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Zlatan's autobiography

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davidloach

davidloach

Player Valuation: £10m
has anyone else checked out zlatan's autobiography? I think it's hilarious. Wish I could actually understand Swedish so I could read the non-translated version.
 



Jamo Martinez said:
If that's true he's a complete pr1k. I hope his agent and heangers on rip him off and he's left penniless . Hate that kind of stuff.
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On field banter is boss, Zlatan is king of the troll, bet that lid with the dodgy tasche didn't concentrate for the rest of the match.
 
Roztitute said:
What does he say mate?
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Guardiola didn’t say a word, not a peep, and now I’d had enough. I could feel it in my whole body, and if I’d been Guardiola, I would’ve been scared. Not that I’m saying I’m handy with my fists! I’ve done all kinds of ****. I don’t get into punch-ups, though. All right, on the pitch I guess I’ve headbutted a few people. When I get angry, the red mist descends. You don’t want to be nearby.

I went into the locker room after the match and I hadn’t exactly planned any frenzied attack. But I was not happy, to put it mildly, and now my enemy was standing there, scratching his head.

Yaya Toure was there, and a few others, and then there was the metal box where we put our kit from the match, and I was staring at that box. Then I gave it a kick. I think it went flying about three metres, but I wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long chalk. I yelled, ‘You haven’t got any balls!’ and worse than that I added, ‘You’re ******** yourself in front of Mourinho. You can go to hell!’

I completely lost it, and you might have expected Guardiola to say a few words in response, but he’s a spineless coward. He just picked up the metal box, like a little caretaker, and then left, never to mention it again, not a word.

There was just silence and mind games, and I thought, I’m 28 years old. I’ve scored 22 goals and 15 assists here at Barca alone, and I’m still being treated like I don’t exist. Should I sit back and take it? Should I carry on trying to adapt? No way!


Oh, I had tried. When I came to Barcelona, they told me I could not take a private jet and had to take a commercial flight. ‘At Barcelona we keep our feet on the ground,’ they explained. ‘We are not like Real Madrid. We travel on regular planes.’ It sounded reasonable.

There were other things. ‘Listen,’ Guardiola said. ‘We don’t turn up to training sessions in Ferraris or Porsches.’ I nodded, didn’t go off on one and say things like: ‘What the hell business is it of yours what cars I drive?’ At the same time, though, I was thinking: ‘What kind of message is he sending here?’

I do love cars. They’re my passion, and I could sense something else behind what he was saying. It was like: ‘Don’t think you’re anybody special!’

I’d already got the impression that Barcelona was a little like being back at Ajax, it was like being back at school. None of the lads acted like superstars, which was strange. Messi, Xavi, Iniesta, the whole gang — they were like schoolboys. The best footballers in the world stood there with their heads bowed, and I didn’t understand any of it. It was ridiculous.

Everyone did as they were told. I didn’t fit in, not at all. I thought, just enjoy the opportunity, don’t confirm their prejudices. So I started to adapt and blend in. I became way too nice. It was mental.

I said what I thought people wanted me to say. It was completely messed up. I drove the club’s Audi and stood there and nodded my head. I hardly even yelled at my team-mates any more. I was boring. Zlatan was no longer Zlatan.

Then Messi started saying things. Lionel Messi is awesome. He’s totally amazing, but he told Guardiola: ‘I don’t want to be on the right wing any more. I want to play in the centre.’ I was the striker. Guardiola didn’t give a damn about that, though.

Guardiola sacrificed me. That’s the truth. One of my mates told me: ‘Zlatan, it’s as if Barca had bought a Ferrari and was driving it like a Fiat,’ and I thought: ‘Yeah, that’s a good way of looking at it.’ Guardiola had turned me into a simpler player and a worse player. It was a loss for the whole team.

He wouldn’t even say good morning. Not a single word. He avoided eye contact with me. If I went into a room, he would leave. ‘What’s going on,’ I thought. ‘Is it something I did? Do I look wrong? Am I talking funny?’ All these things were buzzing around in my head. I couldn’t sleep.

I was thinking about it constantly. Not because I needed Guardiola’s love, exactly. He could hate me, as far as I was concerned. Hatred and revenge get me going. Now, though, I lost my focus.

He thought he could change me. At his Barça, everybody should be like Xavi, Iniesta and Messi. Nothing wrong with them, like I said, absolutely nothing at all. It was terrific being in the same team as them. Good players get me fired up.

But I came with my whole personality, and there didn’t seem to be space for that, not in Guardiola’s little world.

When I realised I would be on the bench for a game against Almeria, I remembered that line: ‘Here in Barcelona we don’t turn up to training sessions in Porsches or Ferraris.’ What kind of nonsense was that, anyway? I’ll take whatever car I want, at least if I can wind up idiots. I jumped in my Enzo [Ferrari], put my foot down on the gas and parked up right in front of the door to the training facility


I’d decided to start to fight my corner, and you should know that that’s a game I know how to play. I’d been a fighter before, believe me. I couldn’t neglect my preparations, though, and so I talked it over with my agent. We always plan our tricks together, both the smart ones and the dirty ones. And I rang round my mates.

I wanted to see things from different perspectives and, my God, I got every kind of advice.

The Rosengard lads (from my home town) wanted to come down and smash the place up, and of course that was nice of them, but it didn’t really seem like the right strategy under the circumstances.

At night, though, when I lay awake, or in training sessions when I saw Guardiola, my dark side woke up. The rage just throbbed in my head.

Because of Guardiola’s problem, the club were forced to do a disastrous deal to sell me — it was crazy. I’d scored 22 goals and 15 assists during my season at Barcelona. Yet I’d lost nearly 70 per cent of my value. Whose fault was that? Guardiola, the quiet little over-thinker, had tried to wreck me.


http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/fo...d-die-Jose-Mourinho-Pep-Guardiola-coward.html





Can't find the exact quote about Mancini but when Inter won the league he made Mancini thank him.
 

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