e were playing against Real Madrid at home at Camp Nou. It was November 2009. I had been away for fifteen days again. I had some discomfort in my tigh and I would start on the bench, and of course that wasn't fun. Not many things are as huge as El Clasico. The pressure was incredible. It's war, and the papers had extra editions with like 60 pages about the game. People don't talk about anything else. It's the big teams, the big enemies against each other.

I had a good start of the season despite the fracture in my hand and the whole adjustment to a new country. I had scored five goals in my first five games and I was praised everywhere. It felt good and La Liga was clearly the place to be. Real and Barca had invested almost 250 million euros in Kaka, Cristiano and me, and Serie A and Premiere League had lost some. La Liga was the hot place now. Everything would be extraordinary. That's what I thought.

Already during pre-season when I ran around with plaster and nails in my hand I had become one of the gang. The language was a bit of a problem of course and I hung a lot with the guys who talked English, Thierry Henry and Maxwell. But it worked great with everyone. Messi, Xavi and Iniesta are down to earth, nice guys, killing on the football field, and very easy being around, far from "Here I come, I'm the greatest and most beautiful", not a sign of anything like that, and no fashion shows in the locker room like many italian players have. Messi and the guys turned up in tracksuits and kept a low profile and then of course there was Guardiola.

He seemed OK. He came up to me after every practice and talked. He really wanted me to get into the team, but sure, the manners in the club were special. I had felt that immediately. It was like a school, a bit like Ajax. But this was Barca, the best team in the world. I had expected a bit more cocky attitude. But everyone was so silent and nice and part of the group, and sometmes I'd think: These guys are superstars. But still they act like school boys, and maybe that's sympathetic, what do I know? But I couldn't help thinking: How would these guys be treated in Italy? They would have been gods.

Now they all lined up for Pep Guardiola. Guardiola is a Catalan. He's an old midfielder. He won La Liga five or six times with Barcelona, and became their captain in 1997. When I came he had been the coach for two years and had had huge success. I'm sure the guy deserved all the respect, and I saw it as important trying to adjust and fit in. It wasn't like a new thing for me. I had switched clubs several times before, and I had never walked in telling people how to do things. I sense the atmosphere. Who's strong? Who's weak? What are they talking about and which are the different groupings?

At the same time I knew my qualities. I had proved what I could mean for a team with my winning mentality, and I used to take up space pretty quickly anyway, and make a lot of jokes. Not too long ago I kicked Chippen a bit for fun at a national team practice and I didn't understand a thing when I opened up the papers the next day. It was looked on as some mean attack. But it was nothing, nada. That's how we do it. It's playful and very serious at the same time. We're a bunch of quys who spend all days together and sometimes do some crazy stuff to keep going. It's not more difficult than that. We're joking. But in Barca I became boring. Too nice. And I didn't dare screaming on the pitch like I need to do.

The papers writing about me being a bad boy and all that helped. That made me wanting to prove the opposite and I'm sure I went too far. Instead of being myself I was trying to be the nicest guy around and that was stupid. You can't let media bullshit put you down. It was unprofessional. I admit it. But that wasn't the big thing. That was:

"We have our feet on the ground here. We are fabricantes. We work. We are ordinary guys!"

Maybe it didn't sound so strange, but there was something about those words, and I started wondering: Why is Guardiola telling me those things? Does he think I'm so different? I couldn't put my finger on it at first. But it didn't feel so good. Sometimes it was like in the youth team in MFF. Did I once again have a coach who thought I came from the wrong neighbourhood? Still, I hadn't done anything, I hadn't head-butted a teammate, no stealing bikes, nothing. I had never been such a pussy my whole life. I was the opposite of what the papers were writing. I was the guy who stepped around on his toes and thought about everything before doing anything. The old wild Zlatan was gone! Lots of stuff was gone! I ended up in my own shadow.

It had never happened before, and so far it wasn't a big deal. It'll work out, I thought, I'll be myself soon again. I'll get going, and maybe I'm just imagining things, having fantasies. Guardiola wasn't unpleasant, not at all. He seemed to believe in me. He saw me scoring goal after goal and how much I meant to the team, but stil… that feeling didn't disappear. Did he think I was that different?

"We keep our feet on the ground here!"

Did Guardiola meen I was the guy who didn't? I didn't get it and I tried to shake it off me. Saying: Focus instead! Just forget about it! But the vibes were still there, and I wondered more and more: Should everyone be the same in this club? It didn't feel healthy. No one's the same. People try sometimes, sure. But then they strangle themselves, and ruin things for the team. Absolutely, Guardiola had been a huge success. The club had won a lot under him. I have to applaud that, and a victory is a victory.

But now afterwards I think it came at a price. The price was that the big personalities were chased away. It wasn't a coincidence that the guy had problems with guys like Ronaldhino, Deco, Eto'o, Henry and me. We're no "ordinary boys". We have threatened him and then he tries to chase us away, it's not more complicated that that, and I hate stuff like that. If you're no "ordinary boy", you shouldn't be forced into becoming one. No one gains from that. Fuck, if I had tried becoming like the guys in MFF I wouldn't be where I am today. Listen, don't listen, is the foundation of my success.

That doesn't work for everyone. But it works for me, and Guardiola didn't understand shit about that. He thought he could change me. In his Barca everyone should be like Xavi, Iniesta and Messi. I have nothing bad to say about them, like I said, not at all, on the contrary. It was amazing being on the same team as them. Good players trigger me and I was watching them like I've always watched great talents: Can I learn something? Can I work a little harder?

But look at their backgrounds. Xavi came to Barca when he was eleven years old. Iniesta was twelve, Messi thirteen. They were shaped by the club. They didn't know anything else and I'm sure that was good for them. It was their thing, but it wasn't mine. I came from the outside, I came with all my personality, and there wasn't room for it, not in Guardiola's little world. But like I said, I just had a sense of these things back in November. At that point the problems were simpler: Would I play and would I do it well after my break?

The pressure on us was incredible ahead of the El Clasico at Camp Nou. Back then the Chilean Manuel Pellegrini was coach of Real. There were speculations that he would get fired if Real didn't win. They were talking about me, Kaka, Cristiano, Messi, Pellegrini and Guardiola. It was a lot of "that guy against

that guy". The city was boiling of all expectations, and I came to the stadium in the club Audi and walked into the locker room. Guardiola would start with Thierry Henry on top and Messi to the right and Iniesta to the left. It was dark outside then. The stadium was lit up and the cameras were flashing everywhere.

You could feel it immediately, Real were more triggered. They created more chances, and in the 20th minute Kaka dribbled beautifully and quickly and passed a clear Cristiano. He had a great chance, but blew it. Victor Valdés, our goalie, saved it with his foot, and only a minute later Higuain in Real was making his way through. It was close, close. There were many chances and we played to stagnant, didn't move enough and had problems with the passes. The nervousness spread in the team and our fans started booing, especially at Casillas in Real's goal. He was delaying the game and his goal kicks. But Real continued dominating and we were lucky having 0-0 after 45 minutes.

In the beginning of the second half Guardiola asked me to start warming, and that was a great feeling, I have to say. The crowd was screaming and cheering. The thunder from the stands filled me, and I applauded them back as a thank you, and in the 51st minute Thierry Henry went off and I came in, and I was hungry. I hadn't been gone for long. But it felt like it, maybe because I had missed a group game in the Champions League against my old team Inter. But now I was back and only a few minutes had passed when the Brazilian, Daniel Alves, got the ball on the right side. Alves reads the game quickly and the attack was fast. There was a bit of a commotion in the Real defence, and in situations like that, I don't think. I just run into the box, and then the cross ball came, a long pass. I blasted forward.

I was clear in front of the goal and shot a volley with my left foot, bang, boom, goal, and the stadium woke up like a vulcano, and I felt in my body, nothing can stop me now. We won 1-0. I was the man of the match, and was praised everywhere. At that moment no one questioned my price of almost 70 million. I was on fire.

Then Christmas break came. We went to Åre [ed note: ski resort, northern Sweden] and I drove

snowmobiles, like I told you, and had a great time. But that was also the turning point. After New Years

the things that had been tough during fall became much worse and I wasn't myself anymore. That's what

it felt like. I had become another, much more insecure Zlatan, and everytime Mino had had meetings with

the Barca management I asked him:

"What do they think of me?"

"They think you're the best forward in the world."

"I mean privately, as a person."

I had never cared about that before. I used to not give a shit. I wanted to play well. And then people could say what they want. But now all of a sudden it was important, and that showed that I wasn't feeling well. My confidence went away and I felt inhibited. I barely cheered when I scored anymore. I didn't dare getting angry, and that's no good, not at all. I locked things up inside of me, and then I'm really not sensetive to stuff. I'm tough. I've experienced a lot. But still, day after day getting those looks and comments about me not fitting in or being different, that tears you apart. It was like having been thrown back in time, to the years before my career took off. A lot of it could barely be talked about, it was small stuff, a glance, some comments, the tone of voice, stuff I had never cared about before. I was used to some tough lingo and language. I'm grown up with that. But now I got that feeling: Am I like the foster kid in this family, the guy who doesn't belong? How sick wasn't that?

When I for the first time tried to fit in and really adjust, I was ignored, and like if that wasn't enough, then came this thing with Messi. You remember it from the first chapter. Messi was the big star. And in a way the team was his. The guy was shy, and sure, I liked him. But now I had come and dominated on the field and caused a huge commotion.

It must have been a bit like I had knocked on the door of his house and went in and lay down in his bed. He explained to Guardiola that he didn't want play out wide, to the right, anymore. He wanted to play in the middle, and I was locked up and didn't receive many balls anymore, and the situation flipped up-side-down from the fall. Now I wasn't the one scoring anymore, Messi was, and I had that talk with Guardiola. The club management had pressured me a bit:

"Talk to him! Work things out!"

But how did that work? That was the beginning of the war, the frezzing me out thing. He stopped talking to me. He stopped looking at me. He said good morning to everyone else. To me he said nothing. And that was very unpleasant, I'm sorry but it was. I would like to have said: I didn't care. Why should I care about some guy doing some bullying shit? Normally I would have done that of course. But I wasn't very strong at that point.

The whole situation broke me down and that wasn't easy. Having a boss with that kind of power over you who consciously ignored you, it'll crawl up under your skin eventually, and now I wasn't the only one seeing this. Others did too, and they were wondering: What's happening? What's going on? They told me: "You have to talk to him. This won't work."

But no, I had done enough talking with that guy. I wasn't gonna crawl, so I held it together, and started playing well again despite my position on the field and the atmosphere in the club. I came into a turn when I scored five, six goals. But Guardiola was as ice cold anyway, and that wasn't strange, I understand that now.

It was never, ever about my game. It was my personality, and night and day my mind was buzzing: Is it something I said or done? Do I look weird? I went through everything, every little meeting and event. I found nothing. I had been quiet, a perfect bore. But still I went on: Is it this or is it that? So no, I didn't just react with anger.

Just as much I was looking at the faults with me. I thought about it all the time. But the guy wouldn't give up and that wasn't just shit. It was unprofessional. The whole team was affected the management became more and more nervous. Guardiola was fucking up the biggest investment the club had ever made and important games were waiting in the Champions League. We were playing Arsenal away, and the status quo between me and the coach continued and I'm sure he would have liked to leave me at home, but he didn't dare going that far. And I started with Messi on top.

But did he give me any instructions? None! Nothing! I just had to play on my own. It was the Emirates Stadium. It was huge, and as always in England all media were against me, and there was all that talk: he doesn't score against English teams. I held a press conference. I tried being myself after all. I said like "Wait and see". "I will show you."

But it wasn't easy, not with that coach, and I stepped out on the field, and it was a difficult start. The tempo was high and Guardiola disappeared from my mind. It was almost like magic. I have played few games so well I think. But sure, I missed some chances. I shot straight at Arsenal's keeper, or outside. I should have scored, but nothing came out of it and at half time it was 0-0.

Guardiola will put me on the bench, I thought. But he let me continue, and the second half had barely begun before I got a long ball from Piqué and I ran deep, I had a defender next to me and the goalie ran towards me and the ball bounced, and I chipped it. I chipped the ball over him and in the goal. It was 1-0, and only ten minutes later I received a beautiful pass from Xavi and I ran like an arrow. But now I didn't chip it. I went full force. I smashed it in with power. 2 -0 and the game seemed to be over. But what did Guardiola do? Did he applaud? He substituted me! Smart move! After that the team fell a part and Arsenal managed to equalize. 2-2.

I hadn't felt anything during the game. But afterwards I had some pain in a calf, and it got worse, and it was shit. I had found form again. But now I would miss the return game against Arsenal and the second El Clasico, and I didn't get any support from Guardiola. There were even more mind games. If I came into a room, he would leave. He didn't even want to be near me, and now afterwards when I think about it, it feels insane.

No one knew what was going on, not the management, not the players, no one. But it's strange with that man. Like I said, I don't want to take his success away from him, or say that he's not a good coach in other ways. But he must have some serious problems. He can't handle guys like me. Maybe it's because he's afraid of losing his authority. Probably not an unusual thing, right? Bosses who have some qualities

but can't handle strong personalities, and don't see any other way than freezing them out. Coward bosses in other words!

Anyway, he didn't ask me about my injury. He didn't dare. Or, well, he talked to me about it before the semifinal in Champions League away against Inter. But then he was acting weird, and it fucked up, like I said before. Mourinho was right. We didn't win the Champions, he did, and after that Guardiola treated me like it had been my fault, and the explosion was in the air, waiting to happen.

It was scary in some ways, and that feeling that everything you had inside of you needed to get out and I was glad I had Thierry Henry. He understood me, and we were having laughs, like I said. That eased the pressure, and somehow I started not caring about the whole thing. What else could I do? For the first time football didn't feel that important. I spent more time with Maxi and VIncent and Helena and I came much closer to them during this time. I'm grateful for that. The kids mean everything. That's the truth.

But still, I couldn't ignore the atmosphere in the club totally and the outburst that had been building up for some time really came eventually. In the locker room after the game against Villareal I screamed at Guardiola. I screamed about his balls and how he shit himself all over in front of Mourinho, and you can imagine. It became a war and we were two people. He the little scared philosopher who didn't dare looking me in the eyes, or even saying good morning, and then me, who had been quiet and careful for a long time, but now finally had become myself again.

It wasn't a game. In another situation with a different person it wouldn't have been a big deal. Raging like that isn't a big deal for me, not giving them and not receiving them. I grew up like that. It's routine for me, and often stuff like that is good. It clears the air. Viera and me had become friends after a huge fight. But with Pep… you noticed it right away.

He couldn't handle it. He avoided me completely and often during nights I'd be lying awake thinking about everything: What's the next step? What should I do? One thing was for sure: it was like back in MFF's youth team. I was viewed as different. So I had to become an even better player. I had to become so fucking good not even Gyuardiola could place me on the bench. But I wasn't going to pretend being someone else anymore, not a fucking chance. Fuck: Here we are like this and do it like that. Here we are normal boys. More and more I understood how immature that was. A real coach can handle different personalities. It's part of his job. A team benefits from different kinds of guys. Some are a bit tougher. Some are like Maxwell, or like Messi and the gang.

But Guardiola couldn't handle it, and because of that he wanted revenge. I could feel it. It was in the air, and that it would cost the club tens of millions of euros didn't matter to him. We were going to play the last game of the league. He put me on the bench. I didn't expect anything else. But now all of a sudden he wanted to talk to me. He called me into his office at the stadium. It was in the morning, and in there he had match jerseys, pictures of himself and stuff like that. The atmosphere was ice cold. We hadn't talked at all since my outburst. But he was nervous. His eyes were wandering around.

That guy is not a born authority, no real carisma. If you didn't know he was the coach of a great team, you wouldn't notice him entering a room, and now he sat there crumbling. I'm sure he was waiting for me to say something. I didn't say a word. I waited.

"So, well…", he began.

He didn't look me in the eyes.

"I don't know what I want from you next season."

"Okay."

"It's up to you and Mino what happens. I mean, you are Ibrahimovic. You're not a guy who plays every third game, right?"

He wanted me to answer. But I'm not stupid. I know very well: he who speaks the most in situations like that, he loses. So I kept quiet. Didn't change my face. I sat still. But of course I knew: he had a message, what it wasn’t quite clear. But it sounded like he wanted to get rid of me and that wasn't some minor thing. I was the biggest investment the club had ever made. So I sat quiet. I did nothing. So he repeated himself:

"I don't know what I want from you. What do you say about that? What's your comment?"

I didn't have any comments.

"Is that all?" I just replied.

"Yes, but…"

"OK, thanks", I said and left.

I guess I appeared tough and cool. At least that was what I wanted. But I was boiling inside, and when I came out I called Mino.