(no subject)
Parts of an old interview with Zlatan, back when he was ninenteen.
(Facts on Malmö FF, Ajax, the NT etc are left out.)
Ajax is playing Twente away. The goal keeper fails to clear the penalty area, and Zlatan Ibrahimovic is suddenly alone with him. Jubilant, he stretches his arms to the sky - his trademark goal celebration - and, after that, he scores. It's a lovely show of utter arrogance.
A couple of days later we meet, at the Amsterdam Arena. Me and the photographer have travelled about a 100 miles, prepared everything meticulously.
Zlatan enters the dressing room carrying a stack of posters. As we sit down he calls for the press agent: "I need a marker!" And starts working his way through the stack, signing every poster with a Z and the number 9.
While we're speaking to him.
Not quite as lovely.
Fully as arrogant.
He's even skinnier than before, that's the first thing I notice as he walks off the field, a couple of hours earlier. In Amsterdam, there's no skipping breakfast and then stuffing yourself with pyttipanna [extremely greasy dish made from left-overs from the kitchen] at the local club diner, like he'd do back in Malmö. And they aren't having with the players spending evenings in front of the computer with soda and candy.
That's the first thing Zlatan informs me when I ask him about the main differences between Ajax and Malmö FF.
That they don't let him have enough candy here.
It is hard, after all, not to like the boy.
He's not easy to interview. It appears his favourite moments during the interview are when he gets to answer "no comments", and hit us with his - quite famous by now - radiant Zlatan grin. He enjoys playing hard to get.
"I do keep people at bay. I know the deal. I know most of them come up to me, not to get to know me, but because of who they already think I am".
(...)
We don't get any closer to his home than the street where he lives. A lot of people has asked him and no, they don't get any further. And for that matter he doesn't really have a home.
"Nah. The place is, like, empty."
So we ask him to pick some other place where he's comfortable.
"I don't know. I haven't been around much. I'm mostly at the apartment."
"I thought you said you didn't have a home?"
"I don't, but there's a computer there."
You can't tell by this text, but all his replies are lightening quick. In his monosyllabic Rosengård Swedish - spaggemalmöitiska, as we call it in Malmö - he'll deliver his oneliners, often such elegant ones that you'd expect he got them out of a manuscript.
The only thing we can spot on the street is his silver Mercedes CLK 430 Cabriolet. The one he was driving somewhat over a 100 kilometres per hour - 30 above the speed limit - when he lost his license. The car had to be transported down here. He still doesn't have a license. Is he planning on retaking it?
"Right, it's coming up! I'm going home to get it."
When I talk to his mother later, she mentions that he's getting it on his 20th birthday. It sounds like Zlatan. You can only ever win, so why not celebrate your birthday by driving again?
"It'll be nice. I don't like it when others drive me to practise. I want to get there myself. Take my time, hang around the kitchen. I should get there in time, of course, but in my own time."
And he's getting a new car.
"When I get my license you'll see. When I come to Sweden this summer. But it'll be so fast, no one will make out the model before I'm gone!"
"I hate to remind you, but you do recall what happened last time you went above the speed limit?"
"Right! But this time they won't catch me! Nah, kidding."
(...)
We let him off at his empty apartment. He has ordered some furniture, though.
"Yeah, it'll get here. But just buying a sofa means you have to wait like 6-7 weeks. So."
"You can't shop at Ikea? There's a store just by the arena."
"Nah. Not my style, Ikea."
"You want designer furniture?"
"I want things that are special. And that don't break straight away. I'm doing a good job promoting Ikea, aren't I? Haha! I don't know, I just want nice things."
(...)
We're about to take the pictures for the interview. Since we're going out of town for a bit, we've got a cab driver, and arrive at the Ajax Arena on time. Zlatan suddenly decides he needs a cell phone. It'll just take half an hour. So we wait. We wait half an hour, a whole hour, two. We wait and the cab driver watches DVD:s in his cab while his money ticks in. Eventually, Zlatan arrives.
"Oh, I didn't realise it was a cab. I thought he was a friend of yours."
He's got himself a phone, the new Nokia Communicator. And a bag full of Playstation games.
(...)
He miss watching the news in a language he understands.
"Yeah, down here everything is, like, doch doch doch. I've no idea."
"But you've started studying Dutch?"
"Yeah. It's nice. And some players that speak African languages, they just can't pronounce the words, so we'll laugh together. And the teacher is alright. Yes, it's nice. Then again, we have to go or they fine us."
I ask him to translate the words "god verdome".
"Yeah, that's a swearword, right? The goal keepers scream that all the time, I know that one. God verdome! Jonge!" ("Goddammit, kid!")
(...)
When he signed the contract this spring he had more to consider than just his career. He was engaged to Maria Olhage [here is a recent pic of Maria Olhage (centre), who is currently working as a model] and things were going well. But then the engagement was broken off and Zlatan had to move down to Amsterdam alone. He's been very quiet about that, and this time is no exception. But at least he doesn't laugh it off with another 'no comments'. It's not quite as funny.
"No, I don't want to talk about that. That's just the way it ended."
"How about the women down here? Are you doing alright?"
"I want to be alone. I don't want a relationship or to date anyone. If I were to be in a relationship it would be with Mia."
***
Heartbreak endnote!
(Facts on Malmö FF, Ajax, the NT etc are left out.)
Ajax is playing Twente away. The goal keeper fails to clear the penalty area, and Zlatan Ibrahimovic is suddenly alone with him. Jubilant, he stretches his arms to the sky - his trademark goal celebration - and, after that, he scores. It's a lovely show of utter arrogance.
A couple of days later we meet, at the Amsterdam Arena. Me and the photographer have travelled about a 100 miles, prepared everything meticulously.
Zlatan enters the dressing room carrying a stack of posters. As we sit down he calls for the press agent: "I need a marker!" And starts working his way through the stack, signing every poster with a Z and the number 9.
While we're speaking to him.
Not quite as lovely.
Fully as arrogant.
He's even skinnier than before, that's the first thing I notice as he walks off the field, a couple of hours earlier. In Amsterdam, there's no skipping breakfast and then stuffing yourself with pyttipanna [extremely greasy dish made from left-overs from the kitchen] at the local club diner, like he'd do back in Malmö. And they aren't having with the players spending evenings in front of the computer with soda and candy.
That's the first thing Zlatan informs me when I ask him about the main differences between Ajax and Malmö FF.
That they don't let him have enough candy here.
It is hard, after all, not to like the boy.
He's not easy to interview. It appears his favourite moments during the interview are when he gets to answer "no comments", and hit us with his - quite famous by now - radiant Zlatan grin. He enjoys playing hard to get.
"I do keep people at bay. I know the deal. I know most of them come up to me, not to get to know me, but because of who they already think I am".
(...)
We don't get any closer to his home than the street where he lives. A lot of people has asked him and no, they don't get any further. And for that matter he doesn't really have a home.
"Nah. The place is, like, empty."
So we ask him to pick some other place where he's comfortable.
"I don't know. I haven't been around much. I'm mostly at the apartment."
"I thought you said you didn't have a home?"
"I don't, but there's a computer there."
You can't tell by this text, but all his replies are lightening quick. In his monosyllabic Rosengård Swedish - spaggemalmöitiska, as we call it in Malmö - he'll deliver his oneliners, often such elegant ones that you'd expect he got them out of a manuscript.
The only thing we can spot on the street is his silver Mercedes CLK 430 Cabriolet. The one he was driving somewhat over a 100 kilometres per hour - 30 above the speed limit - when he lost his license. The car had to be transported down here. He still doesn't have a license. Is he planning on retaking it?
"Right, it's coming up! I'm going home to get it."
When I talk to his mother later, she mentions that he's getting it on his 20th birthday. It sounds like Zlatan. You can only ever win, so why not celebrate your birthday by driving again?
"It'll be nice. I don't like it when others drive me to practise. I want to get there myself. Take my time, hang around the kitchen. I should get there in time, of course, but in my own time."
And he's getting a new car.
"When I get my license you'll see. When I come to Sweden this summer. But it'll be so fast, no one will make out the model before I'm gone!"
"I hate to remind you, but you do recall what happened last time you went above the speed limit?"
"Right! But this time they won't catch me! Nah, kidding."
(...)
We let him off at his empty apartment. He has ordered some furniture, though.
"Yeah, it'll get here. But just buying a sofa means you have to wait like 6-7 weeks. So."
"You can't shop at Ikea? There's a store just by the arena."
"Nah. Not my style, Ikea."
"You want designer furniture?"
"I want things that are special. And that don't break straight away. I'm doing a good job promoting Ikea, aren't I? Haha! I don't know, I just want nice things."
(...)
We're about to take the pictures for the interview. Since we're going out of town for a bit, we've got a cab driver, and arrive at the Ajax Arena on time. Zlatan suddenly decides he needs a cell phone. It'll just take half an hour. So we wait. We wait half an hour, a whole hour, two. We wait and the cab driver watches DVD:s in his cab while his money ticks in. Eventually, Zlatan arrives.
"Oh, I didn't realise it was a cab. I thought he was a friend of yours."
He's got himself a phone, the new Nokia Communicator. And a bag full of Playstation games.
(...)
He miss watching the news in a language he understands.
"Yeah, down here everything is, like, doch doch doch. I've no idea."
"But you've started studying Dutch?"
"Yeah. It's nice. And some players that speak African languages, they just can't pronounce the words, so we'll laugh together. And the teacher is alright. Yes, it's nice. Then again, we have to go or they fine us."
I ask him to translate the words "god verdome".
"Yeah, that's a swearword, right? The goal keepers scream that all the time, I know that one. God verdome! Jonge!" ("Goddammit, kid!")
(...)
When he signed the contract this spring he had more to consider than just his career. He was engaged to Maria Olhage [here is a recent pic of Maria Olhage (centre), who is currently working as a model] and things were going well. But then the engagement was broken off and Zlatan had to move down to Amsterdam alone. He's been very quiet about that, and this time is no exception. But at least he doesn't laugh it off with another 'no comments'. It's not quite as funny.
"No, I don't want to talk about that. That's just the way it ended."
"How about the women down here? Are you doing alright?"
"I want to be alone. I don't want a relationship or to date anyone. If I were to be in a relationship it would be with Mia."
***
Heartbreak endnote!