Ibrahimovic leaves groundbreaking legacy as Sweden's nontraditional hero

By the end of Sweden's Group E finale against Belgium - and by extension his international career - Zlatan Ibrahimovic took off his captain's armband for the last time and went to embrace his teammates. The 1-0 defeat stung, but pride in what he had accomplished swelled.

He clapped back at the throngs of Swedish fans in attendance at the Stade de Nice who've chanted his name and followed his every move through Europe, learning to love and appreciate an immigrant from the ghettos of Rosengard who stomached so much prejudice just to get to this point.

"Unearthing a new Zlatan? No, he is special, he is unique. I don't think that in a small country like Sweden you will find another player like him," said Sweden manager Erik Hamren after being eliminated from Euro 2016 by Belgium on Wednesday.

Related: Ibrahimovic announces retirement from Sweden duty after Euro 2016

It's true in more ways than one. He broke ground and redefined what it means to be Swedish.

His contributions on the pitch never led Sweden to a major title, but few could hold that against him. In France, Ibrahimovic struggled, registering just a single shot on target. But he set the standard unlike any Swede before him, carrying a supporting cast that often resembled a ragtag group of extras.

In 2014, he broke an 82-year-old record to become Sweden's all-time leading scorer. Now his 62 goals remain the benchmark, and it's unlikely to be surpassed anytime soon.

Deep inside, Ibrahimovic always knew he would be the best. He didn't need trials to prove himself, otherwise he would've accepted Arsene Wenger's invitation as a youth. That self-belief has served him from his childhood all the way to the present day.

The way he played and acted wasn't in line with Swedish ideals. He learned to play on the courtyards between neighbouring apartments, not trying to win games but execute the best moves. Tricks and flicks won him praise in the ghetto, and later scorn on the pitch. He was too young and arrogant, they said.

His heroes growing up, after all, weren't Swedish. He knew nothing about the great Swedish skier Ingemar Stenmark, a national icon. He watched videos of Muhammad Ali, Bruce Lee, and (the real) Ronaldo, and he called them his idols. He wanted to be like Ali in particular, and drew inspiration from the brash boxer.

"You needed to have a tough attitude in Rosengard," he wrote in his book, I Am Zlatan, "and if you heard anybody talking trash - the worst was to be called a pussy - you couldn't back down."

He bounced around several youth academies in and around his neighbourhood, and even when he settled at Malmo, he couldn't fit in. He played with the blond sons of middle- and upper-class families, and their parents petitioned to remove him from the team after he headbutted a teammate in retaliation to a bad tackle.

"It wasn't like, 'Oh, we have to be nice to that little talent.' It was more like, 'Who let the immigrant in?'" said Ibrahimovic.

The majority of the people from Rosengard were born abroad, and Ibrahimovic had almost zero connection with greater Swedish society. Even after Ibrahimovic established himself as a world-class footballer on the international stage, the country's right-wing political party tried to convince the public that he wasn't truly Swedish.

The environment around Ibrahimovic wanted him to conform. He didn't. Politeness wasn't a priority. Survival was.

The bravado, the roughhousing, the defiance - it was all a defensive mechanism.

"I feel sometimes that I'm too cocky. But everyone has a cockiness and their limits. Maybe I take it too far sometimes," he said as a 19-year-old, holding a newspaper story about him. "I have my limits. I can also be humble. But I often choose to be cocky because otherwise people can easily put me down."

Then he went to play for Ajax, Inter, and Barcelona. People marvelled at Ibrahimovic's solo brilliance. He became the most famous Swede of all, and despite the hate he endured, he kept on carrying the flag. Winning the Jerring Prize, an award handed to Sweden's top sports star, was recognition of the highest order from the public.

The goals were remarkable, the bicycle kick against England probably the most audacious of the bunch.

But the biggest part of his legacy is his immigrant experience. He made a lot of people uncomfortable in Sweden because his name was Balkan and because his actions were raw and unpolished. He didn't live by the law of Jante, the Swedish code that preaches modesty in the face of personal achievement, and as the people came to celebrate his talent and his risk-taking, so too did they eschew this rule of thumb.

Sweden's had a reputation as one of Europe's landing spots for migrants - it's why Ibrahimovic's parents found their way there instead of elsewhere. His upbringing was rough, but he was shielded from the civil war in Yugoslavia that affected his Bosnian father so deeply. His parents tried desperately to keep all the bad stuff away from him.

Now the current refugee crisis is testing the resolve of this Scandinavian country, which has recently imposed restrictions on asylum seekers and seen extreme right-wing sentiments emerge.

Ibrahimovic has become an involuntary activist in all of this, telling the story of his immigrant upbringing in writing and actions. He's proof that Swedish icons don't have to have blond hair or a traditional surname. He's now celebrated for his individuality. He changed perceptions, and forced the narrow-minded in his country to pay attention.

"I came from this place people call 'ghetto Rosengard,' conquered Sweden and made it my country. My way," he wrote on Facebook. "I am Sweden."