arlier, in September 2005, we had played against Hungary in the World Cup qualifications at the Ferenc Puskas- Stadium in Budapest. We were more or less forced to win if we were to qualify for the World Cup, and the pressure had been building the days before the game. But it seemed to become an anti -climax. Nothing was happening, and I couldn't get into the game. I was tired and out of form and when we had played full time, it was 0-0 and everyone just waited for the final whistle.

Some papers had given me a 1 rating. I was a disappointment, and many probably saw that as a confirmation: He's just an overrated diva, after all. But then I got a pass inside the box, from Mattias Jonson I think, and it didn't seem like I was doing much with that one either. I had a defender hanging on me and I started dribbling back out on the field without gaining something from that. But then I turned back, like BAM, because don't forget, it's for situations like that I play, and that's why I often seem to be just walking around. I save myself to be able to run on fast, aggressive things, and now I took a few quick steps towards the sideline, and the defender couldn't keep up at all, and I came in position to shoot, not a good position though. The angle was too tight and the goalie was positioned well, and most people expected a pass.

But I went for it and few goals are made from that angle. At best it hits the side of the net, and the goalie didn't react. He didn't even raise his hands and for a second I thought I had missed. And I wasn't the only one. The audience didn't react, and Olof Mellberg hung with his head, like: shit, so close, and on extra time. He even turned around. He was waiting for the goalie to kick in the ball again, and on the other side, Andreas Isaksson in our goal was thinking: It's too quiet, and Olof look disappointed. The ball must have gone outside, in the side of the net. But then I raised my arms and ran around the goal and the stadium woke up.

The ball hadn't hit the side at all. It had gone in by the crossbar from an impossible angle and the goalie hadn't even been given the time to react, and not much later the referee whistled the game off, and no one gave me a 1 rating anymore.

The goal became a classic and we qualified for the World Cup and I really hoped it would be a success. I needed it, and really, it felt good down there at our WC camp in Germany, despite the chaos in Juventus. After Tommy Söderberg quit we had a new second coach, and it wasn't just anyone. It was Roland Andersson, who once said: "It's time to stop playing with the young shits, Zlatan", he who once took me up and into the first team, and honestly, I was moved. I hadn't seen him since he was kicked out of MFF, and it felt good being able to show him: You were right, Roland, betting on me was worth it. He had gotten som critique for that. But now we were here, me and Roland. It had worked out for the both of us, and the mood and atmosphere was good all over. There were Swedish supporters all over and everywhere you could hear that song the young kid sings, you know: "No one kicks the ball like him, Zlatan, I said Zlatan, I love you Ich liebe dich, Zlatan Ibrahimovic".

That was a nice groove. But my groin wasn't feeling well, and my family was fighting. It was crazy, really. No matter how much younger brother I am - only Keki is younger - I've become like the dad to all of them and here in Germany it was always about something. It was dad who didn't want to come, and now his tickets weren't being used, it was the hotel which was too far away, or my older brother, Sapko, who needed money and when he received it couldn't handle exchanging it. At the same time Helena was seven months pregnant. She took care of herself, but there was chaos and commotion around her. When

she was going off the bus before our game against Paraguay our fans were all over her like crazy and she felt unsafe and flew home the next day. It was this and that all the time, big things and small.

"Please, Zlatan, can you do this for me?"

I was the travel guide for the family in Germany and I couldn't focus on my game. The phone was ringing constantly. There were complaints and lots of stuff. It was insane. I was playing the fucking World Cup. And still I had to take care of rental cars and shit, and I probably shouldn't have played at all. My groin was trouble, like I said. But Lagerbäck was sure. I would play, and the first game was against Trinidad & Tobago, and of course we should win, not by one goal, but by three, four, five. But nothing worked for us. Their goalie was having the game of his life, and we didn't even score when they had a guy sent off. The only positive thing about that game happened afterwards. I got to meet their coach.

The coach's name was Leo Beenhakker. It was amazing to see him again. My God, many want to take credit for my career. Almost everything is bullshit, silly attempts from people who want to gain from my name, but some guys have really meant a lot. Roland Andersson is one and Beenhakker another one. They believed in me when everyone else was in doubt. I hope being able to do things like that when I'm older. Not just whine about those who are different: Look, now he's dribbling again, he's doing this and that, but actually think a bit ahead.

There's a photo from that meeting with Beenhakker. I've taken off my shirt and my face shines, despite the disappointment from the game. I never really got going in that tournament. We got a draw against England, and that was good. But Germany crushed us in the round of 16 and I played like shit, and I really take all the blame for that. A family is a family. You take care of each other. But I shouldn't have been a travel guide and the tournament became a lesson for me too. Afterwards I explained to everyone: "You're welcome to hang along, and I'll try arrange things well for you, but once you're there, you take care of your own problems and yourselves."

I returned to Turin and it didn't feel like home anymore. Turin had become a place I had to leave, and the atmosphere in the club hadn't exactly improved. There had been another disaster.

Gianluca Pessotto had been a defender in the club all since 1995. He had won everything with the club, identified himself with Juventus. I knew him quite well. We had played together for two years and the guy wasn't really the cocky kind. He was incredibly sensitive and nice and always stayed in the background. Exactly what happened after that, I don't know.

Pessotto had just quit as a player and become the new team manager after Alessio Secco, who had been promoted to director, and maybe it wasn't easy getting an office job after a life as a player. But more than anything, Pessotto had taken the gambling scandal and the relegation to Serie B very hard, and also some things had happened with his family.

One of those days he was sitting in his office, four floors up, just as usual. But this day he stepped up, into one of the windows with a rosary in his hand, and threw himself out, backwards, and landed on the asphalt between two cars. The fall was 15 meters. It's amazing that he survived! He wound up in the hospital with some fractures and inner bleedings, but he made it, and people were happy about that, despite everything. But still, his suicide attempt was seen as another thing of concern. It was like: Who's the next one to lose it?

Everything felt quite desperate, and the new president, Giovanni Cobolli Gigli, also explained: we are not letting any more players leave. The management would fight for every single one, and of course I talked to Mino about this. We discussed it all the time, and we both agreed, there was only one way. We had to strike back. So Mino went to the media and said:

"We're prepared to take any legal means necessary to get away from this club."

We didn't wanna appear weak, not a chance. If Juventus played hard ball, so would we. But it wasn't a simple war. A lot was at stake, and I talked to Alessio Secco again, the guy who tried to be the new Moggi, and I instantly heard, his opinion was different now:

"You have to stay in this club. We demand that. You have to show loyalty with the team."

"Before the break you said the opposite. That I should take any offers."

"But the situation is different now. We're in crisis. We will offer you a new contract."

"I'm not staying", I said. "Under no conditions."

By every hour, every day, the pressure was increasing, and of course it was unpleasant, and I fought with everything I had, with Mino, with the law, with everything. But it's true. I couldn't be too defiant. I still got my salary from the club, and of course the big question was: how far could I go? I spoke with Mino about it.

We decided that I would train with the team, but not play any matches. According to Mino there was a

foundation for doing so in the contract, so that's why I, despite everything, went with all the others to a

pre-season camp in the mountains. The Italian national team players hadn't come back yet, they were still

in Germany. Italy went all the way and won the World Cup. That was insanely strong by the team, I think,

considering the scandals going on at home, so it was only to congratulate them. But that didn't exactly

help me. Our new coach was Didier Deschamps. He was an old player too, French. He had been the

captain when France won the World Cup in 1998, and now at his new job he was forced to get Juventus

back to Serie A immediately. It was a tremendous pressure on him, and already during the first day in

training he came up to me:

"Ibra", he said.

"Yes?"

"I want to build our game around you. You are my most important player. You are the future. You have to help us back."

"Thanks, but…"

"No buts. You have to stay here. I won't accept anything else", he continued, and even though it didn't feel good, I heard how important I was to him, I continued my own plan: "No, no, no. I'm leaving."

I shared room with Nedved at the camp. Nedved and I were friends. Both of us had Mino as agent. But we were in different situations. Nedved, just like Del Piero, Buffon and Trézéguet had decided to stay in Juventus and I remember clearly how Deschamps came up to us, maybe to have us act out against each other, I don't know. But he wasn't going to give up.

"Listen", he said. "I have great expectations on you, Ibra. You are the main reason I took this job."

"Get out", I said. "You took the job for the club, not for me."

"I promise. If you leave, I will leave", he continued, and then I couldn't help smiling, after all.

"OK man, pack your bags and call a cab", I replied, and then he laughed like if I had been joking.

But I had never been so far from a joke in my life. If Juventus were fighting for its life as a major club, I was fighting for my life as a player too. One year in Serie B would make everything stop, and one of those days Alessio Secco and Jean- Claude Blanc came to me. Jean-Claude was a Harvard guy, a hot shot that the Agnellu family had taken in to save Juventus from disaster, and of course he had been accurate about things. He had his papers in order and had written a proposal for a contract with different amounts, and I immediately thought: Don't even read it! Make fuzz later! The more trouble you make, the more they want to let you go.

"I don't even want to see it. I'm not signing anything", I replied.

"Please at least look at what we're offering. We're being very generous!"

"Why? It won't lead anywhere."

"You don't know that before you've looked at it."

"Sure I do. Even if you offer me twenty million euros, it's totally uninteresting for me."

"That's respect less of you", Blanc hissed.

"Take it any way you want to", I said, and left, and sure I knew I had hurt him, and that's always a risk, and in a worst case scenario I would be without a club in September.

But I had to play the game and take some risk. I had to move on, and sure, my position for negotiation wasn't the best anymore. I had a bad World Cup, and hadn't been too great the previous season in Juventus either. I had been too heavy, and scored too few goals. But still I hoped that people knew my capacity. Only the year before I had been great, and voted the best foreign player in the league. I thought there must be some interest amongst the clubs, and Mino was working hard behind the scenes.

"I have Inter and Milan interested", he said at an early stage, and that sounded good of course. Some light in the tunnel.

But it was just loose talk at that point, and I still didn't know what my situation with contracts and Juve looked like. What were my possibilities to get out of there if they refused to let me go? I wasn't sure, and it was up and down every day. Mino was optimistic. That was his job, and I couldn't do anything but wait, and fight. The media already knew that I wanted to leave at any price. And now also info came that Inter were interested in me, and the Juventus supporters really hate Inter, and as a player you are always surrounded by fans. They hang outside the training grounds wanting autographs and often they can pay to get in and watch. It's business everywhere in this sport, and then, during pre-season way up in the mountains they were there, screaming at me.

"Traitor and pig", they screamed and things like that, and sure, that wasn't nice.

But honestly, you're used to almost everything as a player, and those words just went through me. We were playing a practice game against Spezia, and what had I said about games? I wouldn't play them. So I sat there in my room, playing PlayStation. And outside was the bus which would take us to the stadium and everyone was already downstairs, also Nedved, and I think the bus had the engine running. Where the fuck is Ibra? They waited and waited and finally Deschamps came up to my room. He was furious. "Why are you sitting here? We are leaving!"

I didn't even turn around, just kept playing.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Didn't YOU hear me?" I replied. "I will train, but I won't play any games. I've told you ten times."

"Of course the fuck you do. You are part of this team. You're coming NOW. Get up."

He stepped right up to me but I just sat there, kept playing.

"What kind of fucking respect is that, sitting here playing?" he screamed. "You will be fined for this, you hear?"

"Okay."

"What okay?"

"Give me fine. I'll stay here!"

And then he left. He was going insane, and I was sitting there with my PlayStation while the others left on that bus, and if things weren't tense before, they became tense now. The incident was reported upwards of course. I was fined, thirty thousand euros I think. It became a war, and like in all wars, tactics were the most important thing. How would I strike back? What's the next step? I was thinking and thinking.

I had secret visitors. Ariel Braida, a hot shot from Milan, came to see me during the camp. I just snuck away and met him at a hotel nearby, and we talked about what it would be like to be a part of Milan. But to tell you the truth, I didn't really like his style. It was a lot like: "Kaka is a star. You're not. But Milan can turn you into one." It was like I needed Milan more than Milan needed me, and I didn't really feel seen or wanted, and I had liked to have said thanks and goodbye at once, but my position for negotiations was far from perfect. I desperately wanted to get away from Juventus. I didn't have a good hand and I had to return to Turin without any good offers.

It was hot. It was August and Helena was more pregnant than ever, and had some signs of stress. There were paparazzi after us all the time, and I supported her as much as I could. But I was in no man's land. I didn't know anything about the future, and nothing was easy. The club had a new training facility. Everything that had to do with Moggi was to be cleaned out, even his old locker room, and I continued training. I had to stick to mine. But it was strange. No one viewed me as part of the team, and the drama continued. Things happened all the time, and at least I noticed one good thing: Juventus weren't fighting for me as much as before.

Who wants a guy who doesn't give a fuck and just plays PlayStation?

It was still a long way to go, and the question was still: Inter or Milan? It should have been an easy choice. Inter hadn't won the league for seventeen years. Inter weren't really a top club anymore. Milan was one of the most successful clubs in Europe. Of course you're going to Milan, Mino said. I wasn't as sure. Inter was Ronaldo's old team and the club really showed they wanted me, and I kept thinking of

what Braida had said to me up there in the mountains: "You're not a real star yet!" Milan had the strongest team. But still I leaned towards Inter. I wanted the underdog.

"OK", Mino said. "Just remember that Inter will be a totally different challenge. You won't get any scudetti for free there."

I didn't want anything for free. I wanted challenges and responsibility. That feeling grew stronger, and already then I understood what it would mean coming to a club that hadn't won the league in seventeen years and then would do it with me. That would raise things to a whole new level. But, nothing was done or settled yet, and first of all we had to get something done, anything! We had to leave the sinking ship and grab on to what we could.

Milan would play qualifications for the Champions League then. It was a result of Calciopoli. Normally they'd be playing it of course, but since the courts had given them minus-points they had to play a qualifier against Red Star Belgrade. The first game was at San Siro in Milan. It was an important game for me too. If Milan would qualify they would also get more money to buy players, and Adriano Galliani, the vice president of Milan, had told me:

"We wait and see the outcome of this, and then we'll get back to you."

Until then Inter had been more interested, but they weren't playing it simple either. Inter was owned by Massimo Moratti. Moratti is a big shot. He's an oil tycoon. He owned the club and of course he could also sense my desperation. He had lowered his bid four times. There was always something, and on August 8th I was sitting in our apartment at Piazza Castello in Turin.

Milan's game against Red Star started at 20.45. I didn't watch it. I had other things to do. But apparently Kaka assisted Filippo Inzaghi early in the game for 1-0, and some of the tension in the club let go. Shortly after that my phone rang. It had been ringing all day, and most of the times it was Mino. He kept me updated about every little step in the process, and now he told me that Silvio Berlusconi wanted to meet with me, and I flinched of course. Not just because it was him, but because it showed that the club was seriously interested. But still I wasn't sure. Inter was still my first choice. But of course I understood that this conversation wouldn't exactly hurt us.

"Can we use this?" I said.

"You bet we can", Mino replied, and instantly called Moratti, because if there's anything that gets that man going it's beating Milan.

"We just wanted to inform you that Ibrahimovic is having a late dinner with Berlusconi in Milan", Mino said. "What?"

"They have reserved a table at Restaurant Giannino."

"So the fuck they have", Moratti answered. "I'll send a guy over right now."

Moratti sent Branca. Marco Branco was a sporting director at Inter. He was kind of a young skinny guy, but when he knocked on our door only an hour later I learned another thing about him. He was one of the worst chain smokers I've ever met. I walked back and forth in our apartment and filled an ashtray in no time. But he was stressed. He was forced to close a deal before Berlusconie tied his tie and left for dinner at the Giannino. So of course, he was stressed. He was about to screw the most powerful man in Italy on a deal, nothing less, and of course Mino used that. He likes it when the counterpart is under pressure. Pressure makes people softening, and there were different phone calls and numbers thrown in the air all the time. It was my contract. My conditions, and the clock kept ticking and Branca kept smoking and smoking.

"Do you accept?" he said.

I looked at Mino.

Mino said: "Go for it!"

"Ok, sure."

Branca started smoking even more, and then he called Moratti. You could really hear the excitement in his voice.

"Zlatan accepted", he said.

That was good news. It was big. You could hear that in his voice. But nothing was set yet. Now it was down to the deal between the two clubs. What was my price? It was a new game, and of course, if Juventus would lose me, they would demand good payment. But before anything was set, Moratti called.

"Are you happy?"

"I am happy", I said.

"Then I'd like to welcome you", and you get it, I had a sigh of relief.

All the uncertainty of the past spring and summer was like swept away in a single second, and now Mino only had to call the management of Milan. Berlusconi probably didn't want to go to dinner anymore. We weren't exactly going to talk about the weather, and if I had understood everything correctly the Milan guys were really caught off guard: What the fuck is happening? Is Ibra going to Inter now? "Sometimes things happen fast", Mino said.

I was eventually bought for twenty seven million euros, it was the biggest transfer in Serie A that year, and I never had to pay that fine I had gotten for playing PlayStation. Mino made it disappear and Moratti went to the media and said my transfer was of the same importance as when the club had bought Ronaldo, and of course that struck my heart. I was ready for Inter. But first I was going to a national team game in Gothenburg and I was counting on an easy ride before the real thing would begin again.