Sol Campbell

by Simon Astaire

  Sol can’t be angry. Instead he feels numb. He leans forward. ‘Michael Owen was made captain ahead of me. I thought: what is going on here? I couldn’t work out what was happening. The more caps I won, the further away I seemed to be pushed from becoming captain. I think the FA didn’t want me to have a voice. I played well, acted honourably on and off the field, but there was little recognition. Owen was a fantastic forward but nowhere near being a captain. It was embarrassing. I kept asking myself: what have I done?

  ‘I’ll say it again. I don’t fit the FA’s image of an England captain. I’d done enough to be captain. I’ve asked myself many times why I wasn’t. I keep coming up with the same answer. It was the colour of my skin. What’s the point of having a bridge you can’t access? I say, burn it, and build a new one so you can cross over. If I’m wrong, then I’m listening.’

  On a lap of honour with the 2002 Premiership trophy at Highbury.

  A champagne assist from Sol for the inspirational Thierry Henry. ‘Sometimes we didn’t have to talk, we knew how the other felt,’ says Henry. ‘It reflected in the way we played our football.’

  ‘It was like I had found another family.’ Sol with team-mates Thierry Henry, Ashley Cole and Patrick Vieira, and the FA Cup in 2002. In his first season at Arsenal, Sol won the Double.

  Defender

  ‘He had the ability to read the mind of an opponent and the ability to read the game as good as anyone.’

  Arsene Wenger

  If you scrutinise a striker close enough, he begins to reveal himself like the night sky, which at first seems starless, but on deeper investigation reveals more and more of its glittering charms. You can eventually see the way he uses space, his speed and movement, whether he is stronger on his left or his right side, and in which areas he predominantly moves.

  Sol liked to study the opposition striker’s pattern of play. Understanding each step, taking in different situations like whether he is trying to shoot, meet a cross or play with the ball close to his feet; a dance full of irrational surprises and variations. ‘Every player has a set pattern of play, a frequency, unique to them, like a fingerprint,’ Sol says. ‘The very best may add certain patterns over the years, but generally these remain the same.’

  Once Sol played an opponent, he never forgot their strengths or weaknesses. He remembered the subtleties of their movements. Certain patterns in different areas of the field. It was his job. He studied. His unrelenting work was a part of his longevity and success. He never took for granted the gift that helped his career soar. He worked every day to maintain it. ‘I never feared playing against any individual. I had respect for them but always felt confident my game could meet any challenge.’ And yet, some challenges proved more difficult than others.

  Sol recalls a friendly between England and Chile in February 1988; a warm-up game for the upcoming World Cup finals against a South American side on a cold rainy night at Wembley. It was also Michael Owen’s debut. Friendlies were always competitive at Wembley. Visiting teams wanted to win at the ‘home of football’. Chile would be no different. They would pressurise and work hard. They had qualified for the World Cup and this was a chance to test themselves against European opposition.

  Playing that night was Marcelo Salas, better known by the nickname El Matador. The River Plate striker was becoming well-known to English and European clubs, but Sol hadn’t heard of him. He certainly would know him by the end of the night. ‘He gave me one of my toughest games. It was early on in my England career, and I spent the night chasing him.’

  Salas took early control. He made a mockery of Sol’s talent. Go and get him, chase him. Experience would have told Sol to sit back, let him show his cards, but he was young. Salas surprised him at every turn. He scores a beautiful goal. A sublime left foot volley into the net. One of Wembley’s best. Salas sings out, ‘G-O-A-L!!!’ like Pavarotti on an off-day. Chile are partying, it’s as if they’ve reached their World Cup final early. The onslaught continues and Sol is being taught a lesson. Salas shrugs his shoulders, dips one way and then the other as Sol sticks out his right foot. Salas falls and Sol stands motionless for an instant, like a dummy before losing his footing. It is a definite foul in the box. Salas takes the penalty. Left foot, left corner. Goal. Two-nil. Salas’ hand points to God.

  When the final whistle blew, Salas exchanged shirts with Paul Ince. Sol found him soon afterwards and shook his hand. The striker had won that battle. We will meet again and next time I will be ready. He wouldn’t face anyone ever again without first studying everything he could about them. He had to be ready for anything they could throw at him. But they never did play against each other again; it was the one and only time. Salas scored four goals in four games in the 1998 World Cup, following which he secured a transfer to Lazio for a reported £12 million.

  • • •

  Sol wanted to do little else but play with, and against, the best players in the game. He was always looking for a challenge when he went on the field, or when on the training ground facing his Arsenal team-mates. He threw down the gauntlet. He wanted to do little else. This was his passion.

  But when he saw Thierry Henry on his first day at training he felt exactly like the Frenchman did: ‘Thank God I don’t have to be playing you anymore!’

  ‘Thierry Henry was an organic machine,’ Sol says. ‘He had a lot of natural stamina, but he told me it improved when he got to Juventus. It seems he had a tough taskmaster there in Marcello Lippi. When you are lethal in front of goal and still, after eighty minutes, able to keep up the pace, it makes defending very difficult. As a defender, you have to maintain your attention. Never lose it for one moment.’

  Sol practiced five and twenty-yard sprints in training, just to be able to turn quickly and challenge a striker with a burst of speed. He had to be on his toes as the ball was being passed to Henry, before it had even got to him. Sol may be a big man, but his ability to make quick turns was remarkable. He learned to adjust his body to different angles from a very early age; as young as six or seven he was playing bulldog, dodgeball and touch games in the school yard.

  ‘With Thierry, as the ball was being passed I was already working out what he would do next. I always had to be a step ahead, to decide what he was going to do even before he had. I knew he was lightning quick and knew he loved his left side, but that was just the beginning. His range of skills and ideas were as expansive as anyone I ever faced.’

  Sol found the quintessential English centre-forwards to be completely different challenges. ‘Alan Shearer used me as a target to either jump across, or try and get behind. He was a classic centre-forward. He had the brain to bring people in and glide into areas, allowing him to shoot. With the ball coming across, he was also very good with his head. He had this habit that, when the ball dropped, he would use the defender as a buffer to give him space for a split second, so he could move in either direction. Early on in his career, he also had extraordinary pace.’

  Some strikers could be quiet for most of the game and then suddenly morph into something completely different. ‘I’d look on in wonder at how they’d suddenly change. When I was first picked for Tottenham and played against Mark Hughes, it was always a test. I was young and lacked experience. The leap from youth to the first team is huge. You’re playing the best, the very best. You have to raise your game to another level. When Hughes chested down the ball and swivelled round it, it was virtually impossible to get it off him.’

  He thought of each opponent as a type of animal. Some players would be leopard-like on the field, trying to be inconspicuous before striking. Others like Ian Wright were always shouting and hollering: ‘I’m here, I’m big, I’m bad, I’m going to get you.’

  ‘Wrighty was always in my ear. He once complained to someone, “I just can’t get through to Sol. I’m shouting, I’m doing everything to distract him but can’t get a reaction!” That was just me. Whatever the striker did, I just got on with my own game. I very rarely responded. I used to hate i
t when players chopped me down from behind and immediately tried to shake my hand afterwards, to say sorry. Come on, let’s get on with the game, with the battle. We can shake at the end. For the ninety minutes, no-one on the opposing side was my friend. They were always my enemy.’

  He would use the imagery of war in play; watching carefully the opposition’s confidence and mood, and forming pictures in his mind, their swagger like a retreating army still stoutly singing their war songs. ‘I had all these scenarios locked in, so when I needed to I could sense something before it happened. The coaches teach the form of the game, and I was good at listening and acting on their advice, but they always say really good defenders smell danger. You have to concentrate for ninety minutes plus; if you don’t, that’s when the centre-forward gets his chance and scores a goal. With someone like Rooney, if you try to shut him down he’ll find another option; he has the ability to stop, turn, get around the other side and take a shot.’

  Michael Owen also attended Lilleshall. ‘He even remembers me going back there for rehabilitation when I first started to play for Tottenham. I made a speech and he was part of the audience at the Q&A we held afterwards. He was a lethal player. He could beat anyone at the right angle and with pace. I enjoyed playing with him, and enjoyed the challenge of facing him. At the beginning of his career, and when we first played together for England, his lack of fear combined with his pace made most defenders feel bamboozled. I saw terror in their eyes. Speed is truly frightening when it comes from the complete footballer. He was a young man loving the game. In the 1998 World Cup, he literally danced round people. How I remember his goal against Argentina, the way no-one knew what to do with this spark of energy sprinting towards them. I never got tired of seeing that. Unfortunately, injuries got him in the end.’

  Through time, Sol could anticipate from sixty yards away where the ball would land, often in only a couple of places. This sixth sense on the pitch meant he would be first to the ball as a defender and could read the play in advance of his opposition striker.

  Sol’s hard work helped him to maintain his consistency over the years. There were naturally highs and lows in the course of the season, but he always knew he could rely on his football education if things began to go wrong. The only times on the field when he felt particularly vulnerable were when he was unfit. ‘I needed to be consistent throughout my career and that’s how I kept it fresh for twenty-plus years. If I felt tired with the game, I was able to replenish myself. I was comfortable in my own company because I dealt with things inside far better on my own. A lot of my football was in my mind. For me, it was more of a mind game than anything else. Before a game had even kicked off, I’d worked through most situations that could emerge in the ninety minutes.’

  With England, Sol partnered a number of players. ‘Rio [Ferdinand] and I shared some fantastic games together. Why it worked I’m not sure, perhaps it even went down to our upbringing, but our play complemented each other’s. If he darted forward, I’d cover for him and vice versa. We had an understanding.’ He teamed up with John Terry a few times – ‘an accomplished player’ – and Gareth Southgate – ‘a steady eddie’ – while others like Gary Neville ‘worked hard at his game. Both he and his brother Phil were diligent and made the best out of the talent they were given.’

  In club football, his respect for Martin Keown is boundless. ‘He was a warrior who’d put his body on the line every time he played. I had faith that he’d never let the team down. I could see how much he loved his craft. He just loved defending.’ Ashley Cole and Lauren were also quality defenders. ‘Two of the best full-backs in Britain at the time,’ says Sol.

  When playing for Tottenham, he respected the famous Arsenal back four of Dixon, Adams, Bould and Winterburn, ‘year after year bringing in top performances. They had a great understanding between them. Their consistency was masterly. I would include Martin [Keown] in that group. I think he played in more games with Tony [Adams] than Steve Bould did.’

  Abroad, Paolo Maldini is the first name he mentions of all the defenders he played against. ‘He had great awareness of where to play, positioning-wise. He sensed danger as much as anyone I ever encountered, and his timing of tackles was immaculate. They were always so crisp.’ On the subject of tackling, Sol grieves its slow death in British football. ‘Tackling is a beautiful part of football. It’s sad to see the art form slowly disappear in this country.’

  His conversation is full of movement, excited by the memory of his old adversaries and former team-mates. He suddenly pauses and reflects on his own game, his very own talent of defending. He speaks slowly, military-like. ‘You’d have to do something special to get past me. I was ready for any challenge.’

  After Sol's thank you speech to the fans at Islington town hall in May 2002.

  Thousands lined the streets and rooftops of North London as Arsenal paraded the 2002 Premiership and FA Cup trophies in front of their fans. There was no happier man than Sol Campbell.

  ‘Our time had come.’ Sol with Arsenal’s Invincibles as they celebrate their historic unbeaten record as Premiership champions in May 2004.

  Sol soars above Oleguer to head powerfully home against Barcelona in the 2006 Champions League final, in what would be his last match for the Gunners before joining Portsmouth.

  Linvoy Primus and Sol combine to stop Blackburn Rovers at Ewood Park in August 2006. The pair formed a solid centre-back partnership during Sol’s first season at Portsmouth.

  Portsmouth

  ’If you can get into Sol’s head, you’re doing a far better job than I ever did.’

  Tony Adams

  Sol was like a person who had made a great decision and now expected the changes to come at once – abracadabra! – but he slowly realised even he had to wait for the days ahead to pass in their own time; that what could happen might take longer to arrive than he had expected.

  His desire to play abroad never happened. He was to be disappointed. From what he heard, the deal with Juventus was very nearly completed (a three-year contract) until the manager, Didier Deschamps, pulled out. ‘He didn’t want me in the end. It was as simple as that,’ Sol says, brusquely. ‘So, once again through my own choice, I was on my own without the support of a club, looking for a new club.’ There hadn’t been many enquiries since Sol announced he was leaving Arsenal. Wenger said, when the news was released: ‘Sol has been a giant for us but we respect his decision to move on and, of course, we are very sorry to see him go. His desire and presence have been instrumental to our success over the past five years.’

  Sol believed the right team would come along. If it had to be in England, he was not ready to drop down a division. That was non-negotiable. But he wanted and believed he needed to go abroad, to get away from all the homegrown pressures.

  Fenerbahce were interested. John Scales, the former Wimbledon, Liverpool and Tottenham defender, was helping him with the introduction. He had arranged for Sol to fly to Milan to meet Giuliano Terraneo and representatives from Fenerbahce. (Terraneo had left Inter as sporting director in 2003 and was now agenting deals.) ‘I listened carefully to what they had to say but Turkey wasn’t right for me,’ said Sol. The language and culture would be too difficult, too distant from the life he knew. After the disappointment of Juventus, he had no idea where he would end up. He usually had a sixth sense, but this time nothing. He wondered where he would find fulfillment in the next phase of his career. Where he’d settle and find a home, like when he first joined Arsenal. He also hadn’t given up hope of adding to his medal tally. Now where could he find a winning club that would give him peace and success? Not easy. In the end, it would be revealed in the most unlikely of places.

  While he was away on England duty, Frank Lampard approached Sol. He had just sat down for some lunch. He was sipping a glass of water, thinking of how he had become better at assessing someone’s true worth after a short acquaintance, even after a nodded hello. ‘Hello.’ Frank appeared across his line of vision. ‘Can I have
a word, Sol?’ He noticed Frank had a look on his face that said he had something up his sleeve. He did. He had just been talking to his cousin Jamie (Redknapp) who had mentioned that his uncle, Harry Redknapp, was interested in talking to him. He immediately knew what for. Everyone knew Sol was looking for a club. In football, like everywhere else, contacts make the business go round.

  ‘Tell Harry to give me a call,’ Sol said.

  Harry Redknapp was manager of Portsmouth. He had returned to the club late in 2005, and saved them from relegation back to the championship. With a new owner and the promise of ‘loads of money’, Harry got to work in assembling a concoction of players that would make the team a threat to anyone.

  Harry called Sol; he called him twice. Sol had gone straight to Prague from playing with England, and was celebrating at a friend’s stag do when he heard Harry’s voice. They arranged to meet in London a couple of days later.