Part 3 (1/2)

At first I was filled with hope, like, I wonder if he thinks I'm good? But that changed with all the c.r.a.p that was happening around me. When I saw him again one day on the sidelines, my only thought was, I bet he's heard some grumbling! Some complaints. Around that time I was feeling even more disappointed about football, and I wasn't having much success in other areas either, especially in school. I was still shy and lacking confidence, and I often only went to school to have lunch. I ate like a horse. But I basically didn't care about the rest. I was doing less and less schoolwork, and finally I dropped out of school altogether, and there was a load of ha.s.sle and arguing at home.

It was like a minefield, and I kept out of the way and carried on with my tricks in the yard. I put up photos of Ronaldo in my room. Ronaldo was the man. Not only because of his stepovers and goals in the World Cup. Ronaldo was brilliant on every level. He was what I wanted to be. A guy who made a difference. The players in the Swedish national side who were they? There was no superstar, n.o.body that was talked about around the world. Ronaldo was my hero and I studied him online and tried to take in his movements, and I thought I was getting to be an awesome player. I danced down the pitch with the ball.

But what did I have to show for it? Nothing, I thought. The world was unfair. Guys like me didn't have a chance, and I wasn't going to be a star, no matter what I could do. That's how it looked. I was finished. I wasn't right, and I tried to find other paths. But I didn't have the energy to go for it. I just carried on playing. The day when Roland Andersson stood there glowering, I was playing with the Under-20s on Pitch No. 1. Pitch No. 1 no longer exists. But it was a gra.s.s pitch, right next to Malm Stadium, and afterwards I heard that Roland Andersson wanted to speak to me. That was all I knew. I started to panic a little, to be honest, and started thinking: Have I nicked a bike? Have I headb.u.t.ted someone? I went over all the stupid stuff I'd done in my mind, and there was plenty of it. But I couldn't figure out how any of it could have reached him, and I thought up about a thousand explanations.

Roland is a pretty loud guy with a deep voice. He's nice, but strict. He dominates a room, and I think my heart was pounding a little.

Roland Andersson, I'd heard he played in the World Cup in Argentina. He wasn't just one of the old Malm FF stars from the glory days. He had been in the national side as well. A bloke with respect, and there he was at his desk, not cracking a hint of a smile. He looked serious, like, get ready for the ultimate b.o.l.l.o.c.king.

”All right, Roland. How are things? Is there something you wanted?”

I always tried to play it c.o.c.ky like that. It's something that had stayed with me since I was little. You couldn't show any weakness.

”Sit down.”

”Okay, take it easy. n.o.body died. I promise.”

”Zlatan, it's time for you to stop playing with the little kids.”

With the little kids? What's he on about, I thought, and what on earth have I done to the little kids?

”What do you mean?” I asked. ”Are you talking about anybody in particular?”

”It's time for you to start playing with the big boys.”

I still didn't get it.

”Huh?”

”Welcome to the first team, lad,” he continued, and honestly, I cannot describe the feeling, not in a million years.

It was as if I'd been lifted up ten metres in the air, and I'm guessing I went out and nicked a new bike and felt like the coolest bloke in the city.

5.

AT MALM, we had a thing called the Mile.

The Mile was a b.l.o.o.d.y long course. We would run from the stadium out to the Water Tower, down along Limhamnsvgen, past all the millionaires' piles there with views out towards the sea especially one house I remember that was pink, and we were all like, wow, what kind of people live there? How many million must they have in the bank?

We'd continue towards the Kungsparken park, through a tunnel, and then up to the school I used to go to, in full view of all the girls and the rich kids. Man, what a buzz that gave me! That was my revenge. Me, the prat from Rosengrd who'd hardly dared to speak to a girl, and there I was running with all the top blokes from Malm FF, like Mats Lilienberg and the rest. It was the greatest thing, and I really made the most of it.

At the start, I followed the crowd. I was new in the first team and wanted to show that I was up to the task. But then I realised: the key thing was to impress the girls. So Tony, Mete and I employed some little tricks. We ran the first four kilometres. But when we reached Limhamnsvgen, we turned off by the bus stop. n.o.body saw us. We'd been bringing up the rear, so we could calmly wait around for the bus and climb aboard. Of course we were laughing our heads off. It was outrageous! Then we had to duck down like crazy when we rode past the rest of the team. I mean, that business with the bus didn't really indicate the right att.i.tude. At the end of the road we got off, completely rested and far ahead of the others, and hid in a corner. When the rest of the team ran past, we dashed off and had plenty of power to show off in front of the school. Wow, the girls must have been thinking, those guys look like they could take anything.

Another day on the Mile, I said to Tony and Mete, ”This is ridiculous. Let's nick a bike instead.” I think they were a bit sceptical. They didn't have my level of experience in this area. But I convinced them, and so I nicked a bike and rode off with them on the rear parcel rack. Other times things went completely off the rails. I wasn't exactly the most mature guy in town, and Tony was an idiot as well. That fool had got into p.o.r.n movies. He went into a shop and hired a video and bought some chocolate instead of going on the run, and we sat and ate the chocolate while the others in the team jogged their Mile.

I suppose I should be glad Roland Andersson believed our explanations. Or maybe he didn't. He was nice. He understood us young guys. He had a sense of humour. But of course, there were rumblings elsewhere: what's with that guy, Zlatan? Where's his humility? I kept hearing the old c.r.a.p: ”He dribbles the ball too much. He doesn't think of the team.” Some of it was perfectly true. Definitely! I had a lot to learn. The rest was jealousy. The players sensed the compet.i.tion, and I wasn't really just a cheater.

I really put my all into it and wasn't satisfied with just going to Malm FF's training sessions. I also spent hours playing on the pitch at my mum's as well. I had a trick. I'd head out to Rosengrd and shout to the kids, ”You'll get a tenner if you can get the ball away from me!” It wasn't just a game. It polished my technique. It taught me to use my body to guard the ball.

When I wasn't goofing around with the little kids, I'd play football videogames. I could go ten hours at a stretch, and I'd often spot solutions in the games that I parlayed into real life. It was football 24/7, you could say. But it wasn't all smooth sailing in training sessions at Malm FF, and I might have messed about a bit too much. It was like they'd brought a completely irrational factor into the club, a bloke they couldn't comprehend. I mean, any b.a.s.t.a.r.d will make a pa.s.s in this or that scenario and will say a given thing in a particular situation. But me ... I came from another planet. I just kept laying it on with all the mental Rosengrd stuff.

It was often the older players against the younger ones in the club. We younger ones were supposed to haul trunks and stuff and wait on the others. It was ridiculous, and the atmosphere was rotten right from the beginning. At the start of the season, Tommy Sderberg, the club's captain, had predicted that Malm FF would win the whole league, but since then one thing after another had gone wrong, and now the club was in danger of being relegated to the second division. It was the first time in, like, sixty years, and the supporters were up in arms, and all the older players in the team had the world on their shoulders.

They all knew what it would mean for the city if they didn't remain in the Allsvenskan League nothing short of a disaster. It was no time for partying or Brazilian footwork. But I was still elated at having been brought up into the first team and wanted to show them who I was. That might not have been the right att.i.tude to take.

But it was in my blood. I was in a new gang. I wanted to make people sit up and take notice, and I refused to bow and sc.r.a.pe. When Jonnie Fedel, the goalkeeper, asked, ”Where the h.e.l.l are the b.a.l.l.s?” on the first day of training, I gave a little start, especially when I noticed that everybody was looking at me and appeared to be waiting for me to go and fetch them. But there was no way, especially when he put it like that.

”If you want them, you can go and get 'em yourself!” I spat, and that was not the way people usually spoke at Malm FF.

That was the council estate talking again, and it didn't go down well. But I had support from Roland and the a.s.sistant coach Thomas Sjberg, I knew that, even if they mostly believed in Tony, of course. He got to play and scored a goal in his debut match. I was on the bench, and tried to go for it even more in training. But that didn't help, and I swore. Maybe I should have been satisfied and not in such a hurry. But that's not how I work. I want to get in there and show what I can do straight away. But it looked like I wouldn't get a chance. On September 19th we were going to be away against Halmstad at the rjans Vall stadium.

It was a make-or-break match. If we won or played to a draw, we would remain in the Allsvenskan League. Otherwise we would have to battle it out in the relegation playoffs, and everyone in the club was nervous and jittery. The teams were deadlocked. At the start of the second half, Niklas Gudmundsson, our striker, was stretchered off and I was hoping to get subst.i.tuted in. But no, Roland didn't so much as glance at me, and time pa.s.sed. Nothing happened. It was 11 and that would have to do. But with only fifteen minutes remaining, our team captain Ha.s.se Mattisson was also injured, and Halmstad made it 21 right after that, and I watched as the entire team went pale.

That was when Roland put me in. While all the rest were having a nervous breakdown, I got kicking with a ma.s.sive adrenaline rush. I was seventeen. It was the Allsvenskan League, with 10,000 people in the stands. It said Ibrahimovic on my s.h.i.+rt. It was like, wow, this is big nothing can stop me now, and straight away I made a shot at goal that grazed the crossbar. But then something happened. We were awarded a penalty in the final minutes, and you know what that meant. There was a sense of life and death. If we made the penalty, the club's honour would be secure, otherwise we risked disaster, and all the big guys hesitated. They weren't willing to take the shot. There was too much at stake, so Tony, that c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d, stepped up.

”I'll take it!”

That took some b.a.l.l.s. A Balkan thing to do like, don't back down! But now, in hindsight, I think somebody should have stopped him. He was too young to take on something like that, and I remember how he took up his position and the whole team held their breath or looked away. It was horrible. But the goalkeeper saved it. I think he faked him out a bit. We lost, and afterwards Tony ended up in the freezer. That was a pity for him, and I know there are journalists who see that as a symbolic thing. That was the moment I overtook him. Tony never made it back into top-level football, and instead I got to play more. I got subst.i.tuted in six times in the Allsvenskan, and in some interview, Roland referred to me as a 'diamond in the rough'. Word got round, and it wasn't long before kids started coming up after matches to ask for my autograph. Not that it was any big thing yet. But it got me pumped up, and I thought: I've got to get even sharper now! I can't disappoint these kids!

Check this out! That's I wanted to shout to them. Check out the most awesome thing in the world! Actually, that was a bit strange, wasn't it? I hadn't done anything yet not a lot, at any rate. Even so, young fans turned up out of nowhere, and it made me want to show off my moves even more. Those little squirts made me feel, like, I had a right to my game. They wouldn't have come up if I'd been some boring team player! I started to play for those kids, and right from the start I signed every autograph. n.o.body was left out. I was young myself. I understood exactly what it would have felt like if my mates had got an autograph but I didn't.

”Everybody happy?” I asked before I rushed off, and there was so much happening around me that I didn't worry too much about the team's setbacks.

It was bizarre, in a way. I was making a name for myself, all the while my club was going through its biggest crisis ever, pretty much. When we lost at home to Trelleborg, the fans wept in the stands and yelled ”Resign!” at Roland. The police had to come in and protect him, and people threw rocks at the Trelleborg bus and there were riots and s.h.i.+t. Things didn't get any better a few days later, when we were humiliated by AIK and the disaster was real.

We crashed out of the Allsvenskan League. For the first time in 64 years, Malm FF would not be playing in the top division. Players sat in the locker room hiding under towels while the management tried to put a positive spin on things or whatever they were doing, and frustration and shame were bubbling to the surface everywhere. Some certainly thought I was a huge diva who'd been running around doing fancy tricks in all those serious matches. But I didn't really care, to be honest. I had other things to think about. Something amazing had happened.

It was right after I had been taken up into the first team. We were out training on Pitch No. 1 and obviously we were Malm FF. We were or rather, had been the pride of the city. But there weren't many people who came to watch our training sessions, especially in those days. But that afternoon, a bloke with dark greyish hair turned up. I spotted him from far away. I didn't recognise him. I just noticed that he was staring at us from near a tree over there, and I felt a little strange. It was like I could sense something, and so I started to do even more tricks. But it took a while before the penny dropped.

I'd had to look out for myself when I was growing up, I hadn't had much, and sure, Dad had done some totally amazing things as well. But he hadn't been like the other dads I'd seen. He hadn't watched my matches or encouraged me with my studies. He'd had his drinking and his war and his Yugo music. But now, I couldn't believe it. That bloke really was my dad. He had come to watch, and I was completely blown away. It was as if I was dreaming, and I started to play with incredible strength. s.h.i.+t, Dad's here! This is mental. Look at me, Dad, I wanted to yell. Look at me! Check it out! Your son is the most amazing, awesome player!

I believe that was one of my greatest moments. I really do. I got him back. Not that I didn't have him before. If there had been a crisis, he'd come rus.h.i.+ng up like the Incredible Hulk. But this was something totally new, and afterwards I ran over and chatted to him a bit, just casually, as if it was totally natural that my dad was there.

”How's it going?”

”Well played, Zlatan.”

It was weird. Dad had got some sort of bug, I thought. I became his drug. He started following everything I did. He came to watch every training session. His flat became like a shrine to my career, and he cut out every article, every little piece, and he's kept on with it. You can ask him today about any one of my matches. He'll have it recorded, and he'll have every single word that's been written about it, and all the tops and boots I've worn and my trophies and Guldbollen awards for the best Swedish footballer of the year. You name it, it's all there, and not all jumbled together either, like it used to be with his stuff. Everything is in its place. He can find anything in a second. He's got it all under control.

From that day at Pitch No. 1 onward, he began to live for me and my football, and I believe it improved his health. He hasn't had it easy. He was alone. Sanela had broken off all contact with him because of his drinking and his temper and his harsh words about Mum, and it had been very hard on him. Sanela was his beloved daughter, and she always will be. But now she was no longer there for him. She had cut off contact, and it was another of those harsh things in my family. Dad needed something new which he now got. We started to chat every day, and all that became a new impetus for me as well. It was like, wow, football can do amazing things, and I gave it even more. What was a relegation into the second division, when my Dad had just become my biggest fan?

I didn't know what I should do. Should I start playing in the Superettan the 'Super One', the ridiculous name given to the Swedish second division or aim higher? There had been talk that AIK, one of the big Stockholm clubs, were after me. But was it true? I didn't have a clue. I didn't know a d.a.m.n thing about how hot a property I was. I wasn't even a regular member of the Malm squad. I was eighteen years old, and should have signed a first team contract. But I put it off. Everything felt up in the air, especially since Roland Andersson and Thomas Sjberg had got the sack. They were the ones who had believed in me when everybody else was complaining. Would I even get to play if I stayed? I didn't know, and I was unsure. Both Dad and I were unsure, and how good was I, really?

I had no idea. I'd given a few autographs to kids. But of course that didn't mean anything, and my self-confidence was up and down. The first rush of elation at having been called up into the first team was starting to fade away. But then I met a guy from Trinidad and Tobago. It was the pre-season. He was cool. He had a trial with us, and afterwards he came over to me.

”Hey, fella,” he said.