Sol Campbell

by Simon Astaire

  In the car, for a moment he reflects back to the point where he stood up, as the meeting with Wenger drew to a close, shook the boss’ hand and said, ‘I’m up for this!’

  I’ve worked for this and now I’ve got it!

  • • •

  Everyone at the club felt that Wenger would eventually sign up Sol. The doubt as much as anything was that he hadn’t done it before and it wasn’t his style to start something he believed was fundamentally a retrograde decision. ‘It is very unusual to bring a player back, but I always say you can never say never,’ said Wenger.

  Sol would be cover for Thomas Vermaelen and William Gallas. Philippe Senderos was loaned out to Everton for the rest of the season. The Swiss defender, who’d been heralded by Wenger as the future of the club – and had taken Sol’s place in defence back in the day – was no longer needed.

  It was officially announced on 15 January 2010 that Sol Campbell had re-signed for Arsenal. He would wear the number 31 shirt. ‘It gives us an opportunity to have one more centre-back,’ said Wenger. ‘He’s worked very hard and we’ve given him the opportunity to re-launch his career. For us, it is a good help until the end of the season. For him, it is a good opportunity to show he can play in the Premier League again. I think he showed he is motivated, he’s happy to be back.’

  The training became even more intense. Sol knew his time would come. He was living those weeks since agreeing the deal personally with Wenger with the certainty that he would have centre stage again, and a conviction that he would not let anyone down. He was in better shape than he had been for a long time; he thinks probably four years. His time with Portsmouth was disciplined but different in its intensity. ‘Arsenal were in another league in the way they conducted their fitness. My weight just dropped off.’

  For his first game back in the Arsenal team, he played in an FA Cup tie against Stoke. Arsenal lost 3-1 but Sol did not let his team down and kept up with the pace. The following Wednesday, he came on as a substitute for Vermaelen in the 35th minute of the 0-0 draw away to Aston Villa in the Premier League. His appearance made Sol only the third player up to that point to have played in all eighteen seasons of the Premier League since its inception in 1992 (Ryan Giggs and David James were the other two).

  But it was his first game back at the Emirates that moved him far more than he anticipated; a 5-0 home win against Porto, which helped Arsenal advance to the quarter-finals of the Champions League. Sixty-thousand voices welcomed Sol back; he heard the cheers that night.

  What a stadium, he thinks, as he runs onto the pitch. What a welcome. I’ve worked damn hard for this and now I ’m going to prove to all those doubters who had written my obituary how wrong they were. The change in his character as he ran on the pitch appeared out of nowhere, with a precision and knowhow that spoke of years of experience on the battlefields of football grounds throughout the world. ‘Be careful of quiet people, for there’s nothing more deadly than the gentle pushed too far.’ If his career was reaching its final act, then he was ready. Bring it on. It’s showtime. ‘I was fully prepared for every eventuality. I heard later that Porto’s pre-match talk was all about them “taking advantage of Sol Campbell, he’s past it.” Well, I was turning back into a Ferrari, thanks to the Arsenal coaching staff. Tony Colbert helped change that chapter of my life and I will always be grateful.’

  Gallas’ injury and Vermaelen’s suspension meant Sol continued his run in the first team. The thought of playing just three games was quickly forgotten. He was important again, the main man in the centre of defence and his form was growing with each ninety minutes. Wenger said to Sol, after one of the early games: ‘Hey Sol, you are looking like a footballer now.’ His team-mates agreed. Andrei Arshavin ran up to Sol after training and said that he had his doubts when he first saw his movement. He had thought to himself that Sol had a long way to go. And yet, two weeks later, he had already been proved wrong. ‘Huh,’ Arshavin said, ‘I will never doubt you again.’

  You’d better not, thought Sol.

  The players were able to see Sol more in the round than any previous squad. He cherished his role as the club’s senior statesman, an experienced man on top of things. He was more vocal than he had ever been in previous Arsenal dressing rooms. The Lee Dixons and players from his first season at Arsenal would not have recognised him. They were bewildered by his silence, never convinced they would ever get to know the true Sol, a few either not bothered or unable to intellectually lift themselves into understanding someone different. Footballers aren’t good at that. Lee Dixon tells a story that when he was in the coach heading to a game, Tony Adams asked how he was feeling. He answered that he was fine. When Adams openly said that he was feeling a little down, some players clustered nearby playing a game of cards gave each other a silent look, the lifting of the eyes. Most footballers aren’t good in dealing with any sense outside the norm. But Sol was happier than he had been before in the Arsenal strip.

  The intensity of the season was difficult for Sol’s fitness. He lamented the passing of days when he could play on a Wednesday, followed by the weekend, without thought. But those days were over. He could play once a week. Now, when he left the pitch, he felt it. Felt every pull on every muscle. ‘I couldn’t play as many games as I wanted. It took too much out of me.’

  He missed out on the Barcelona away game in the Champions League in April because of this schedule, and was very disappointed. He knew when he was picked for the Wolves game on the Saturday that he had no hope of making the game at the Nou Camp in the second leg of the Champions League the following Tuesday. Arsenal won the Wolves game with a goal in added time by Nicklas Bendtner and kept their league title aspirations alive, but Sol questioned why he hadn’t been kept for the all-important Barcelona game. His disappointment was well-hidden, he was good at that. He had been doing it all his life. There would be no grumbling, no self-pity. He could still revert to the Old Sol; the one no-one knew what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

  He sat on the bench and watched Arsenal get knocked out of Europe, losing 4-1 after drawing the first leg 2-2 at the Emirates. He couldn’t have gone on, even if he had been called. Well, maybe he could have dragged himself off the bench, but he would have moved about like a rigid old tram.

  A couple of days after they returned from Barcelona, Sol went up to Wenger. Perhaps he should demand an explanation from the boss. Their relationship had matured. He was better at communicating now. Sol asked his question and Wenger replied that it was more important for him, and therefore the club, that he played in the League game. ‘We can still win the League,’ he said.

  They had one moderately large clash, when Wenger tore into him after the Champions League first leg defeat away to Porto, less than a month after his return to the first team for his second spell with Arsenal. Sol back-passed a free-kick to his goalkeeper, which was intercepted by Falcao, who scored the winner in a 2-1 Arsenal defeat. ‘After the game, he kept blaming me when the goalkeeper should have just kicked the ball off to the sidelines. He did not have to pick up the ball,’ Sol says innocently, accepting no responsibility. He felt Wenger was being ‘a bit harsh’. He had scored Arsenal’s opening goal and thought he had played reasonably well. But here was the same authoritative voice he had heard for years. He had seen it all before. That’s what age and experience does. You’ve proved your talent, succeeded or failed a long time ago. But it still irritates. Wenger seemed to be making an example of him. He hadn’t turned on anyone else when the Arsenal performance was littered with mistakes. Sol wanted to say, ‘I think you’re wrong.’ Instead, he remained quiet and, when Wenger finished his overlong tirade, he turned away and walked to the showers. ‘He is wrong,’ he mumbled to himself.

  • • •

  The season ended with Sol making fourteen appearances for the first team. Arsenal finished third in the Premiership. The signing had been a success. No-one was sure it would be, except Sol himself. He never had a doubt. His focus, discipline and com
mitment, which people close to him recognised, had never left him even in the last acts of his career. He proved that in the years since he left Arsenal, he had regained his strength of mind. When he first left, it had been at its lowest; now it was strong again. It is sometimes easy to make yourself the hero of your own story, but over these few months he had rescued himself from a lack of fitness, shortage of matchplay and no club to play for, back to being one of the best central defenders in probably the best league in the world.

  Arsenal immediately offered him a new contract. Sol began to negotiate but the two sides were unable to agree. And then, before negotiations could be continued, Wenger took off to South Africa to commentate on the World Cup. By the time they spoke again, Wenger had lost interest. He already had two names in mind for his defence, Laurent Koscielny and Sebastien Squillaci, both of whom he would eventually sign.

  Wenger was straightforward: ‘I feel you’ve moved on and so have I. I think it’s best to leave it there…’ He made the same decision with Thierry Henry a few years later. A champion needs to know when he should move on. ‘Thierry came back, played again, and, like Sol, gained the respect of everyone. We had the opportunity to do it again and I said to him, let’s not do this anymore. Let’s finish on a high and that’s what I wanted to explain to Sol. It’s always difficult for great players to know when to stop. It’s very difficult to lose, at a very young age, your passion, your fame and the money. Usually by your mid-thirties, you have to go in search of a new beginning.’

  They agreed. Before Wenger said his goodbye he said: ‘You surprised me last season, Sol. I never knew you had it in you.’

  What a strange thing for Wenger to say, thought Sol. Those words stung. How could he even question his resolve and ability to succeed? This Frenchman who providence had chosen to be the most prominent manager of his career still didn’t understand him. ‘When he said those words, it really hurt. I thought, you’ve seen me through thick and thin, you’ve seen me sick, at my worst, at my best. You’ve seen me through so much and yet, you still thought I hadn’t got it in me to come through this latest test. Don’t you realise it’s in my DNA? I can’t get rid of it.’

  Sol felt insulted. He felt underrated. Wenger is clear he was misunderstood: ‘He misinterpreted what I said to him. What I wanted to say was that he had aged, and that I didn’t expect as much quality from him as he had shown. I did not question his dedication, as I knew he had the fight in him, but I didn’t expect him to be as good as he was. I thought he had lost some of his qualities; that was what I wanted to tell him. He was absolutely heroic and gained the respect of everyone.’

  But Sol had not heard this. He switched off his phone, left his house and walked along the Embankment, immediately thinking of the old days; the days when he was considered by most as being one of the best defenders in the world. It is difficult for him to think in those terms; he doesn’t like to think of himself as anything other than the hard-working professional he was. ‘I recognised the cards I had been dealt and I’ve done my hardest to change them. I didn’t have the best education and connections, but I worked every day to better myself, to prove myself.’

  It is a warm afternoon and he is grateful for a sudden shot of cool air bouncing off the river. He passes a couple of tourists. One of whom says out loud, ‘There goes Sol Campbell!’ Sol hears what is said and walks on, a little faster than before. This is no time to stop. This is a time to be alone with his thoughts. He senses his career is coming to an end. Arsenal isn’t going to work and Celtic, who had made an enquiry, didn’t appeal. He wants to keep playing but for the right club. ‘No more mistakes,’ he says out loud. He had just proved he could get back to the top, whoever may have doubted it. He thinks of the England squad out in South Africa, and is irritated again he’s not there. Such a wasted opportunity, he thinks. I could have done a good job for the country. Is this what happens? That outside forces choose when you get off the train? It isn’t your own decision to say I won’t play anymore, thank you, I’m getting off at this stop? No-one warns you how it can end. As someone once said: ‘Play as long as you can because you are a long time retired.’

  He keeps thinking. A thousand thoughts race through his mind, like cattle in a stampede. Is there a man out there who understands me? The ‘off the cuff‘ remark by Wenger, which was surely meant to be a compliment, had sent Sol into a tailspin. It had brought up thoughts of anxiety. He walked away from the Embankment to his favourite Italian, a sanctuary of sorts. It is the same one where he met those two men from Notts County but the memory has not soiled his fondness for the place. It is quiet, except for a wise-looking old man, who is devouring a large bowl of pasta. He eats quickly, as if late for an appointment. Sol is not in a hurry. He sits down at a table on the pavement and puts his head between his hands. He is quite alone thinking about his future. He looks up at the waiter. ‘I’ll have a coffee, please.’ The waiter who would usually give a cheerful hello, this time does not. He senses Sol wants to be left alone.

  • • •

  He didn’t know it then but he still had a year left of his career. He was asked by his friend Chris Hughton, who was managing Newcastle, to join him on a one-year contract. ‘I wanted him at Newcastle for his presence and the experience he could bring to the team,’ says Hughton. It seemed like the perfect move to finish his career. His soon-to-be wife Fiona was from the area, passionate about the club and they had recently bought a property 25 miles west of the city.

  He made his Newcastle debut in the third round of the League Cup against Chelsea, and then in the Premier League on 3 October 2010 in a 2-1 defeat to Manchester City. Throughout his time at Newcastle he struggled for fitness, and six months after arriving, his friend Hughton was fired. He was very upset by the decision: ‘He got sacked because they wanted to get someone else in. I couldn’t understand why. He was doing well for them. He had got them promoted, and was maintaining the club in the top half of the league. He took that club out of the gutter, made it something, gave it dignity, gave it confidence and worked tirelessly throughout the time he was there. He gave everybody a hundred per cent. It was one of the more senseless decisions I witnessed in my career.’

  Sol left the club when the season was over. It had not been the finale he had dreamed of.

  • • •

  The wise man orders a coffee as his plate of pasta is taken away. A boy plays keepie-uppie with a 1970s-style football by the side of the road. He plays with the ball with such deftness, it looks beautiful; he has everything ahead of him. Sol recognises contentment in the boy’s eyes.

  Where will Sol find tranquility now? Where was he going to find his hunger for contentment and peace of mind? In the past, if he ever lost his inner peace, he had always managed to rediscover it back on the football field. When times had been difficult, it was on the field with full fitness where he eventually reclaimed his equilibrium, and a sudden peace would flow through his body. His longing for that feeling would not have been so poignant, if it hadn’t been for his childhood home and his escape into the streets and the nearby park.

  Just as he was feeling as alone as he had been for a long time, he sees his future wife Fiona and mother of his children, walking towards him. It reminds him of when he was a little boy, looking out of the window waiting for his mother to return from work. His father would be asleep upstairs or be downstairs, paying no attention to his youngest son; his mother representing the comfort and affection he was so in need of. As Fiona is about to reach the table, he recognises that she is someone who does understand him. Probably knows him better than anyone has ever done. Perhaps better than himself; his sins, his needs, his desires. Someone who will keep him company in the days ahead and is able to understand those chapters he found difficult to talk about. ‘She’s been my rock, a woman who gave me back my belief in life, and an ability to trust in people again. I was falling out of love with a lot of things. I shut down and withdrew into a shell – perhaps as a form of self-preservation, not wa
nting to be exposed to hurt – but Fiona found a way to open me up, showed that it was safe to emerge, and taught me how to love again.’ He needs her.

  And, although his playing career was nearing its close, he saw, like the kid playing with the ball, the possibilities for his future were endless.

  Members of the Campbell family with the bride and groom after the ceremony.

  Fiona and Sol on their wedding day, 17 July 2010. ‘She’s been my rock, a woman who gave me back my belief in life,’ says Sol.

  Epilogue

  ‘The real paradises are the paradises lost.’

  Marcel Proust

  When Portsmouth played Tottenham at White Hart Lane on 28 September 2008, the abuse from some Spurs fans not only shamed the club but shamed common decency. ‘They were chanting about what I had supposedly contracted, about lynching me and about my sexuality,’ Sol says. The hideous one-note chant, which sounded like the braying of inebriate Nazis, was not made up while they were in the ground watching the game; it had been composed and worked on. During the game, Sol hadn’t heard it in its entirety. He had heard the odd line. It had not affected his game, although at times when he hears abuse it is like being burnt slowly, in the way an effigy is held up by a marauding crowd outside an embassy. There is a photograph taken of Sol that afternoon. Arms stretched out as if he was being crucified, pain lashed over his face, mouth wide open shouting something indistinguishable, lost in the hiss of the crowd. The so-called fans standing gormlessly, staring open-mouthed into the dank dark, trying to confuse Sol further, upset him, push him towards such disconcertedness with what is going on, both in his head and all around him, that he gives up playing, maybe even causes harm to himself; is that what they want in the game they play from the terraces? Do they possess a thing called conscience?