On February 1, 2006, Sol Campbell drove his Range Rover to Highbury to play for Arsenal against West Ham on a Wednesday night. He had been off-form of late. As a perfectionist, that bothered him. He was losing his command of the game.
When the half-time whistle went, Arsenal were losing 2-1 and he had been pitiful. He had miskicked the ball, letting in Nigel Reo-Coker to give West Ham the lead. Then Bobby Zamora had easily barged him out of the way to score a second. As Campbell walked off the pitch he heard someone shout abuse and make the gesture of a hand fashioned into the shape of a gun. It was pointed in his direction. As the index finger pulled the trigger, the fans lips made a little explosion and the mouth stretched itself into a bayonet smile. The fan did not flinch. He continued to stare. And to sneer.
Campbell was beyond the point of caring. He opened the dressing room door, stepped inside and knew what he had to do. Everything that was happening was hurting, bothering me. His father had died almost two and a half years earlier. The son had never found peace with the father. We always had a very tough relationship, Campbell lamented. His father had a stroke, in front of his mother, Wilhelmina, while she was making herself a cup of tea and asking him if he wanted one. He fell to the ground and she rushed to his side. Hours later he was unconscious in hospital, his family by his side.
Campbells relationship with him was unfulfilled. However successful he became, earning more money in a month, in a week, than his father did in years, there was never a moment of acknowledgment. And the irony of Campbells life is that despite all the fortunes bestowed upon him, what he wanted most was something he would never receive.
I think, on reflection, my father could have looked after us a little bit more. There is a long silence and then he gives a weary smile and quietly says: I wanted to tell him how I felt. I wanted and needed it to be different to the way he had been with me. For my life to be emotionally different to his.
As his father lay motionless in the hospital bed, Campbell stretched out his hand and touched his fathers skin. It would be the first time he had ever touched him in this way. The last touch of Sewells hand was cold and unfeeling. His son said: I love you. I want you to hear and know that. I refuse to be like you! Sewell passed away two days later, the night before Campbells 29th birthday.
When they buried Sewell, Campbell cried for the first time in his memory. He didnt talk to anyone about his pain; he tried to mask his grief. But as he wept he thought of the man who had arrived from Jamaica with a strict God-fearing upbringing and made a life for himself, his wife and children in England.
Not until that night by his hospital bed had Campbell recognised how wounded his father was. He found the thought utterly and totally unbearable. I CANT go on, Campbell said gently.
Gary Lewin, the Arsenal physio, said: What?
I cant go on.
Thierry Henry recalls: He had his boots off and I said, Come on Sol, put those on and lets get on with the game.
I remember he shook his head and said, I cant. I knew then that something was very wrong. Cant isnt something Sol Campbell says.
Arsène Wenger tried to persuade him to start the second half, telling him he still had the managers belief. Campbell remained motionless. Wenger repeated and reinforced what he had said but this time his voice was unconvincing, like that of someone making an offer he knows wont be taken up. Campbell stayed in a side room as the rest of the players had their team talk.
Henry says: The boss told us Sol wouldnt be returning for the second half. Campbell then heard the muffled sound of studs leaving the dressing room. Teammate Robert Pires looked in. A strange expression. Without so many words, he asked if Sol was OK. There was an uncomfortable silence.
When the dressing room was empty and peaceful, Campbell went in and put on some Nike trainers. He pulled on some trousers and put on his coat. He was still in his Arsenal shirt as he drove away from Highbury.
Isnt that Sol Campbell? an old man asked, spitting to the ground.
He should be playing, shouldnt he? another said.
Campbell knew what he had to do. He would go home, pack and then visit a friend. He needed company, the right sort of company. Someone who could and would listen to him, someone he could talk to. There werent many to choose from.
But he knew he needed to get away. He felt sick. His sickness was genuine; without a cough, a sigh or a tear of pretence.
He thinks of the news that he heard earlier. His brother John had been jailed for 12 months for attacking an East London university classmate who had suggested that Campbell was gay. John was reported to have kicked his victim senseless.
The judge had said in sentencing: I am told you are frustrated when people taunt you about your brother . . . John Campbell, aged 34, was described by his barrister as mild-mannered.
He added: He has brought shame on his family and most ironically to his younger brother, whose reputation he fought to protect.
It is one of those times when everyone loses. My brother John spent time inside because he got into a fight protecting me when he was training, he punched someone for calling me a homosexual. He was taken to court and was jailed. I can handle it to a certain level but for my brothers who are in normal workplaces it isnt easy. There are a lot of ignorant people about. I saw how my mother was. She felt helpless and it broke my heart.
We never as a family discussed what had happened. What was there to say? We were a normal family dealing not only with our own stuff but also these outside forces. I saw it destroying us and at that time I felt helpless. He calls Elizabeth, who now lives in Brussels. She is a good friend whom he hasnt seen for at least a year since she moved abroad.
Slightly older, a mother who has two children, aged four and six. She answers her phone. He tells her he needs to get away. Can he stay? She says she is busy working in the morning but by lunchtime shell be able to pick him up from the station. Before he puts down the phone she reassures him that everything will be fine.
On the Eurostar from Ashford he sits while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The train reaches the outskirts of Brussels around lunchtime. He starts to receive a variety of texts, from teammates, friends. People he hasnt heard from in years. He wonders how some know his number.
The news of his mysterious half-time disappearance is flooding the news channels. Pires allegedly says: He has a big worry on his side, which sparks a series of questions. Wenger is quoted as having said: The only thing we can do at the football club is to support people when they need our help. Every human being has the right to privacy. The managers sentiments are good, but his inaction, in personally not reaching out during the week, perhaps less so.
At Brussels station a black Mini pulls up. Elizabeth. He is pleased to see his friend again. The drive to her apartment is quiet. Not much conversation. They will have time for that later. That evening he helps with the cooking and sits down with Elizabeth and the two children to a family meal. He remembers it being chicken and also remembers the surprising warmth coming off the street. Brussels that week was expecting beautiful weather.
After dinner, when the children have gone to bed, Campbell begins to reveal to his friend what has been happening. He talks of Janet. He seems to know little about her, even though they were friends for two years. It was a typical noncommittal relationship. I was careless, I was caught off-guard. She got pregnant and decided to have the baby.
He was confused. He couldnt discuss it with anyone. His siblings had children out of wedlock. They were good kids and he was fond of them but he wanted his life to be different.
He felt trapped when he heard she was having a baby. What should he do? He dithered and then questioned whether the baby was his.
Is he really mine? Campbell asked himself. He was then asked the question in court after a paternity suit. He has since been proved to be the father. The parents dont talk now except through lawyers. The whole episode rests uneasily with him. Most importantly, through all the contradictions and struggles, a child was born in 2004. Whatever I say will only hurt, not just now but in the future, he says. But I do hope to have a relationship with my son.
Campbell and Elizabeth spoke until the early hours. Minutes went by when he didnt speak, as if putting his hand over his mouth in mid-sentence. He had changed. He had changed from the quiet, confident man to someone unsure of himself.
The next day he sat for hours outside a cafe near the Grand Palace. His mobile was ringing but he didnt take any calls. No calls, that is, except for one from David Dein, Arsenals vice-chairman. Wenger and Dein had met and been on the phone continually since Campbell had left the ground. At first they had no idea where he was. Wenger was worried. When he recalled the moment Campbell said he couldnt go on, Wenger saw a different face from the one he usually saw in the dressing room.
You always underestimate how much people suffer, Wenger says. I realised he was in trouble when he left that night because I knew he wasnt a quitter. I had known him long enough to sense something tough had happened. I said to David Dein, We have to find him. What had happened was so out of the ordinary.
Dein called and Campbell picked up. Dein asked if he could help; straightforward, honest and keeping his word from when they first met. We will protect you, he had said.
Dein took the next available flight to Brussels. They met in a small French bistro later that night. They drank white wine and ordered fish. Campbell spoke mainly football. He wasnt ready to open up to Dein about every part of his life, why he had fled to a foreign city. He said he felt he was letting himself down and in return letting the team down with his performances. His fight for full fitness was a continuous struggle.
Dein understood. He had great respect for the player he had helped to sign. He, like many at Arsenal, had seen what pressure Campbell had been under since his transfer across north London. But he had no idea that the difficulties would grow to this degree.
Dein assured Campbell he had his managers backing. That he should take his time and return only when ready. They shook hands on it. I appreciated Dein coming out to see me, it meant a lot, the player says.
There is no resentment that Wenger did not call him once during those days. Since then he has heard how concerned Wenger was. Its just not his style. He isnt like Alex Ferguson, who has the reputation of knowing, or rather wanting to know, whats going on in his players lives. Arsène does not. Its OK. I knew how it was.
The next few days followed the pattern of the days before: Elizabeth dropping Campbell in town before she went to work; he finding a bar or a cafe where he could slink away with his demons, clearing them slowly from his mind. He had started to reply to his messages. He called his mother every day.
My poor mum, he thought. The family had been ripped apart by his fame, his success. His brothers prison sentence, the gossip and lies about his sexuality.
Im quiet. Thats all. Im reserved. People are suspicious of that. God help me! Why dont people understand Im just different from most footballers? I keep myself to myself and because of this, everyone thinks Im odd.
The next morning he was driven to the station. He said goodbye to the children and thanked Elizabeth for her true friendship. He will be grateful for ever. Back in London, he hailed a black cab. As the cab moved away from the station the driver looked in his mirror and recognised his passenger. He said nothing, leaving Campbell alone until he got out and then refusing his money. Welcome home, Sol, the cabbie said. Youve been missed.
