Sol Campbell

by Simon Astaire

  Sol did not go to church as a boy nor as a teenager. He seldom talked about religion. Not even at Christmas did the family attend the local church. ‘It was as if my parents were so busy going to work night and day, maintaining the house, that they didn’t have time to include it in their life,’ Sol says. He remembers hearing his mum singing at the top of her voice hymns from television’s Songs of Praise on a Sunday evening. He was also taught by his mother how to recite ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ – and to always end it with a loud amen! He would pray kneeling by the side of the bed each night, before he closed his eyes and went to sleep. And saying his prayers remained important. Not out loud but to himself at breakfast or on a match day, and as he walked out onto the pitch. He felt God close; he felt his presence. And he thought to himself: Prayers work. Believe it or not. So why don’t I pray more often? Is it because I’m human? Or because I usually pray for the wrong things?

  After he had said a prayer, he quite miraculously did feel a bit better. He recalled the times when he returned from training with Tottenham youth on a Friday and would ride his bike from home to the local Chinese to pick up a takeaway. He did it once a week. It was his treat. The Chinese was next to a church and soon he found himself heading not only to pick up his Peking Duck, but while he was waiting for it to be cooked, he would head next door to stand at the gates of the church so that he could meditate and pray to God. It was comforting.

  Linvoy told Sol about the prayer group at Portsmouth. The two had met before. They were both from Newham and had mutual friends. ‘It was a unique time and we created our own community within the club; the likes of Sean Davis, Kanu, Benjani, LuaLua and others. It was a joy to have Sol join us. He was a massive figure in the club but in our group there was no hierarchy,’ Linvoy says.

  Sol took his prayers from the laundry room on to the pitch. He found comfort in the words he had heard. They resonated in his ears. He returned to his imagination of how armies prayed and took their prayers onto the battlefield. He liked that. He visualised it. He veered in and out of the fantasy, crossing the line from the past to the present. It was a place he had continually returned to throughout his career, seeking to recapture the spirit of battle. Ready for the start, for the whistle to be blown and finding relief that he was as prepared as he had ever been.

  • • •

  Towards Christmas 2006 Portsmouth were near the top of the league. Sol and Linvoy had formed a successful partnership in the centre of defence and helped them keep five consecutive clean sheets. Sol scored his first goal for the club in a 3-1 win over Sheffield United in late December and enjoyed playing at Fratton Park. ‘The noise was extraordinary. It held twenty thousand but sounded like forty thousand,’ Sol said. ‘The singing did not stop. I’d never experienced anything like it.’

  Andy Cole had joined Portsmouth at the beginning of that season. The former Manchester United and England striker found it difficult to nail down a regular starting spot, but was full of praise for Sol. ‘He was one of the best centre-halves there’s been in the English game. I think Sol was underrated. He was quick, strong and read the game as well as anyone I ever played with or against. We always got on. We are similar, in that he is a very quiet person like me.’ Cole’s England career spanned seven years, but during that time he won just 15 caps and missed out on selection for the 1998 and 2002 World Cup finals. ‘For the quality he possessed in front of goal, he should have got far more recognition in this country,’ says Sol.

  Sol knew his body was changing. He was beginning to feel his age. The older you get, the more you feel it until there’s a point where you feel so much that the body tells you to give up, to retire. The choice is made for you. He was not at this point yet, but he knew his training routine had to change and Portsmouth supported and encouraged him to pace himself. Tony Adams knew how the process of an ageing footballer went; he had been there. ‘People forget in my last season at Arsenal, I played thirteen times,’ says Adams. ‘I knew how it worked and I encouraged Sol to pace himself. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday rub downs. Full training on chosen days.’ Adams knew Sol had to be very fit. ‘We knew his fitness was paramount, as we had Glen Johnson darting forward and we needed Sol to act as cover. It was always an issue for us, but more often than not he was fit and strong enough to deal with it.’

  By the end of the season, Portsmouth had finished in the top half of the league but failed by just one point to qualify for Europe. ‘It went right to the wire. We were very disappointed not to get there but we knew we had a good team that could only get better,’ Sol says.

  He was now living in a rented Georgian house near Winchester, after spending the first months of his move at The Four Seasons in Hook. He was feeling settled, that lilt of calm which allowed him to drift into a sense of security. He slept soundly, always. The now familiar creak of the countryside brought him closer to a feeling of peace and freedom. And when he woke up, he stayed under the shower for at least fifteen minutes without difficulty. He liked the freedom to choose how long he bathed. The constant disruption in his bathroom when he was a boy still rankled. There had never been a moment of privacy. But living in the countryside was the opposite of those days. Nature made him happy. It reminded him of his time at Lilleshall. They were good days.

  Fiona came to watch him play every week, and they were spending more and more time in each other’s company. Not the night before a match, though. They once spent a Friday night together, and the next day Portsmouth lost heavily. This was not going to happen again. She bemoans the memory; he sees it differently. ‘I saw it as a sign of how important football was in my life. I took it very seriously. I never lost my commitment on the field to any club I played for. This was my living and I never lost respect for it.’

  • • •

  There was nothing oblique about Harry Redknapp; he got straight to the point.

  ‘I’d like you to be club captain, Sol,’ he said to him one day.

  ‘Sure Harry,’ Sol replied, without a moment’s hesitation. His time for caution on taking up the role had vanished years before, when he became Tottenham captain. Then he was young, still unsure of himself, but things were now different. He would lead from experience, not solely by his presence. At Arsenal, Sol had enough stress to cope with, without taking on the role. ‘I probably thought he didn’t need the added pressure of being captain after Patrick Vieira left,’ recalls Arsene Wenger.

  His second season with Pompey justified his move in football terms alone; they finished eighth, their best-ever position in the Premier League, and they won the FA Cup. ‘To win the cup with a team like Portsmouth, when you see other teams up and down the country with better and deeper squads, was an extraordinary achievement. We weren’t fashionable, we were no-one’s favourites, and yet we proved to everyone and ourselves that a smaller club can achieve history,’ Sol says.

  Portsmouth started off their FA Cup campaign away against Ipswich, followed by a home tie with Plymouth and in the fifth round away to Preston. ‘We needed a bit of luck against a number of lower league teams in the early rounds but we got through.’ They were then drawn away to Manchester United in the quarter-finals. In football, motivation can be found in all forms. Manchester United hadn’t even bothered to apply for their ticket allocation for the replay at Fratton Park. Why should they? They were going to win at home. It would be all done in time for a late lunch (it was an early kick-off). Sol used this experience to stir the troops. Hold your head high. We are better than that. Let’s show Manchester United.

  Before the game he walked as usual on the pitch; Old Trafford, one of his favourite grounds, the place of one his greatest memories and triumphs, when Arsenal won the League title in his first season. Now he leant down and touched the turf with his right hand. He could feel the freshly-cut grass; it was shorter than usual. He heard the Pompey chimes from behind the goal. There was no need to search for inspiration. It was here, right in front of him. He was back on the big stage. They could not lose. No-one bel
ieved they could win, but he did. Harry did. The team did. Come on!

  It wasn’t long, eighteen minutes to be precise, before Sol would pull off one of the most important and greatest tackles of his career. He talks about it as if he had scored one of his most memorable goals: ‘There was a counter-attack and Rooney was heading in on goal. I said to myself, “Right, I’ve got to go!” We were overloaded and I ran to catch up, for I was the only one who saw the danger. I could see where he was heading, and what he was about to do.’ Time stood still. It was as if a branch of his memory was reliving every little detail of the moment: the same tone and same smell of the ground, flicking up from his studs pounding against the turf. He ran from United’s box straight down the middle of the pitch. He was passing everybody with a speed and force he thought he had lost some time before. ‘For some reason, I just knew what was going to happen. I just ran and ran, straight ahead, with all my strength.’

  Rooney had got to the point where he was one on one with goalkeeper David James. ‘I knew instinctively what he was going to do,’ Sol says. ‘I was using that part of my brain that was able to calculate exactly what was going to happen. The formulation of everything I had learned or had taught myself; from the earliest days in the park, to all the coaches and managers who had trained and taught me. It all seemed to come together at that moment.’

  It was like one of those silent movies projecting each frame inside one’s brain in quick succession. ‘I ran straight for the goal and when I saw David slide and try to parry the ball, I gambled and jumped over him, to cut round and be ahead of Rooney’s charge on goal. I just knew that tackle was going to land perfectly. It was unbelievable! The ball fell to Tevez whose shot was headed off the line by Glen Johnson. Beautiful defending. It was a sensational feeling that’s never left me. Everyone needs those moments in any sphere of life; when all the hard work pays off. You need your centre-forward to do something magical; and you need your defenders to be special too. That’s how you win games of football.’

  The atmosphere in the dressing room at half-time was tense. There was a chance here. It was still 0-0. Aspirations were alive, so alive you could virtually taste them. Sol had been through moments like this before. This was where he would help counsel the less experienced players. This is what Tony Adams talked about when Portsmouth signed him. All Portsmouth needed was one chance. That’s all. Just the one.

  That chance came in the 78th minute after United goalkeeper Kuszczak fouled Baros in the penalty area and was sent off. Baros had come on as a substitute for Kanu, a clever piece of management from Redknapp. ‘We would never have been able to do that without money. Have someone like Milan Baros on the bench,’ says Adams. Rio Ferdinand went in goal, but failed to stop the penalty from Muntari. Portsmouth went on to win the tie by that goal.

  When Sol returned to the dressing room after the game, he took a deep breath and, as he exhaled, he started to cry. Real tears. Everything seemed to go into slow-motion. He watched his team-mates congratulate each other. He was asked whether he would mind being interviewed on television. Not right now. He was not the hero of today. His team was. Talk to them, each and every one. ‘We had a good team. I was so proud,’ he would say. ‘No-one thought we had a chance in hell of winning. Manchester United and Portsmouth. Can you hear it? We went there earlier in the season and were beaten easily. Although we kept the score down to 2-0, we were played off the field. But that’s the beauty of the Cup. You just never know!’

  The semi-final was played at Wembley stadium and Portsmouth beat West Bromwich 1–0, thanks to a tap-in from Kanu. And so to Wembley again, but this time for the FA Cup final. Sol was never superstitious before a game. He wasn’t going to start now. He thought for a moment, if he had done anything different in the quarters and semis, but laughed to himself that he might have put on his shorts first.

  ‘The only thing I believe in first is God, not superstition. I’ve never been one to avoid walking under a ladder,’ and he visualises it, not going out on Friday the 13th because it is considered by some to be unlucky. ‘I’m determined never to shackle myself with the chains of superstition.’ He looks over to Kanu and gives him a nod. He puts on his socks, shorts and then his blue shirt before putting on his boots, tightening his laces loop by loop, and muttering: ‘We can’t lose this game.’ He repeats these words to himself, if only as a reminder that his strength is he can win anywhere and for anybody. Here he is on Cup final day, the most traditional of all football days, and he will be leading out Portsmouth. I’m meant to be here today; this is what is written. As he led his team onto the field he felt calm, as always before a big match. This would be no different. He would play his usual game. He would help guide his players. He would lead them with the fight of a general going into battle. He would lift the FA Cup.

  • • •

  Cardiff 0 Portsmouth 1, FA Cup final, Wembley, 17 May 2008

  Cardiff: Enckelman, McNaughton, Johnson, Loovens, Capaldi, Ledley, Rae (Sinclair 86), McPhail, Whittingham (Ramsey 61), Parry, Hasselbaink (Thompson 70). Subs Not Used: Oakes, Purse.

  Portsmouth: James, Johnson, Campbell, Distin, Hreidarsson, Utaka (Nugent 69), Pedro Mendes (Diop 78), Diarra, Muntari, Kranjcar, Kanu (Baros 87). Subs Not Used: Ashdown, Pamarot. Goals: Kanu (37).

  Att: 89,874. Ref: Mike Dean.

  In one of the most unpredictable of FA Cup tournaments in living memory, Portsmouth edge out Cardiff in the Wembley final to claim the trophy for the first time in 69 years. Kanu’s first-half goal, scrambling the ball home after goalkeeper Enckelman fumbled a cross, gives Pompey’s noisy fans plenty to celebrate, as well as presenting Harry Redknapp with his first major trophy in a management career stretching back 25 years. Winning the FA Cup means Portsmouth qualify for the following season’s UEFA Cup.

  It was an attractive game. Portsmouth started nervously and Cardiff were more comfortable on the ball. But once Portsmouth scored, from Kanu, just as he did in the semi-final, they took more of a foothold in the match. Attacking play full of chances for both sides characterised the second half, especially from Cardiff, but in the end Portsmouth deserved to win the trophy.

  When the final whistle blew, Sol felt dissimilar to other moments when he had experienced that acute sense of victory. It just seemed different. He lifted his arms into the air and quietly thanked God. He hugged his team-mates and felt a happiness that, on reflection, was not only because of winning the Cup but because, as an old saying goes, ‘most creatures are as happy as they make up their minds to just be.’

  Sol was aware of everything, the smallest of details, as he began his long climb up the stairway to lift the FA Cup. He climbed the steps one by one. He was not going to be rushed and no FA official would come rushing out saying, ‘Sol, do hurry up.’ His mind was now filled with gratitude for where he was, and from where he came. Although there were thousands screaming and the world was watching, he felt an overwhelming sense of solitude. His journey was his own and nobody, however close, could possibly understand what it took to get here. Not just on the outside, but inside too. This wasn’t a selfish emotion; it was an acceptance of how his life had mapped itself out.

  As he walked towards the trophy, and now he was just metres away, he knew what an extraordinary moment he was experiencing. He didn’t need the silver to focus his mind but as he took those last few steps, he started to stage-whisper a prayer to himself: ‘I thank God for being part of my life and for leading me here.’ He remembered how awkward the trophy was to lift up. He had done it before with Arsenal, but this time it was different.

  He is the captain, the first to lift the cup for the team. Be mindful of its top. He’s sure he has seen it fall with other captains. He looks down at his hands. The long fingers steady, the palms of his hands remarkably dry. He is calm and then has a moment’s hesitation; will they fit? Will my hands fit round so I can lift it easily? He took the last few paces in longer strides. If he were still climbing stairs, he would be taking them in twos and a three. He ta
kes a deep breath and shakes the hand of Sir Bobby Robson, followed by Lord Triesman, chairman of the FA. Together they present the cup to Sol, Bobby also gently patting Sol on his shoulder. He gracefully takes the trophy, kisses it and, with a Portsmouth scarf tied around his neck, turns to face the fans, who are singing the Pompey chimes… Then Sol lifts the FA Cup. He holds it aloft for just a second longer than is usual for a captain: ‘Yeeessssssss!!!’ he cries out, spellbound by an act that every kid in England dreams of; to be captain of a winning side in an FA Cup final.

  Lord Triesman recalls the moment he handed the trophy to Sol. ‘When a player approaches, I can see in his eyes a mania as if he is still on the field. For a man who is usually so cool, Sol seemed quite different as I shook his hand. “Congratulations,” I said. “It’s happened to a really nice guy.” And he grinned back.’

  When the team did their lap of honour, Sol thought he deserved this. Signing for Portsmouth, although at first there were doubts, had not been so stupid after all. ‘When you’re at the big clubs, you’re expected to win the big trophies. I was no longer at Arsenal, I wasn’t at Manchester United, nor Chelsea, but I made it work here at Portsmouth,’ he says. ‘I can win anywhere, I thought, and I liked myself for that.’ And there’s a hint of pride in his voice for being so honest with his emotions.