o one knew about Helena and me, not even her mother. We had decided to keep it secret. The smallest thing about me resulted in headlines, and we didn't want the media start digging and writing about our relationship before we even knew what we were doing.

We did everything to screw them of the story, and in the beginning our differences probably helped. No one would believe I dated someone like her, an eleven year older woman who had her own career. If we were seen in the same place, like a hotel or something, people still didn't get it, and that was good. It helped us. But all the game playing and secrecy came at a price.

Helena lost some friends and felt lonely and isolated, and I was more mad at the media than ever. The year before I had flown to Gothenburg for a national team game against San Marino. Things had started to work well in Ajax, and I was in a good mood, talking freely like in the old days, also with a reporter from Aftonbladet. I certainly hadn't forgotten what the paper had done with the stuff that happened at Spy Bar. But I didn't want to hold any grudges, so I kept talking, even about getting a family in the future, nothing out of the ordinary, not at all. It was normal chatting - like, it would be nice to have kids at some point in the future. But do you know what the reporter did?

He made the article like a personal ad. "Do you want to win the Champions League with me? Athletic 21 year old guy, 192 cm/84 kg, dark hair and brown eyes looking for woman in the right age for serious relationship", he wrote, and what do you think? Did that make me happy? I was furious. What kind of respect was that? A personal ad! I wanted to knock the fucker out, so it was not a good thing that we met the day after in the dark corridor at the stadium.

I had heard that the paper knew I was pissed off. I think someone from the national team had told them, and now he wanted to apologize so we could continue with business as usual. Already back then my name meant a lot of money for them. But believe me, that was not on the agenda, and I guess I should be happy that I stayed reasonably calm. I managed to keep it down to hissing at him:

"What kind of fucking clown are you? And what the fuck are you trying to say? That I have problems getting girls, or what?"

"I'm so sorry, I just wanted to…" He was just rambling, didn't make any sense.

"I will never talk to you again", I yelled and walked away, but honestly, I thought that I had scared him, or at least made the paper act with some respect after that. But it got worse. We won the national game by 5-0 and I scored two goals and what do you think Aftonbladet's headlines were the next day? Hurrah Sweden? We're going to the Euros? Not really. They said "Shame on Zlatan!" and it wasn't like I had pulled my pants down or beaten down the referee.

I had taken a penalty - and scored. It was 4-0 and I had been fouled inside the box, and sure, ok, Lars Lagerbäck had his list with penalty shooters and Kim Källström was on top of it, but he had just scored, and I thought, hey this is my thing, I'm on a roll, and when Kim came up to me I moved the ball to my other side, like don't take my toy, and then he reached out with his hand: Give it to me!

I hi-fived him instead, put down the ball and took the shot, it wasn't more than that, but it wasn't the best thing I've done and I apologized afterwards, but come on, it wasn't like the Balkan war. It wasn't a riot in the suburbs. It was a goal in football. Still, Aftonbladet had six pages about it and I didn't understand anything. For fucks sake, printing personal ads, and shame on you Zlatan when we win by 5-0. "If anyone should be ashamed it's Aftonbladet", I said at the press conference the next day.

After that I boycotted the paper, and when the Euros began in Portugal it wasn't exactly a time to make up. I continued my war, but I took a risk. If I didn't speak with them they would have nothing to lose. and the last thing I wanted was that my relationship with Helena would become public. It would be a disaster for the preparations, so I had to be careful. But what could I do? I missed her. "Can't you come over here?” I said. She couldn't. She was too busy. But apparently some of her bosses had bought tickets for the Euros and weren't able to go: "Does someone else want to go instead?", they said, so she thought: It's a sign, I'm going, and she was with me for a few days. But as always we kept a low profile, and not even anyone on the national team knew about her; the only one who seemed to have suspected there

was something about her was that guy Skara-Bert [ed note: famous Swedish music mogul] who had bumped into her at the airport and had wondered what someone like her was doing amongst all the football fans and their nt jerseys and funny hats. But we managed to keep it secret, and I was able to focus on football. We were a nice bunch in the squad. We were good guys, and then there was the primadonna. The primadonna did his silly shit, like: "In Arsenal, you see, we do it like this. This is the way to do it. Because in Arsenal they know about these things, and I play for that team." Stuff like that.

It pissed me off. "My back hurts so much", he said. Oh my. "I can't ride on the regular bus. I must have my own. I must have this and that." I mean, who the fuck was he doing his upper-class shit with us? Lars Lagerbäck talked to me about him:

"Zlatan, please, try to handle this professionally. We can't have any conflicts in the squad."

"Hey", I said. "If he respects me I respect him. End of story", and there was some arguing about that.

But a part from that, Jesus, the atmosphere was amazing. When we started the first game against Bulgaria in Lisbon it was like the entire stadium was dressed in yellow, and everyone sang, "Get the ball in the goal", Markoolio's Euro-song, and everything was so powerful and we completely crushed Bulgaria.

It ended 5-0 and the expectations on us grew. But it was still like the Euros hadn't begun. The big game that everyone was waiting for of course was against Italy in Porto on the 18th of June, and it was no secret that the Italians were gearing up for this and were full of revenge. They had only gotten a draw in the first round against Denmark, and of course none of them had forgotten the loss in the last Euros against France in Rotterdam. Italy were forced to win and had an amazing team with Nesta, Cannavaro and Zambrotta in the back and Buffon in the goal and Christian Vieri in attack, and although Totti, their big star, was suspended, he had spat at an opponent in the game against Denmark, meeting these guys was a big challenge.

It was my most important game so far, and my dad was there watching, and the atmosphere was amazing, and already in the beginning of the game I noticed that the Italians had respect for me. It was like, what a trick is this guy going to pull now, and I fought their defence. But it wasn't easy. The Italians had an incredible offense and at the end of the first half Cassano, a young guy who had replaced Totti, scored 1-0 after a pass from Panucci, and no one can say it wasn't fair, the italians had dominated. But we worked our way back into the game and we had some chances in the second half. But still, it was Italy's game, and equalizing against them isn't an easy thing. The italians are known to have the best defense in the world. But with only five minutes to go we got a corner to the left.

Kim Källström took it and there was some commotion in the box. Marcus Allbäck hit the ball, and Olof Mellberg too, and it was all chaos. But with the ball high up in the air I ran towards it, I jumped, and heeled it. A bit of kung fu. On the photos my heel is at the height of my shoulder, and the ball flew perfectly over Christian Vieri who tried to reach it, and there weren't many centimeters between his head and the crossbar. But it went in, in the top left corner, and it was against Italy.

It was the European Championship. It was a heel and only five minutes to go and I ran like crazy and the whole team was after me, as crazy as me, all exept one of course, who ran the other way. But who cared_ I threw myself down and everyone was over me and Henke screamed: Enjoy! Just like that! Like he instantly understood the level of what was happening, and sure, we only got a draw. But it felt like we had won, and we advanced to the quarter finals and were facing Holland, also a tense game of course.

The dutch fans in their orange clothes and hats where booing and whistling at me like I was playing for the wrong team, and the game was extremely tight with a lot of chances. But still it was 0-0 at full time, and we went into extra time. We had shots hitting both the crossbar and the post. We should have scored a few times over. But we were forced to a penalty shoot-out, and the entire stadium was like praying to God.

There were nerves all over the place, and as always, many didn't even dare watching. Others were booing and tried psyching us. The pressure was incredible. But it started well. Kim Källström scored and Henke too. It was 2-2, and it was my turn. I had a black hairband. I had long hair, and I was smiling a little

bit, I don't know why. But I felt quite cool, despite everything, I was nervous, but still, I didn't panic or anything, not at all, and Edwin van der Sar was in their goal. It really should be fine.

Today when I shoot a penalty and know exactly where to put it, and that's in the net. But then I got this strange feeling, and that feeling came just as I approached the ball. It was like was only going to shoot it, and I did. I just shot, like it would be a surprise where the ball would go, and I missed completely. I shot it to hell. It was a disaster and we were kicked out of the tournament - Olof Mellberg missed too - and believe me; it's no fun memory. It was shit. We had a great team. We should have gone further in the Euros. But still; those games got things started.

August is a busy month. The transfer window closes on the thirty first and there are rumours about transfers buzzing everywhere. You call it Silly season. It's another pre-season and the papers don't have anything else to write about: Will he go there? Or here? How much will the clubs pay? It's boiling in the air and many players get stressed, and it was especially clear in Ajax.

All the young guys wanted to be sold, and everywhere people were looking nervously at each other: Does he have something going? Does he? And why isn't my agent calling? It was tense and there was a lot of jealousy and I was just walking around waiting, but I still tried to concentrate on football, and I remember, we were playing against Utrecht, and the last thing I thought was that I'd be substituted. But it happened. Koeman waved me in, and I was so pissed off that I kicked down an advertising billboard by the pitch, like what the fuck, putting me on the bench?

Already at that time I had the habit of calling Mino after the games. It was nice getting to talk with him and whine a bit in general, but this time I was screaming:

"What kind of asshole takes me off the pitch? How fucking stupid can someone be?" and even though Mino and me had a rough style between us I expected some support in that situation, like: Yes, I agree with you, Koeman must have had a stroke, poor you.

Mino said:

"Of course he took you off. You were the worst one on the pitch. You were shit."

"What the fuck are you saying?"

"You sucked. You should have been put on the bench earlier."

"Hey", I said.

"What?"

"Go fuck yourself. You and the coach."

I hung up and took a shower and went home to Diemen, and my mood wasn't exactly improving. But as I came home I saw someone standing at my door. It was Mino. How does he dare, that idiot, I thought, and I hadn't even stepped out of my car before we started screaming shit at each other again.

"How many times do I have to tell you this?" he yelled. "You were shit, and you're not supposed to kick

down fucking billboards. You have to grow up."

"Go to hell."

"Go and fuck yourself!"

"Fuck you. I want to get out of here", I yelled.

"You have to move to Turin then."

"What are you talking about?"

"I may have Juventus going."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me", and I did. I just couldn't understand, not in the middle of that fight.

"You have a deal with Juventus for me?"

"Maybe."

"Are you fucking wonderful, you fucking idiot?"

"Nothing is set yet, but I'm working on it", he said and I thought, Juventus!

That was something different than Southampton.

Juventus might have been the best club in Europe at the time. They had stars like Thuram, Trézéguet, Del Piero, Buffon and Nedved, and sure, they had lost the Champions League final against Milan the year before. But on paper no other team was even close. All the players were superstars, and the club had just

signed Fabio Capello, the coach from Roma who had wanted me for several years, and I really started hoping. Come on Mino, I thought, make this happen!

Juventus was run by Luciano Moggi at that time. Moggi was a tough one, a man of power who had worked his way up from nothing and become one of the hotshots in italian football. He was the king of the transfer market.

The guy had turned Juventus around. The club had won the league time after time under him. But Luciano Moggi wasn't exactly known to be Snowwhite. There had been some scandals around him with bribes, doping and trials and shit and rumours about him belonging to the Camorra from Naples. That was bullshit of course. But the guy really looked like a mafioso. He liked cigars and cocky suits and he had no limits as a negotiator. He was the master of deals, and definitely not a harmless counterpart. But Mino knew him.

You could say they were old enemies who had become friends. Mino had booked a meeting with Moggi and tried to get business going. But the start wasn't great. Moggi's office was like a fucking waiting room. There were like twenty people outside and all were impatient. But nothing happened. Time just passed and eventually Mino got mad. He just left, furious as hell: what the fuck, ignoring a meeting like that? Most people had probably accepted the situation. Moggi was a big shot. But Mino didn't respect stuff like that. If he was treated badly, then he was. So he looked up Moggi later the same day at the club's favourite restaurant Urbani in Turin.

"You've treated me badly", he hissed.

"Who the fuck are you?” said Moggi.

"You will see when you want to buy a player from me", Mino roared, and he continued being mad at the old man.

He even introduced himself like that to other football bosses: "I am Mino. I am against Moggi", and since Moggi was a guy with many enemies, that was often a good line. The problem was just that sooner or later Mino would have to do business with Mogg, and in 2001 Juventus wanted to buy Nedved, one of Mino's star players. But nothing was set, not at all, Mino had Real Madrid going as well, and him and Nedved were meeting with Moggi in Turin only to discuss things. But Moggi put things at stake, and called reporters, photographers and fans. He put a huge welcoming committee together already before the negotiations began, and Nedved and Mino couldn't get out of that trap.

Not that it really bothered Mino. He wanted Nedved in Juventus, and that trick had given him the chance to improve the contract, but for the first time he was impressed by Moggi. The old man might have been an asshole that time, but he knew his game, and the two of them made peace and became friends. "I am Mino. I am all for Moggi", kind of. They weren't exactly cuddling, but there was a respect there, and apparently some other clubs had dissed me. Moggi was the only one really interested. But it wouldn't be easy.

Moggi didn't have a lot of time for us. We could meet him in secret for half an hour in Monte Carlo. It was during the Formula-1 race, Monaco Grand Prix, and I guess Moggi was in town for business. The Fiat Group owns both Ferrari and Juventus and we were meeting him in a VIP -room at the airport. But the traffic was terrible, and we didn't get anywhere by car. We had to run, and Mino isn't exactly a physical phenomenon. He's over weight. He was panting. He was sweaty and hadn't exactly dressed up for the meeting.

He wore hawaii-shorts, a Nike-sweater and sneakers and no socks and was drained in sweat, and we came bashing into that VIP-room at the airport and there was smoke everywhere. Luciano Moggi was puffing a fat cigar. He's a bit older and bald, and you feel it instantly, this guy is powerful. He's used to having people do what he tells them to. But now he was just staring at Mino's clothes. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Are you here to check out what I look like or what?" Mino hissed back and that's where it all started.

Around this time with played a friendly with Sweden against Holland in Stockholm. Just a friendly, but none of us had forgotten the loss in the Euros and of course we wanted to show that we could beat Holland. The whole team was full of revenge, and it was an offensive, quite aggressive game, and

already early in the game I got the ball just outside the box. Immediately four dutch players were all over me. One of them was Rafael van der Vaart, and they were all pulling me. It was a tough situation, but I pushed my way through it and got the ball to Mattias Jonson who was all clear.

He scored 1- 0, and afterwards van der Vaart was lying down and had pains. He was carried out on a stretcher with an injury to a ligament in his ankle, he wasn't too badly injured. But maybe he would miss a game or two, and in the newspapers he said that I had injured him deliberately. I jumped. What kind of shit was that? It wasn't even a foul, and he's talking about deliberately. And that guy was my captain!

I called him: "Listen, I'm sorry, I'm sad about your injury, and I apologize, I didn't do it on purpose, do you hear me?" And I said the same thing to the press. I said it a hundred times. But van der Vaart continued talking, and I just couldn't understand it. Why the fuck would he talk shit about his own teammate? It was insane. Or was it really?

I started thinking, because don't forget, it was August and the transfer window was open. Maybe he wanted to fight his way out of the club? Or fight ME out of the club for that matter? It wasn't the first time tricks like that were used, and the guy got media down there with him too.

He was the dutch guy. He was the darling of the gossip pages, and I was the bad boy and all that, the foreigner. "Are you serious?", I said when I met him at practice. And apparently he was.

"Okay, okay", I said. "Then let me tell you one last time. It was not on purpose. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you!"

Still he wouldn't back an inch, and the atmosphere in the club became more and more intense. The whole team was divided in two. The dutch were on Rafael's side, and the foreigners on mine. Eventually Koeman called for a meeting, and by that time the whole thing was driving me insane. What the fuck? Accuse me of shit like that? I was boiling inside and up there in the lunch room on the third floor we all sat down in a circle, and I could feel it in the air immediately. It was serious. The management had decided we had to reconcile. We were key players and we had to be friends. But there weren't exactly any openings. Rafael went on harder than ever.

"Zlatan did it on purpose", he said and my eyes turned black.

What the fuck, why couldn't he just give up?

"I didn't hurt you on purpose, and you know that, and if you accuse me of that one more time I will break both your legs. And this time it will be on purpose", I said, and of course, everyone on van der Vaart's side started: "You see, you see, he's aggressive. He's crazy", and Koeman tried to calm things down: "We don't have to go that far, we will work this out."

But to tell the truth, it didn't feel likely, and then we were called up to Louis van Gaal, the director. He and I had some fights before, and it didn't feel like the best thing to go there together with van der Vaart. It wasn't exactly like I was surrounded by friends, and van Gaal started his power talk immediately: "I am the director here", he said.

Like, thanks for the info!

"And I'm telling you", he continued. "Bury the hatchet. When Rafael is well again, you are playing together!"

"Definitely not", I said. "As long as he's on the field, I'm not playing."

"What are you saying?", van Gaal replied. "He is my captain, you will play with him! You do it for the club." "Your captain?" I said. "What kind of bullshit is that? Rafael goes to the media and says I injured him on purpose. What kind of captain is that? One who attacks his own teammates? I'm not playing with him, not a chance. Never. You can say whatever you want."

And then I left. It was a risky gamble. But of course, I was empowered by knowing I had things going with Juventus. Nothing was signed, but I was really hoping, and

I talked with Mino: What's happening? What are they saying? It was back and forth all the time, and in the end of August we were playing NAC Breda in the league. The papers were still writing and going on about the conflict, and they were on van der Vaarts side more than ever. He was their favorite. I was the bad boy who had injured him.

"Prepare to be whistled and booed at", Mino said. "The spectators will hate you."

"Good", I replied.

"Good?"

"It triggers me, you know that. I will show them."

I was triggered. I was. But the situation wasn't a simple one, and I told Koeman about Juventus. I wanted to prepare him, and talks like that are always difficult. I liked Koeman. He and Beenhakker were the first ones in Ajax who had seen my potential, and I didn't doubt that he would understand me now. Who didn't want to go to Juventus? But Koeman would hardly let me go of free will, and I knew that he recently had talked to media and said some players thought they were bigger than the club, and it was obvious: he was talking about me. I had to pick my words carefully and I decided to use some words van Gaal had said:

"I really don't want a fight about this too", I told Koeman. "But Juventus want me, and I hope you can work it out. It's the kind of opportunity you get once in a lifetime", and absolutely, just like I thought, Koeman understood, he had been a professional player himself.

"But I don't want you to leave us", he said. "I want to keep you. And I will fight for it!"

"Do you know what van Gaal has said?"

"What?"

"He said he doesn't need me for the league. You can do it without me. But he needs me for the Champions League."

"What the fuck? Did he say that?"

Koeman freaked out. He became crazy at van Gaal. He thought those words tied his hands and made it more difficult to fight for me, and that was exactly what I wanted, and I remember stepping out on the stadium thinking it was all or nothing. It had become an important game for me. The people from Juventus would study me closely. But it was insane. It felt like the Dutch were spitting on me. They were whistling and screaming, and high up in the stands sat Rafael van der Vaart and he was applauded, it was ridiculous. I was viewed as crap. He was the innocent victim. But everything would change.

We were playing with Breda, and when twenty minutes remained it was 3-1 for us. As a replacement for Rafael van der Vaart we had a guy from the youth academy, Wesley Sneijder, and that guy was good. He played intelligently. He scored 4-1. He made it and broke through around this time, and only five minutes later I received the ball twenty meters from the box. I had a defender on my back and we were pushing and pulling each other, and I came loose, and I dribbled past another guy. That was the start. That was the intro. I continued with a fake shot, and got closer to the box, and did another trick, I was trying to find an opening for a shot. But new defenders kept coming at me. There were many around me and maybe I should have passed the ball, but I didn't see an opening for that either. Instead I pushed through in a fast dribbling slalom, fooled the goalie too and put the ball in open goal with my left foot. It was an instant classic.

It was called my Maradona-goal since it in some ways was similar to Maradona's goal against England in the quarter-final of the 1986 World Cup. It was a dribbling through the entire team, and the stadium exploded. Everyone went crazy. Even Koeman was jumping around like crazy, no matter how much I wanted to leave him. It was like all the hatred against me turned around, into love and triumph.

Everyone was cheering and screaming; everyone stood up and jumped, everyone except one person. The camera panned over the cheering stadium and reached van der Vaart. He was sitting there, all stiff. He didn't move his face, not a movement, despite his own team had scored. He just sat there like my show had been the worst thing that ever happened, and maybe it was. Because don't forget, everyone had booed at me before kick-off!

Now they were screaming one name, and it was mine. No one cared about van der Vaart anymore, and all night and the day after the TV-channels showed the goal, time after time. It was later voted the most beautiful goal of the year by the viewers of Euro sport. But I was still focused on something completely different. The clock was ticking. The transfer window wouldn't be open for many more days, and Moggi made some trouble. Or made some tricks, hard to tell as always. Moggi suddenly said that I and Trézéguet couldn't play together, and David Trézéguet was the big goal scorer in Juventus. "What nonsense is that?" Mino said.

"Their plying styles don't match. It won't work", he replied, and that didn't sound good, not at all.

When Moggi had an idea about something, it wasn't easy to change his mind. But Mino saw a possibility. He understood that Capello, the coach, had a different opinion. Capello had wanted me for a long time, and sure, absolutely, Moggi was the director. But you don't mess around with Capello either. That guy can floor any star with just a stare. Capello is really tough, so Mino took them both out for dinner, and he opened hard:

"Is it correct that Trézéguet and Zlatan can't play together?"

"What kind of talk is that? What does that have to do with our dinner?" Capello replied. "Moggi said that their playing styles don't work together, right Luciano?" Moggi nodded.

"So my question for Fabio: is this correct?" Mino continued.

"I don't care if it's correct or not, and you should to. What happens on the field is my problem. Just make sure that Zlatan comes here and then I will take care of the rest", Capello said, and seriously, what could Moggi do?

He couldn't tell the coach how to handle the game on the field. He was forced to fold, and Mino enjoyed every second of it. He had gotten them exactly where he wanted to. But nothing was finalized, and the dutch football awards were held in Amsterdam

Mino and I were there to celebrate Maxwell who received the award for the league's best player, and we were both very happy for him. But there wasn't much of celebrating. Mino was all worked up. He walked back and forth and talked to the directors of Juventus and Ajax, and all the time there were new problems and question marks, both real ones and some created just to improve your situation in the negotiations. I looked as the deal was in a deadlock, and the transfer window would close in the evening on the next day.

I was at home in Diemen playing Xbox, "Evolution" I think, or "Call of Duty", awesome games both of them. Those almost made me forget about everything. But Mino kept calling me every other minute. He was frustrated. My bag was packed and Juventus had a private jet standing by for me at the airport. So definitely, the club wanted me. But they couldn't agree on the price. It was this and that, and the Ajax management didn't seem to think the deal was serious. The Italians didn't even have a lawyer in place in Amsterdam, and I tried pressuring Ajax myself:

"The way I see it I'm not playing for you anymore. I'm finished with you!" I told van Gaal and his guys.

But nothing helped. Nothing happened and time passed, and I was all inside my Xbox, and you should see me in situations like that. I'm totally focused. My fingers dance over the gamepad. It's like a fever. All my frustration went into that game. I played on while Mino was sweating to get the deal done. He was going crazy too. Why couldn't Moggi even send a lawyer over to Amsterdam? What kind of style was that?

Of course it could be just part of the game. It does not easy know. Nothing felt certain, and Mino decided to give back. He called his own lawyer: "Get on a flight to Amsterdam", he said, "and pretend to be representing Juventus", and of course, the lawyer flew there and did his theatre act, and it helped, the negotiations sped up. But the deal wasn't closed and in the end Mino lost it. He called again.

"Fuck it", he said. "Bring the lawyer and fly over here. We have to close the deal from here", and I dropped the video game and left; I barely locked my door to tell you the truth.

I just left, and drove to our stadium where the club management was sitting with Mino's lawyer, and there were no doubts about it: everyone became stressed when I stepped into the room, and the lawyer was running around saying one single thing:

"We're just lacking a paper, one single paper. And then we're done."

"We don't have the time. We have to leave, Mino says 'fuck it'", I replied and we drove to the airport and Juventus' private jet.

I had already called my dad: "Hey, hey, it's urgent; I'm closing a deal with Juventus. Do you wanna come?"

Of course he wanted to, and that made me happy. If this worked out it was the dream of my life coming true, and then it would be nice to have dad by my side, we had lived through so much together. I know

that he left immediately to the Kastrup airport in Copenhagen and flew down to Milan where Mino's guy picked him up and drove him to the football federation office. All transfers are registered are registered at that office.

He arrived there before me, and when I turned up with the lawyer i was surprised: Is that you, kind of? It wasn't the dad I was used to, definitely not the one who had been sitting at home listening to his jugge-music with his headphones and work pants. This was a guy in a cool suit, a guy who could pass for any Italian hot shot, and I felt proud, and to tell you the truth totally shocked. I had never seen him in a suit before.

"Dad."

"Zlatan."

It was beautiful, and there were reporters and photographers everywhere. The rumor had spread. It was big news in Italy. But nothing was set. The clock was ticking. There wasn't much time left playing with, and Moggi continued making problems, doing his tricks, and worse, it paid off. My price had gone down, from 35 million euros that Mino had asked first to 25, 20 and finally 16 million euros, one hundred and sixty million Swedish kronor, and sure, that was still a lot. It was twice what Ajax had paid for me. But it shouldn't have been a big deal for Juventus. They had sold Zidane to Real Madrid for 70 million. Clear as fuck they could afford it. The Ajax guys shouldn't worry. But they were nervous anyway, at least they said so. Juventus couldn't even produce a guarantee from the bank for the amount. Sure, there could have been a good reason for that.

Despite all the success Juventus had made a loss of twenty million euros the year before, but that was common amongst the big clubs, definitely. No matter how much income they had the costs always seemed to be bigger. No the thing with a bank guarantee, I wonder if that wasn't a trick, another thing for the negotiations? Juventus was one of the biggest clubs in the world, and surely should have been able to get that money on the table. But without a guarantee from the bank Ajax refused to sign anything, and time passed. It felt hopeless, and sure, Moggi was sitting there in his chair puffing his fat cigar, looking like he had things under control: like "this will work out", or "I know what I'm doing." But Mino was standing next to him with his headset screaming at the Ajax management:

"If you don't sign you won't get the sixteen million. You won't get Zlatan. You won't get anything. Do you get that? Not a fucking shit! And what are you thinking, that Juventus would run from the bill? Juventus! Are you fucking insane? But sure, go ahead, lose it all. You're welcome."

Those were tough words. Mino knows his stuff. But still nothing happened, nada, everyone became more nervous and I guess Mino needed an outlet for all his energy. Or he was just playing tricks. There were a lot of football things in that room, and Mino picked up a ball, and started playing with it. It was crazy. What was he doing? I didn't get it. And that ball flew around, bounced and hit Moggi in the head, and on the shoulder, and everyone was wondering: What's going on? Is he playing ball in this situation? In the middle of the most serious negotiations. It wasn't exactly time for games.

"Stop doing that! You're hitting people in the head."

"No, no, come on!" he went on. "We'll play ball about it, try and take it from me, get up Luciano, show your things. Here's a corner coming, Zlatan. Get on it. Head it you lazy fuck."

And he went on and on, and honestly I have no idea what the officials and other people in there thought. But one thing is certain; Mino gained a new supporter that day - my dad. Dad just laughed. What kind of person is this? How cool can you be? Playing ball, making tricks in front of a hot shot like Moggi. That was my dad's way. It was like making a song and dance in the wrong situation. It was like doing your thing no matter what, and since that day, my dad doesn't just collect press clippings about me. He collects everything that's written about Mino too. Mino is the favorite maniac, because of course, he noticed that: Mino wasn't just a simple maniac. He closed the deal too. Ajax didn't want to lose both me and the money, so they signed in the very last minute. It was after ten then, at least I think so, and the federation office was supposed to close at seven. But we made it happen, we closed the deal, and it took a while for me to get it. Playing in Italy? It was insane.

After that we drove to Turin, and on the highway Mino called Juventus hotspot Urbani and asked them to stay open, and their staff wasn't hard to convince. We were greeted like kings right around midnight, and sat down and had dinner and went through the whole deal, and I have to say, having dad there watching the whole thing made me so happy.

"I'm proud of you Zlatan", he said.

I and Fabio Cannavaro were signed at the same time and Juventus held a press conference for us at the delle Alpi Stadium in Turin. Cannavaro is a guy who's making jokes and is laughing all the time. I liked him from the first minute. He was chosen the best player in the world some year later, and he helped me a lot in the beginning. But immediately after the press conference me and dad flew straight to Amsterdam where we left Mino off before we continued to Gothenburg. I would play another national team game there.

It was a crazy period, and I never returned to my house in Diemen. I just left it behind me, and for a long time I stayed at the Hotel Le Meridien by Via Nizza in Turin. I lived there until I moved into Filippo Inzaghi's apartment at Piazza Castello.

So Mino had to go to Diemen and collect and forward all my old stuff. But when he came into the house he heard a noise from upstairs, and flinched. Was there a burglary going on? He heard voices and sneaked upstairs, carefully, ready for trouble.

But there were no thieves. My Xbox had been on making noise for three weeks, ever since I left for Milan with the Juventus jet.