothing like that. No grown-ups would assist with homework or ask if you had any problems. You were on your own, and you couldnt whine about someone be ing mean to you. You just had to bite the bullet, and there was chaos and fights and some punches. But sure, sometimes youd wish for some sympathy. One day I fell off the roof at the kindergarten. I got a black eye and ran home crying expecting a pat on the head or at least some kind words. I got a slap in the face. What were you doing on the roof? It wasnt like Poor Zlatan. It was You fucking idiot, climbing up a roof. Heres a slap for you, and I was shocked and ran away. mummy didnt have time for comforting, not at that time. She was cleaning and struggling to make money, she was really a fighter. But she couldnt take much else. She had it tough, and all of us had a terrible temper. It wasnt like the normal Swedish chat at home, like Honey, can you please pass me the butter, more like Get the draw you jerk there were doors slamming and mammary gland 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 tag along, give uping trashcans and sate like that and got some pocket money. But sometimes mum lost it. Shed hit us with wooden 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 remember 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 home, 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 mummy. Fuck, hitting us in the head Insane So we went to the entrepot and bought a slew of those spoons, really cheap ones, and gave them to mamma as a Christmas present. I dont think she got the ir ony. She didnt have room for that. There had to be food on the table. All her energy was consumed by that.We were quite a bunch at home, also my half-sisters who later disappeared and broke all contact with us, and my younger brother Aleksandar, wed call him Keki, and the money wasnt enough. Nothing was enough and the older ones to care of the younger, otherwise 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 same building. She was the one of us who came to Sweden first. I wasnt even two years old when my mummymy and dad got divorced, and I dont remember anything about it. Thats in all likelihood good. It wasnt a good marriage, Ive heard.There were a lot of fighting, and they had gotten married for my dad to get a residence permit. I guess it was natural for all of us to end up living with mom. But I disoriented my dad. He had more going for him and there was always something fun going o n with him. Me and Sanela would meet dad every other weekend and he used to come in his old blue Opel Kadett and wed go to Pildammsparken or out on the island in Limhamn to get hamburgers and soft ice cream. One day he made a splurge and got us each a pair of Nike Air Max, the cool sneakers that where like over a thousand kronor, really expensive.Mine were commons, Sanelas pink. No one in Rosengard had shoes like that, and we felt so cool. We had it nice with dad and wed get some money for pizza and Coca-Cola. He had a decently job and only one other son, Sapko. He was our fun weekend-dad. But things would change. Sanela was awing at running. She was the winged at running 60 meters in her age in all of Skane ed note region of grey Sweden and dad was proud as a peacock and used to drive her to practice. Great, Sanela. But you can do better, he said. That was his thing, Better, better, dont prove, and this time I was in the car. pop music remembers it like that anyway, and he no ticed it immediately. Something was wrong. Sanela was quiet. She struggled not to cry. Whats wrong? he said. 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 king of beasts. If something happens to his kids he goes wild, peculiarly when it comes to Sanela, his only daughter. And it became a huge circus, with interrogations, social offbeat 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 turbulent at home. Still, not the first time. One of my half-sisters did drugs, some laborious shit, and kept stashes at home. There was always chaos around her, and creepy people calling and a lot of fear that something bad would happen. Another time my mom was arrested for stashing stolen goods. Some friends had told her Take these necklaces and she did it. S he didnt understand. But the stuff was stolen and the police came bombarding in and took her.I remember it vaguely like a weird feeling Wheres mom? Why is she gone? But after that latest thing with Sanela she was crying again, and I just ran away from it. I was messing around outside or playing football. 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 lash 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 which 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 offic e, 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 normal, just routine. But now it was me and Sanela. Had someone died? What was going on? I got stomach pains, and we walked through the corridor.It moldiness have been late fall or winter. I felt paralyzed. But when we came into the office my dad was posing there with the principal, and I felt happy. Dad used to mean fun stuff. But wasnt fun. Everything was stiff and bollock 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 services had done their investigation, and dad had gotten custody of me and Sanela.The environment at moms place was decided bad for us, not so much because of her, I have to say that. Ther e were other things, but it was a huge thing anyway, a major disapproval, and mom was devastated. Would she meet 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 under tough conditions, and I think my dad understood that. He went to her the same afternoon I dont want you to lose them, Jurka. But he demanded some improvement, and dad isnt to play games with in situations like that. Im sure there were sour words. If things dont improve, youll never see the kids again, stuff like that, but I dont know exactly 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 instal him sleeping on the floor around that time, and the table was full of beer cans and bottles. Dad, wak e 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. Maybe he was freezing? We covered him with towels and blankets to get him warm. But I didnt understand anything. Sanela likely understood more. She had noticed how his mood could swing and how he could explode and scream 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 sounding desperate. I felt lonely without Sanela. I dont wanna live here. I wanna be at your place. Come here, he said. 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 styler now and sometimes people come to her salon and say My god, you look like Zlatan and she always answers Bullshit, he looks like me. Shes tough. But none of us have had an easy ride. My dad, Sefik, moved from Hards road 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. 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 worst 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 Yugoslavian folk music. Hes crazy about Yugo music. Hes recorded 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 Dont call here I couldnt take my friends there and if they had asked for me I never demonstrate 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 style trying to settle stuff. He had a way of walking which made people go, like 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-broth er, lived with us during the first time, and sure I must(prenominal) have talked with him sometimes, he must have been seventeen then.But I dont remember much of it, and briefly my dad would throw him out. They had some shocking 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 plan of attack visit either. He was sitting by himself beverage. There was no company. But most of all, there was no food. I was outdoors most of the time playing football and riding stolen bikes, and I would often come home hungry as a wolf and open the fridge thinking Please, please, let there be somethingBut no, nothing, just the usual stuff milk, butter, some bread, and if I was lucky some juice, Multivitamin, the 4 liter pack, bought at the Arabian store because they were the cheapest, and beer of course, Pripps Bla and Carlsberg, six-packs with that flexible wrap around t hem. Sometimes there was only beer, and my stomach was screaming 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 preparedness 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 Fuck, is Zlatan culmination 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 plastic trash bags and went to recycle them. Id get 50 ore per can. Still Id sometimes collect 50 or 100 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 learn to read his mood. I knew exactly when I could talk to him. The day after hed been drinkable it was quite cool.Second day was worse. In some situations he could strike like lightning. Other times he was incredibly generous. Gave me five deoxycytidine monophosphate 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, especially when I only got Swedish players I didnt know anything ab out. But one day he came home with a whole box. It was a blast 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 drunkard.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 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 me physically, never. Well, once he lifted 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 bring 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 vogue thing. But it was our grandmother 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 used to be a mason down there, and all his family and old friends lived in the city 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 hundreds 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 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 sat 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 five floors up on the same street, Cronmans road 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 rabid against all kinds of drugs. Not a long time ago, and I m talking recently as we speak, she called me, completely freaked out There are drugs in the fridge My god, drugs I got going too. Not again, you know, so I called Keki, kind of aggressively 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. Chill, mom, its just snus. 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 eventually 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 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 bi rthday. I think so. I had bought her some gifts, and she was acting very kind. But when I was going to the bathroom, she panicked and stopped me. No, no, she yelled 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 cadaverous do wn by the currents and drowns. You can imagine, 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, head and Tyson, and all the Bruce Lee- and Jackie Chan-flicks on those old tapes. Those were the things wed watch when we hung out in front of the telly. Swedish TV was crap. It wasnt on the map. We lived in a totally 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 case 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. B ut 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 schooltime 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 beaten 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 nei ghborhood there were some railroad tracks and a street. Theres also a disgusting 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 the 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 pouring down and I biked like crazy and stumbled home all wet. We lived at Zenith Street 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 totally crazy, he was like a lion again a screamed at the female cab driver 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 section of Malmo Hospital. The whole situation had become en emergancy, Ive been told. I was getting 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 tumesce down sobbing and got that shot in my spine. We found out I had m eningitis, 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? Maybe I wasnt pickings 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 rather 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 You have to be home by this or that time. 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 som e softie shit, not I have stomach pain today. Im a bit sad. Nothing like that I learned how to bite the bullet and move on, and also, dont forget that, I learned some stuff about sacrificing yourself. When we bought a new bed 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 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. Kinda like, we have to be careful with that guyPeople have asked me What would I be doing if I hadnt become a football play er? 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 pulling 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 worth 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 dislike all drugs and poisons and I was seventeen or eighteen when I got drunk the first time and threw up in some stairs like any other teenager, and after that I havent gotten drunk many times, only one collapse 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 insan e 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 thing 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 saying chicken shit like the Swedish stars.I wanted to become the best while 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 thoug ht 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 turbulent 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 taking 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 with 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 pla ce, 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 fifteen years later her son called our mom. My half-sister had a son, a grandson to mom in other words. Hi granny, he said, but mom didnt want to have anything to do with him. 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 body politics (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 wasnt like all the Albanians or Turks hanged around at one place. It was the area that counted, 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 flag pole and a football court where we played every day. Sometimes they didnt let me play. I was to little. Then I flipped out in an instant. I hated to be left outside. I hated to lose. But still, the most important thing wasnt winning. It was the tricks and the horrendous stuff. There was a lot of wow Look at that . You could impress the guys with tricks and flicks, and you had to practice until you were the best, and often the moms yelled from the windows Its late.The food is ready. Come inside. 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 easily be get tackled, and I learned cool stuff all the time. I had to. Or else I wouldnt get any wows, 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 wasnt 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 Pass the ball, Zlatan . It pissed 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 Come on, guys.Good work In Balkan it was more I will fuck you mother up the ass. They were crazy Yugoslavs who smoked a lot and threw shoes around them a nd 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 dont know why really. Maybe I had flipped out on the old goalie and said something like 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 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 wasnt there and everybody was screaming Wheres Zlatan? Wheres Zlatan? There was only one minute to the start, and the coach and my team mates probably wanted to kill me 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 riding 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 stop 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? Are you stupid? I asked the coach. Easy, easy, youll 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 Im still tired of all the Donald Duck characters that go around and say I immediately saw that Zlatan would become something extra, bla bla bla. Its like they breast fed me. He was my best friend. Thats just bullshit. Nobody 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 wasnt all Ohh, we must be nice to that talented little boy It was more 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 words teacher. His parents are also from Balkan and we was something of a tough guy also. He didnt 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 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 said, at the time I wasnt a big talent. I was a savage, a maniac, and I really didnt 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 r eally dont know what I thought. That was just the way it was. I didnt need anyone. I had gotten used to that. But still, it pained me. I dont 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 didnt 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 extremely involved.He wanted me to become a lawyer. I cant say that I believed in it. In my circles you didnt become a lawyer. You did crazy stuff and dreamt of becoming the tough guy, and we really didnt have any support from the parents either, it wasnt all 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 wa s dad one day, and one day he said, I dont forget it, there was something ceremonial in the air Zlatan, its time for you to start playing in a big club What do you mean big club? A good team, Zlatan. Like Malmo FF. I dont think I really understood. What was so special with Malmo FF? I didnt know anything about stuff like that. But I knew about the club. I had played against them with Balkan, and thought Why not? If my dad says so. But I didnt 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 didnt 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 plastic bag, and of course, I was nervous. In Malmo FF it was serious. It wasnt the usual Come and play, kid Here you had to go on runnel and take a place and I noticed at once, I wasnt like the others, an d I prepared myself to pack my stuff and go home. But on the second day, coach Nils told me Youre welcome to the team 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 Limhamns types, high class kids. I felt like