Sol Campbell

by Simon Astaire

  Sol paused, and with a look of disgust, he walked on. Don’t let it bother you. You have other demons to deal with. Don’t let anyone live rent-free in your head.

  • • •

  John Ireland approaches Sol at lunch and shows him a newspaper cutting of a Lord being bound over.

  ‘What’s this?’ Sol asks.

  ‘This is what happened in that case,’ Ireland explains. ‘If in your case you agree to be bound over and pay a small amount of compensation, the whole thing will vanish. There will be no record. You will never have to appear in court.’

  ‘Bound over. What does that mean?’ (In layman’s terms, a magistrate of the court can agree to release the accused to be bound over to be of good behaviour or to keep the peace; such an order meaning no conviction is recorded because it is a civil matter.) Sol is bewildered. He stifles a grimace of total disbelief and then says, ‘When is this going to stop?’ And then he speaks with such conviction that no-one can doubt what he means. ‘I will live and die by my own words. I had nothing to do with this. Tell them to go away.’

  Then Sol receives an official letter from the club, dated 18 June 1999, from John Ireland, with reference to the assault charge, stating: ‘I am instructed by Mr Sugar to inform you that I am unable to continue to act for you in this matter…You should make alternative arrangements.’ So Tottenham, his own club, were washing their hands of the case. ‘When I needed people the most, they weren’t there. I was looking for every excuse to stay at Tottenham but, after receiving this letter, it gave me a reason to consider leaving. It started a long thought process of what the alternatives might be,’ says Sol.

  He decides to get his own solicitor involved. Bon Battu, Sky Andrew’s lawyer, is sent the court files from the club. Battu is confident that the case against Sol is weak. It is mistaken identity, as basic as that. ‘You don’t have to worry,’ he tells Sol over lunch. ‘We are gathering key witnesses. We are compiling our version of events, which varies greatly to what has been said.’ Sol tries to listen but he is so concerned that, every time his lawyer opens his mouth, he doesn’t catch what is being said. He doesn’t show Battu how worried he is. How worried he has been. They first met in 1991 and Battu readily admits he still finds it difficult to see what Sol is thinking today. This lunch would be no different.

  Then, three weeks before Sol is due to appear in court on 8 July, Battu receives a fax and is informed that the case has been dropped. He rings Sol and his agent Sky Andrew to let them know the news. ‘It’s over,’ he says. Sol, who is having coffee in a local cafe simply replies, ‘Thank you Bon, for letting me know,’ and switches off his phone. The impact of the news is powerful. He is relieved. Takes it easy. One breath after another. The pall of concern, which had been hanging over him but was virtually impossible to detect from the outside, was suddenly erased. He pulled himself together and returned to his coffee.

  ‘Through all this time, over nine months, I’d been living the life of a pariah. I couldn’t go out to my local shop without whispers that I was some sort of thug who would bully and beat up on an elderly steward.

  ‘Why did this go on for so long, on such flimsy evidence? I was an innocent man, but no-one seemed to be listening. It was obvious that I had nothing to do with the steward’s injury – according to the hospital admissions report, he was admitted an hour and a half before kick-off, and more than three hours before the trouble in the tunnel when the game ended. What’s more, my name as the alleged assailant on the report was not the original name written down. It had been written in afterwards. Yet this evidence had not materialised when Spurs were representing my case.

  ‘I asked myself: Were Spurs trying to get some leverage over me, in order to force me to sign a new contract? Did they really want to go that far? This was the beginning of the end for me at Spurs. I was sick to my stomach of it.’

  You sense Sol changed after the Derby incident; for him, it was the lifting of a veil to see that few can be trusted. This chapter in his life took place when he was earning money, owned a house, was playing for England, and captaining his club side. He thought he was safe from the outside, but he now realised he was as vulnerable as anyone else; maybe even more so, now he was in the public eye. How insignificant everything becomes after the car crash of one event. It is one of those episodes in life that wounds; he suffered.

  David Pleat congratulated Sol on hearing the news and said he knew things would work out. Really? Sol thinks. I was beginning to have doubts.

  • • •

  The disappointment of England in Euro 2000 affected Sol. He was now the defensive lynchpin for his country, but not progressing out of the group stage was deeply disappointing. It would be the least successful tournament he played in for England and afterwards he felt he needed a long break. ‘I was mentally exhausted,’ Sol says. But George Graham wanted him back for Tottenham’s pre-season tour of Norway and Denmark. He had no choice and reluctantly returned to the club, flying back from the Caribbean and, on the same day, travelling on to Norway. ‘I went because I was asked, but knew I was still tired and needed more time off.’

  On 19 September 2000, Tottenham played Brentford at Griffin Park in a second round, first leg tie of the Worthington Cup. A first-half injury to Sol and a red card for Tottenham goalkeeper Neil Sullivan were the main talking points in a goalless draw. It was a bad injury for Sol, a dislocated shoulder caused by a mid-air collision. He fell to the ground and lay motionless. The trainer tried to lift him up from the injured shoulder. He yelled in terror. ‘Leave it fucking alone!’ He was in agony. His shoulder went numb through shock, until he felt a shudder pass down from the top of his spine to his ankles. Even now, when he thinks of it, he remembers the crowd being deathly quiet as he struggled off the pitch. He refused a stretcher. They stood in silence. The silence when a crowd knows something is wrong. No chants. Faces looking on open-mouthed, shuffling in their seats, witnessing the pain etched on his face; it was as if they were watching someone walking to the guillotine.

  He was tired. He knew he was off his game. He knew he had been hurried back. He believed his lack of mobility had caused the damage. If he had been heard and left to regain his full fitness, he was convinced it may not have happened. He would have been sharper and instinctively capable of dealing with the challenge. ‘I knew I needed a break, physically and mentally. A lot of players are rushed back too quickly. I understand they are needed for the team but it is short-term thinking. Careers can end early because of unwise decisions. In the end, I was out for three months. I missed the beginning of the season and the start of England’s World Cup qualifying campaign for South Korea and Japan.’

  Sol is an advocate of the winter break. ‘I know Europe is right to take time off. They have it sussed. It’s not only for physical reasons but also mental. It’s good to get away. It only helps our national team, maybe not immediately but after a few years we will see the benefit.’

  Following keyhole surgery, Sol spent his time watching the Sydney Olympics, sitting still on his sofa, no sudden movements, unravelling in slow motion so as not to irritate his shoulder. His nights were disturbed because he had to sleep with a pillow between his arm and torso, and in a different position than he was used to. By day, his arm was in a sling and he had daily changes of dressings.

  After a month, he began his slow recuperation on an exercise bike. ‘I was conscious that I had to take it slowly.’ He went to watch games and tried to occupy his mind which was preparing itself for the gathering storm over his contract. He didn’t react to any questions. He was a Tottenham player for now and that was all-important. The season hadn’t begun for him. His training was like starting pre-season all over again. ‘I don’t want to know what you’re hearing,’ he told Sky Andrew. I have no interest. Sky kept to his word. He let Sol concentrate on getting fit again.

  Within two months, Sol was back in the first team playing against Leicester on 25 November in a 3-0 home win. But the shoulder injury triggered other p
roblems. It had a knock-on effect on his ankle, which had never caused trouble before. He started to use strapping. He didn’t like it. He felt it was a crutch that weakened his focus. The sooner I get rid of these the better. When he was walking around his house in the New Year, he felt a pull in his leg. He hesitated. What’s wrong now? It was nothing. He was just being oversensitive with his body. He felt physically vulnerable. He had never felt this way before. Yes, he was rushed back from the Euros but he was beginning to realise it wasn’t just that. The constant attention surrounding his contract was starting to take its toll. Will he sign? Won’t he? It wasn’t just affecting his everyday thoughts; it was affecting his physical fitness.

  The Tottenham fans were agitated. They demonstrated outside the ground for a change in manager. They had a new owner coming, which placated a few, but the sense around the club was that of being restless. There was uncertainty everywhere. With all this happening, Sol was looking for a fundamental answer to the questions: ‘Can Tottenham change? Will they spend to challenge for the top and win trophies?’

  ‘If the new board doesn’t look to change things,’ a voice muttered on his shoulder, ‘better face the truth and move on.’

  • • •

  George Graham, after his strong start, was unable to maintain his team’s winning ways. And, because of his Arsenal connection, Spurs fans couldn’t wait to see him go. ENIC, the sports and media group that had bought out Alan Sugar to the tune of £22 million, were Tottenham’s new owners and decided to sack Graham for breach of contract for publicly disclosing what the club deemed to be private information from in-house meetings between the manager and his new bosses. Spurs legend Glenn Hoddle was installed in Graham’s place in April 2001.

  Graham seemed to represent those inconsequentialities, which Sol hoped would evaporate from his life. ‘I’m sure he knew I was a top-notch player, but I never felt he rooted for me,’ Sol says. Tottenham Hotspur Football Club was clouding all his available thoughts. His search for the right club remained central to what he believed could make him happy both personally and professionally. Was it still Tottenham? He was still asking that same question eight, seven, six, five weeks before the end of the season. Whether he knew it or not, the question was gaining a sense of ominous pre-destiny.

  Sol had one meeting at the Royal Lancaster Hotel with Tottenham chairman Daniel Levy but nothing was resolved. Then ENIC arranged a meeting in offices at Conduit Street with David Pleat, non-executive vice chairman David Buchler and Sol’s agent, Sky Andrew. ‘It wasn’t a very good meeting,’ David Pleat recalls. ‘Sky Andrew was late and when he finally arrived, he was a little aggressive in his approach. David [Buchler] said he could possibly reach £60k a week and Sky said make Sol a written offer and he would take it to Sol. The atmosphere was tense. After the meeting I felt we had hit an impasse. I knew we were losing him.’ Sky says about meeting with Buchler: ‘We met once. He was a good guy, straight-talking and was positive to move things forward. We talked about meeting again but it never transpired. I never heard from him.’ But whatever the truth, a deal was becoming ever more distant at the time.

  Club captain Gary Mabbutt remembers feeling the same. He had a call from new chairman Daniel Levy asking if he had any influence with Sol. Mabbutt did not know but he thought that they had a good friendship and that Sol respected him. ‘Try to keep him at the club,’ Levy told him.

  They arrange to meet at West Lodge Park Hotel in Hadley Wood, a thirty-minute drive from Sol’s home. Both are punctual, greeting each other by the front desk. They follow each other into the lobby and sit towards the back. The place is surprisingly quiet, not as silent as a morgue but, for early evening, not particularly crowded. ‘Would you like a drink?’ Sol asks. Mabbutt shakes his head. They both drink coffee.

  They speak for about for half an hour on everything but football, until Sol turns round to order another coffee. He moves his neck slowly, as if he’s been under water for some time. He continues to notice the slight stiffening of his body over the months. Mabbutt asks how he sees his future. Before he answers he thinks, I respect Gary. I like him, he is a true professional, and someone I’ve always looked up to. I like that he wants to know how I am, if there’s anything he can do. He then answers quickly, as if to make up for lost time.

  Looking back on that time, Mabbutt now says, ‘Sol said that he wanted to improve his play and was unsure he could do that at Tottenham. He was always very much his own man and knew what he wanted. He never got led away from his ambition, so what he was saying came as no surprise. He had a heavy heart because he said he loved Tottenham. He spoke about his determination to win trophies and wanting to continue playing for England. He gave the sense that staying in London appealed so he could be near friends and family. We didn’t talk about money. If we had, and he’d said he hadn’t been offered enough by the club, I would have gone back to Daniel [Levy] and told him that. But money was not spoken of.’

  The two talk on until it starts to darken outside. They pay the bill and walk out together. They shake hands. As Mabbutt drives away in his blue Range Rover, he asks himself the question the whole country is asking: ‘Is Sol Campbell going to leave Spurs?’

  He has little doubt. Yes.

  England squad photocall ahead of the 1998 World Cup. Under Glenn Hoddle, and with proven internationals like Shearer, Adams, Ince and Sheringham alongside the precocious talents of Beckham and Owen, Sol believes England should have got to the final.

  A ticket from the Tunisia match on 15 June 1998. It’s an important memento for Sol – his first World Cup game for England.

  England v Tunisia, France 98, with Sol in action during his country’s 2-0 opening group game victory.

  Sky Andrew, the football agent who Sol first met at Lilleshall, represented Great Britain in table tennis at the 1998 Seoul Olympics.

  Sky andrew

  ‘I always watched his back and put him first… I never looked at what I was going to get out of it.’

  Sky Andrew

  He slept in a room, eight by eight, until he was sixteen years old. He shared it with his younger brother; two single beds crammed close together. A bucket was under the bed for them to pee in, to avoid having to use the outside toilet with the cold porcelain of the lavatory bowl in the middle of the night. The whiff of stale piss when the door suddenly swung open; sometimes the smell would catch him by surprise and he’d shove the pillow to his mouth to stop him retching.

  Sky Andrew, like Sol Campbell, was born in East London; the second of four children, three boys and a girl. His mother Zeta worked in a pie factory; his father Patrick worked for London Transport, pasting advertisements on the sides of buses. Like Sol, his father emigrated first to the UK and then earned enough money for his mother to follow. And, like Sol, his mother means everything to him. She impoverished herself further to make sure her son had the best chance in life. She gave him values, a sense of decency, and it was instilled in him at a very young age.

  When he talks about his mother, Sky has an overwhelming sense of being humbled by having such an influence in his life. She used to go and watch him play cricket and bring him his sandwiches to make sure he didn’t get too hungry. ‘She travelled with us in the minibus to the games,’ he recalls.

  His conversation now flows easily but it hasn’t always been that way. At school in East London he was quiet, tentative, hovering in the background, not usually heard, and when he did talk most of his friends thought he was joking. He was very different to the tough negotiating agent he would become.

  He was a born sportsman. He played centre-forward and was an opening batsman for Newham District’s football and cricket teams. ‘If I had pursued even one of them, there was a good chance I could’ve turned professional.’ Instead, he was drawn to table tennis and as he says, ‘Once I got the bug, that was it.’ Len Hoffman, one of England’s most respected table tennis coaches, encouraged Sky to pursue the sport. ‘You have something,’ he said. He joined Hoffman’s youth c
lub in Forest Gate and would go there directly from school, sometimes not having had time to change from his school’s green football kit, mud peeling from his knees. The rest of the players would be kitted out in the latest table tennis outfit: the blue short-sleeved polo shirt, blue shorts, latest gym shoes or trainers. Sky seemed like an urchin compared to the others, who looked at him with diffidence and suspicion. ‘I used to play every night. And soon I realised I had a chance to go to the Olympics if I grafted.’

  He played the game with varying degrees of zeal and delight. He had a dream: To hell with education, I have a chance to make it to the world stage. ‘I was told by my English teacher that I wouldn’t amount to much if I continued my passion for the game.’ At nineteen, he was part of the England set up and started to travel the world. He was ranked sixth in England, but for the European Championships in Moscow he was overlooked for someone ranked lower. It proved to be a turning point in Sky’s life. ‘I am never going to allow anyone or anything to get the better of me again,’ he confided to himself. ‘I’m going to work so hard that whatever I do, I’ll become indispensable.’