Sol Campbell

by Simon Astaire

  • • •

  At Cheyne Walk Brasserie in Chelsea, Sol and the representative from Puma are having lunch. The restaurant is less busy at lunchtime than in the evening. There is enough room not to be overheard. The two have met before and are talking about a potential boot deal. Puma is one of the finest sports brands in the world. It has a history of representing the world’s greatest footballers, such as Pele, Maradona and Cruyff.

  Sol is keen. He likes the idea of working with them but negotiation is never easy when connecting a brand with a football star, indeed any star.

  They order and the food arrives quickly. They talk about the latest results, nothing in particular, when the Puma representative asks a question.

  ‘Are you gay?’

  There is a pause for a split second. Sol is briefly surprised; maybe even a little shocked by the question.

  ‘No,’ Sol replies, cool, unflustered, honest.

  The representative tucks into his food. ‘Ah, that’s a pity. We were hoping you were.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yup. We were keen to represent the first gay international footballer. We could sell many more boots. It would be a worldwide story.’

  Sol shakes his head. He can’t win.

  When he first heard the homophobic chants from the terraces, he ignored them. He was used to the ignorance and the obscenities. It was part of the game. The ugly side. But the chants and then rumours spread like a virus. The whispering grew louder and louder, the murmur of people saying, ‘You know he’s gay.’ ‘He’s gay, he must be.’ His lifestyle enhanced the gossip. He wasn’t seen that often in the company of women and his solitude made people suspicious that there must be something more going on.

  ‘Because they didn’t see me falling out of clubs or shagging in the alleys with different girls every week, they thought something must be wrong with me. I’m a footballer after all,’ Sol says.

  The Puma representative lets out a sudden sigh. He is clearly disappointed.

  ‘I’m not gay. I’m not bothered by homosexuality,’ Sol says. ‘I’m not sure where the rumours began. Probably from my team-mates at Spurs, who knows? I was brought up in a different way; I was very shy even with my mum and dad. And I was shy when it came to relationships, because I saw what happened when my brothers brought girls home. The way my parents treated them; it was a nightmare. The girls weren’t allowed in the house when they turned up. They were told to go away or told to wait outside until my brother was ready. It was embarrassing. So I just kept my relationships quiet. Out of sight.’

  Sol starts to wonder if the Puma representative is disappointed by the news that he is straight. Do other brands think the same? Is the gossip so convincing that everyone thinks it is the truth and there’s nothing more to talk about? ‘If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate,’ says Sol, ‘it’s intolerance.’

  They shake hands at the end of their lunch and the Puma man leaves the restaurant. The deal never happened. He never heard from him again. For whatever reason, it was not made clear. Their conversation stayed with Sol. But the rumours have now faded away, like a distant memory. ‘The football world conveniently forgot that I was a human being who could do his own thing, rather than getting married in my twenties, settling down, and conforming to the stereotype,’ says Sol. ‘I like to think I ran my life according to the real world; I didn’t find the need to boast to my football mates about going out with this person or that person. I was comfortable in my own skin.’

  • • •

  In the off-season, Villarreal had come in and made Portsmouth another offer for Sol. They had made their first a year before, but Portsmouth were keen to hold Sol to his contract. This time Sol was less tempted to leave. ‘We had a team. We were becoming a very good side and if Portsmouth hadn’t run out of money, they would have undoubtedly been challenging for the top four. It’s a shame.’ What he didn’t know during the off-season was how little money was left. He might well have jumped at the offer had he known. Harry Redknapp sensed things weren’t quite right. He kept saying to Tony Adams, ‘I don’t like this.’

  In October 2008, Redknapp suddenly resigned and joined Tottenham. Sol heard the news with everyone else on the radio when driving back to his rented house. One day Harry was there, the next he was gone. But he wasn’t surprised Harry had left. Only a few days before when Portsmouth were playing away at Villa, he said to Sol and Sylvain Distin after the game, ‘If I was on my way, I’d definitely take you two with me.’ The two laughed, thinking it was a bit of a joke, but Sol thinks Harry had already made up his mind that he was off. What Sol hadn’t known was that he’d been feeling unsettled for quite some time. ‘He obviously knew the state of the club’s finances. He was just waiting for the right offer,’ Sol says. Newcastle came in and Harry allegedly signed up but in the end couldn’t uproot his family to go up north. Tottenham was impossible for Redknapp to refuse.

  By coincidence, Tony Adams had handed in his own resignation twenty-four hours before. He’d had enough of being an assistant and wanted to be manager. Storrie hadn’t had time to deal with it but instead asked Adams to be caretaker for the first match after Harry had left. ‘Okay, but just for the one game,’ Adams had said. Storrie agreed but after the game he brought Adams up to the boardroom to meet the owner, Alexandre Gaydamak. Gaydamak was talking to Sol at the time about the plans for the future. Adams thought Sol didn’t know the full story; nor did he, but he knew more than most. The financial position was not good. Gaydamak asked Adams why he wanted to resign. Adams told him he wanted to manage a Premier League club. ‘Stay here and manage us.’ Adams thought about it. He knew the club had no money but he weighed up it was better to manage and possibly fail than be an assistant all your life. The opportunity might not come again. He accepted the job.

  Adams had a torrid time and Sol is saddened by the memory. ‘I think management chooses you. You can’t force it. Some people have been great players but can’t manage. Others have had no playing career and make some of the best managers of their time.’

  He hesitates in talking about Adams; his shoulders up to his ears, eyebrows raised. He was his captain, coach and manager, and yet, Sol’s words fall from his mouth like a series of unexpected snowstorms. ‘Communication for Tony was very hard, which was strange because as a player on the pitch he communicated as well as anyone I played with.’

  Adams never had a real fighting chance. A month after accepting the job he was called into the owner’s office in Berkeley Square. He was told there was no cash left. Nothing. Gaydamak told Adams, ‘I have sunk £180 million into this club and there is nothing left.’ Adams shook his head.

  ‘It’s worse than that,’ Gaydamak continued. ‘If we don’t get £6 million by the end of the transfer window in January, we will go into administration.’

  I’ll have a whip-round,’ Adams replied. He paused. ‘I’m joking.’

  • • •

  West Ham had given Portsmouth the worst Christmas present of all: a 4-1 defeat at home.

  Sol knew the New Year was going to bring in one, long struggle. Rules would have to change; we were talking about survival, which would become even more acute as the weeks went by. Adams had just completed his post-match interviews, where he told the press he had a good bunch of players who would work hard to get things right. He also said he hoped to hold onto his players during the transfer window. But what he said publicly was different to what had to be done.

  The dressing room door flew open and Adams stormed in, tired and angry. Sol watched on as ‘Tony lost it.’ He put his face up close to anyone who got in the way and called his team a ‘fucking disgrace’. It was a tirade of abuse. Before he made his final exit, Adams yelled: ‘If anyone is up to it or wants to get out of here, come and see me Monday and I’ll accept your transfer request!’ Jermain Defoe was transferred the following week. Adams’ plan had worked. He had walked into that dressing room hoping to save the club by forcing the hand of some of his players. It backf
ired a little bit when Defoe scored for his new club Spurs against Portsmouth, two weeks later in a 1-1 draw. In that game, Adams’ respect for Sol grew even more when he saw, in his role as manager, the defender take on not just a good team but also an abusive crowd. Tottenham seemed to bring the best out of Sol and Adams says: ‘It was extraordinary. He may have been directly involved in the action for say six minutes but everything he did was immaculate. I would say without hesitation that Sol Campbell was the most focused player I have ever played with. I wish I had played longer with him at Arsenal.’

  Adams was sacked in February 2009; four months after his appointment and just sixteen games in charge in which his team picked up just ten points. They had also been knocked out of both the UEFA Cup and the FA Cup. ‘In the end, it was a relief,’ Adams says. The club, on the other hand, made a respectful statement. ‘This has been a very difficult decision and Tony has worked tirelessly to arrest the slump in form. He is rightfully highly-respected within the football world, and played a major role in our FA Cup triumph last season.’ Paul Hart was appointed caretaker manager until the end of the season and brought in Brian Kidd as his assistant. Kidd impressed Sol: ‘I really think if it wasn’t for Brian Kidd, we would’ve been in even worse trouble. He helped save us from relegation. He got us organised and installed discipline. He was enthusiastic and got everyone going. He is a very good coach.’

  Sol did not for a moment think Portsmouth were going to be relegated. ‘I wasn’t going to let it happen. Mentally I kept everything going and being captain, I was going to push everyone on with the same attitude. I certainly didn’t want relegation on my CV.’ So basically, his style of play changed. ‘I would do anything to clear my lines. Everything was basically about survival. I wanted to keep my job, roll up the sleeves to keep the club up.’

  As well as Defoe, Portsmouth had been forced to sell Lassana Diarra in January. ‘Jermain leaving killed us. When the man who scores the goals leaves, you’re in deep trouble,’ says Sol. ‘We seemed to be losing a piece of our jigsaw every day. There was a suggestion in January for me to go, but nothing happened. I knew we were in big trouble and I’m glad I stayed. I needed to finish the season in the Premier League, with the team I won the FA Cup with. Portsmouth gave me one of my greatest memories.’

  • • •

  Sometimes a whole season can be determined by a bad decision, a glorious piece of play, a mistake, even the wrong words from the manager. When Portsmouth played Newcastle away at the end of April, they were still not mathematically safe from relegation. Heading that way, but not there yet. The 0-0 draw at St James’ Park secured their place. They had read in the morning paper that Portsmouth was a game Newcastle expected to win. Three points added to three points from another game would mean safety for the Geordies. Sol knew Newcastle would get a surprise. ‘I always like playing at St James’ Park, although as a defender it’s more difficult as there is a slope.’ Some believe it is legend to motivate the Newcastle players with ‘you are playing downhill in the second half.’ But Sol insists it isn’t his imagination. ‘Newcastle prefer to play downhill towards the Gallowgate End in the second half so it’s almost as if the ball gets sucked into the opposition goal – while their opponents have to huff and puff uphill! As a defender, playing against the slope, you almost have to play in zones, as your regular clearances and headers won’t go as far. And if you’re not careful, you can find yourself dropping deeper and deeper until the opposition are almost on top of you outside the penalty box.’

  When the season ended, Portsmouth did not offer Sol another contract. They couldn’t even if they wanted to. There was little money left. It was time to leave the club and so, not for the first time in his career, Sol was back on the market as a free agent. ‘I enjoyed my spell at Portsmouth; it was like going back to a different time. Everyone up against it, mucking in,’ he muses. ‘I was sad to leave. When I first joined, although it looked from the outside to be in a bad shape, the club seemed to be full of promise. We had a rich young owner, Alexandre Gaydamak, who was full of ambition.’

  In Sol’s debut season for Portsmouth, the first team attended a press conference where they were shown plans for a big new stadium which was going to be built by the water’s edge. Promises were copious. This could be very exciting, thought Sol. But soon he sensed they were false promises and empty dreams. ‘I felt quite early on that something was wrong. I never realised how shallow the promises were, or even the perilous state the club was in, but I knew something wasn’t quite right.’

  After losing away to Wigan on the last day of the season, Sol packed his bags and left Portsmouth. He hadn’t played his best that day. His mistake had led to the goal. He was disappointed he hadn’t given a better performance, but he had captained the side to do its job and stay in the Premier League. In the end, Portsmouth finished 14th. He felt good about that. Now the summer lay ahead and he was going to take a break. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. He was going to get away from the pressure and see what turned up.

  Portsmouth manager Harry Redknapp and his captain with the FA Cup.

  Portsmouth beat Cardiff 1-0 in 2008 to clinch their first FA Cup in 69 years. Sol celebrates with David James, Sylvain Distin, Hermann Hreidarsson and Glen Johnson as FA Chairman Lord Triesman, to the left, looks on.

  We can achieve anything. At least that was the promise made by Sven-Goran Eriksson when Sol posed with manager Ian McParland on signing for Notts County in August 2009. One match later, Sol was gone.

  Sol, in his second spell at Arsenal, shimmies past Gareth Bale, against Tottenham at White Hart Lane in April 2010.

  Notts County

  ‘I think Sol is going to sign for Notts County!’

  ‘Notts County?’

  ‘Yes, from the sound of it they have more money than Real Madrid!’

  Sol was out of a club. He was thirty-four years old and he was getting worried that his playing days were over. ‘I was thinking of what I was going to do with my life. Perhaps it was time to start looking at a new career.’

  He could have stayed with Portsmouth but would not be paid, so that was out. He had thought that maybe he would get into acting, but every script he received was not what he had hoped for. Also, he was being paraded around from meeting to meeting; told to be seen in Cannes and all the right places. Everything, though, was predictable. He always thought that the unexpected was often the most exciting and this was a new world to him, mixing with the film fraternity and shaking hands with the stars, but he wasn’t really enjoying it.

  The clock was ticking, and kept on ticking, but it was too early for him to be transformed into something new. He wanted to keep playing and still thought he had enough in him to play at the top level. The phone hadn’t gone completely dead. FC Basle had made an offer but it wasn’t for him. Young Boys were also interested but they played on a plastic pitch and he ‘couldn’t do that’. He spoke to Monaco but, in the end, nothing materialised. The dreaded word, which all sportsmen fear, was looming: retirement. He cursed the word metaphorically. It was not going to happen…Not yet anyway.

  • • •

  His mobile phone rang. He didn’t immediately recognise the voice at the other end. It sounded like a monosyllabic tut; without intonation, without spirit.

  ‘Hello?’ It was his former England manager, Sven-Goran Eriksson. Sven had been in the news recently; Sol had read about it. He had taken over as director of football at lowly Notts County. There were reports that there was a ‘shedload’ of money about to be poured into ‘The Project’.

  Sven told Sol he was needed. He had his patter down to a perfect pitch: ‘Sol, I want you to join us. We have big plans here. There is money to help build the oldest club in the football league to be the best. You would lead the line in helping to achieve our dreams. This is a fantastic opportunity.’ Words to that effect.

  Interesting, thought Sol. He was not an instinctive person who would immediately say, ‘Yes, let’s do it!’ No, th
at was not his personality, as his other transfers had proved. He would digest what Sven had said. He liked Sven and trusted him. He enjoyed his time with him when he played for England. Yes, this could be good, he thought. ‘It was almost reaching a time that if I didn’t at least discuss it further, I wouldn’t have a club for the new season.’

  ‘I’ll call you in a week,’ Sven said, ‘and see how you feel about everything.’ The following week, Sol didn’t give much thought to his potential move. He mentioned it to Fiona but just in passing. He was still hoping a Premier League club would come in. But there were no calls. He spent his mornings in his local Italian, making calls, drinking coffee and hearing the local gossip from Michele, the owner.

  Then, virtually at the exact minute the phone had rung the week before, it rang again. It was Sven; resolute, punctual and persuasive. He repeated what he had said the previous week; nothing too pushy, just carefully chosen words. Before Sol could answer or even ask a question, Sven ended the call, saying he would call the following week.

  He does, again on the same day, the same hour. This time, it is decided that the two men behind the club who negotiated Sven’s deal would drive down to London to have a meeting. ‘They are very good and will be very helpful in explaining what is planned,’ Sven says, and goes on to repeat his mantra of how exciting it would be to build a club from the bottom of League Division Two into a Premier League outfit. ‘It will be our greatest achievement and we will do it together, Sol.’ His pitch was near-perfect.