Sol Campbell

by Simon Astaire

  He trained with West Ham United in an area called Chadwell Heath. He’d been spotted by a scout and asked to join up. This part of his short West Ham story is vague. He doesn’t remember where he was seen or the name of the scout. Most of us would remember the weather of that particular day: the first time a professional team showed interest. But not Sol. He saw it only as a chance to play more football. Nothing more.

  He would go training twice a week after school and during his summer holidays. West Ham was the first team he went to see play live. Unable to pay for a ticket, he’d get into the ground fifteen minutes before the final whistle, when the gates opened to let the disgruntled leave early. The stewards let schoolboys in free to watch. It was Sol’s first chance to experience the songs and passion of a football crowd. He would also hear the debates going on as the fans drifted home: why West Ham won; why they lost; who was good; who was bad. ‘I didn’t support West Ham. I never supported any particular team. Perhaps I’d say Manchester United if I was pushed, but that was because Remi Moses played for them and I naturally liked black players making their way. I was more into international football: the likes of Brazil, Holland, France.’

  He trained hard at West Ham, keeping himself to himself; the shy boy with an inner determination. Who said talent without energy leaves you a pauper? Sol trained even harder. Then, after one heavy session, a coach came up to Sol as he was heading off to shower.

  ‘Cheer up Sulzeer, you’re two-one up.’

  He stopped and turned to face him. ‘What do you mean two-one up?’

  ‘West Indies are beating us in the cricket, two-one. Get it?’

  Sol didn’t answer.

  ‘Get it? You’re winning two-one! West Indies! The Test series!’

  ‘Yeah, I get it.’ Sol replied. He walked away without another word. He didn’t shower. Instead, he changed straight into his clothes, packed his kit into his bag and never returned. He had been at West Ham for six months. He had nothing more to do with his local club, nothing, and would only return there when he played for an opposing side. He didn’t for one moment think he might be throwing away a chance; forget what he had heard, keep his head down and keep playing. His mind did not work like that. He knew someone was being racist and it didn’t matter where he was in his life, he wouldn’t stand for it.

  ‘I didn’t report him because I was young. They’d never have listened nor probably understood. Many people today might find it difficult to understand. But I knew what he meant, what he was insinuating, and I made up my mind at that very moment, I’d never return to the club.’

  Sol, aged two, in the garden. As a four-year-old, with his red and blue football toy after the visit of Lady Diana Spencer to his nursery.

  The FA School of Excellence, year 1989 intake. Back row (left to right): S Cousin, C Dean, D Hill, N Rust, Sol Campbell, D McDougald, A Turner. Middle row: K Sharp, A Gray, Stuart Campbell, S Binke, S Daly, L Cotterell, J Forrester. Front row: I Blythe, D Jones, A Pickering, G Pickering, G Toogood, D Phillips, C Simmons, J Cartwright.

  Deliverance

  ‘He didn’t seem particularly pleased to be there. He was sullen and I think I tried to crack a joke but he didn’t react.’

  Keith Waldon

  Len Cheesewright was a small, rotund man with receding hair, cockney accent and the widest of smiles. Born in Croydon, it was in the Sixties during which he developed his gift for discovering future football stars when Alec Stock, manager of Leyton Orient, offered him a job as chief scout. After almost twenty years at Brisbane Road, he had a spell as youth coach and chief scout at Leicester City, followed by a second spell with Orient, before joining Tottenham as a schoolboy scout in 1982.

  When Len spotted someone special, he would return to watch the player a number of times, just to make sure his instinct was right. Usually it was. But with Sol, his normal rules were thrown out. He saw and immediately believed. ‘As soon as they touched the ball, you began to frame in your mind a picture of the player,’ he said, and that is exactly what he did with Sol. ‘I thought he was awesome,’ he said, ‘but playing out of position.’

  Sol was playing centre-forward for Newham District at the Terence McMillan Stadium.

  ‘You’re John Campbell’s brother, aren’t you? asks Len.

  Sol nods his head.

  ‘I’d like a word,’ he says, barging by the other players as they leave the pitch.

  Sol keeps walking; he’s never been good at small talk.

  ‘Please stop for a minute!’ Len cries out.

  Again he ignores the plea, suspicious of this stranger. Len tries to catch up. He starts to lose his breath, gasping hard on his lungs. (A habit of being short of breath is something Sol remembers about Len in later years.) Sol stops all of a sudden, and turns. He looks to the ground, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘I’m a scout for Tottenham Hotspur. I’d like to talk with them about you,’ says Len.

  What most boys dream of hearing doesn’t seem to impress. Sol says nothing and continues to gaze at the ground. Len can see this and reverts to talking about his brother.

  ‘I know your brother John. He’s a good footballer.’

  John was a midfielder and forward who had trials with Charlton and West Ham. He played around the area but generally for teams with older players. He eventually played for East Ham. ‘I think that was a mistake. Perhaps he joined them because they paid more, I’m not sure,’ Sol says. ‘But by making that decision and not being an apprentice at a proper club, he lost touch with the main network, where you can get more easily noticed.’ He kept playing for East Ham until he was eighteen, but by then it was too late. ‘It’s a shame, he had a chance,’ says Sol. ‘He was a very good player.’ He shakes his head in disappointment. Why couldn’t he have been stronger and got through it all? He should have made it. He had all the skill on the pitch – the talent of a Brazilian – but his mentality and lifestyle meant he struggled to fit into the discipline of the system.

  ‘I’ll come to watch you again then,’ says Len.

  Sol doesn’t reply.

  Len knew what he’d found, what you rarely find: a genuine talent with enormous potential. Sol’s skill, his gazelle like physique, his athleticism, his discipline, dominated Len’s day. How was he going to encourage this shy boy who hardly uttered a word to move forward in line with his sporting destiny?

  He persisted. He didn’t give up. He would pick Sol up from home and drop him back after his games if it was too late for him to catch the last train. Sometimes Sol would get back home after school and there was Len, sitting down with his dad. Sol would hardly say hello, instead drifting into the garden and starting to practise once again, hitting a ball against the wall. When he paused for a moment, he found himself counting the cracks in the wall, experiencing a strange feeling that inside they were trying to control his destiny, which made him feel uncomfortable. Wilhelmina remembers it well. ‘Len wouldn’t stop. He was always coming over to the house. I had seen him speaking to my husband in the past, but I remember one morning him coming over to try and persuade me. My husband was asleep or out, I can’t remember, and Len started to talk to me in the kitchen. He said, “I’m asking you, in fact I’m begging you to let him come with me and have a trial for Tottenham.” I just listened. I wasn’t interested in football. I’d taken John to a few games but that’s how I saw it, as just a game. There was no future in it. But what I do remember was, Len’s continual begging had an effect on me.’

  Sol remained elusive. He was the authority in his life even at the age of thirteen. He did not need or want any interference, or as he saw it, control from anyone. He had learned to take care of himself. ‘I had a bad experience with West Ham, so joining another professional team didn’t appeal to me. My life was so restricted growing up, I felt I was being forced into another corner.’

  The dance with evasion and keeping his life simple continued; his guard held up high, like a batsman in cricket playing defensively, refusing to drop. On the outside, hi
s exterior seemed unfriendly and difficult to understand to a stranger, but persistence worked and, two months on from their first meeting, Len picked Sol up on a Tuesday evening and took him to training at Tottenham. ‘Why not?’ I eventually thought, ‘I have nothing to lose and I’ll be playing against some new players, which would be a fresh challenge. I’d also begun to trust Len. He was a genuine man with a heart of gold. I recognised he wanted the best for me. There aren’t a lot of people like him around in football anymore. He was full of life and I am always grateful for his belief in me.’

  The man Len so wanted Sol to be seen by was Keith Waldon, who was Tottenham youth team manager and the ultimate decision maker on whether a player was kept on or not. ‘one of the best youth team managers ever,’ Sol says. Waldon was respected in the game, and his reputation for coaching the young and helping them grow into their full potential was as good as anyone who had ever coached for that age.

  Sol was just one of a number of boys who were brought along that night. Keith liked Len. He rated him as a scout. He had faith in his judgement. Sometimes, he felt Len could bring in some ‘really good kids and others that weren’t so good,’ but he knew he had a good eye and was always interested to see who he might turn up with. Keith’s strict orders to his scouts were not to waste his time. The only boys he wanted to see had to be ‘a little bit special’. They should be as good as or better than what he already had.

  Keith remembers that day when he first met Sol for two reasons. ‘First, he stood out immediately because of his physicality, and second I remember he didn’t smile. He didn’t seem particularly pleased to be there. He was sullen and I think I tried to crack a joke but he didn’t react.’

  Tottenham made a quick decision to sign him. The youth development officer, John Moncur, advised if he signed for the club they would be able to put him forward for a scholarship at the FA’s School of Excellence at Lilleshall. If he didn’t have a club, he was told, he wouldn’t be considered. ‘I’m not sure that was true,’ Sol says, ‘because when I got there a number of the boys weren’t signed to any club.’ It was probably just an extra enticement to get Sol to join the club. It was competitive to get a talented boy’s signature. David Beckham, who trained with Sol at the time (‘He always wore a Manchester United tracksuit, which was funny, it being Tottenham,’ remembers Sol), agreed to sign for Manchester United on his fourteenth birthday. Boys could not sign to clubs before they were fourteen; in Beckham’s case, Sir Alex Ferguson flew into London the night before his birthday – as legend goes, in the darkness of night – and offered his mum and dad money for his signature.

  So, Beckham signed for Manchester United and Sulzeer Jeremiah Campbell signed for Tottenham Hotspur. Not for any advance in Sol’s case, just a bag full of promises. ‘My parents were naïve. They probably didn’t think money was involved,’ Sol says.

  • • •

  ‘I absolutely saw his potential,’ remembers Keith Waldon. ‘He physically stood out but at that point he was not the most technically proficient footballer I had seen for someone of his age.’

  Tottenham recommended him for Lilleshall. There was no question he had a good chance but the process was drawn out and highly competitive. The players had regional trials with six to eight selectors under strict orders not to confer with each other. The selectors’ recommendations would then be passed on to the FA, who would collate the information and select about sixty boys to go for their final trial, spending a weekend at Lilleshall. That was how the final sixteen from the hundreds of boys that started the process were chosen.

  Those boys were considered to be the top young footballers in the country at that time. Sol enjoyed the process. He excelled under pressure. His father’s mantra of grabbing the chance if you are given one resonated in his mind. He was focused and worked hard, making sure the next day was even better than the last. Fear didn’t come into his mind. He was relaxed and the only pressure he felt was his own, which was not fear of failure but more a fear that he would not represent himself in the right way.

  The key to the final decision was potential. Do you think this young boy can go and achieve great things in the game? A lot of the boys looked very good at the time of their trial but something would tell the selectors, however small, that they would not progress. This is where the coaches would use all their expertise and experience to recognise who could move through their teens to become a contender in both the top leagues and internationally. There was no doubt, even at fourteen years old, that Sol had the right physical attributes to make it as a professional sportsman. He was the finest of specimens, which made him an outstanding prospect. He may have been deficient technically and lacking an overall understanding of the game, as Keith Waldon suggests, but those were things that could be taught over time. What Sol knew, and coaches would eventually learn, was that few boys who would work harder and be so determined to improve their game. ‘He was an influential player even at that age,’ says Keith. ‘At White Hart Lane we had a ball court indoors above a car park, forty metres long by thirty metres wide, and that is where we did most of our training. In that small environment, you need a little bit of intelligence and skill and Sol was certainly effective in those conditions where your physicality is not so important. There is no question he had ability and clearly stood out.’

  • • •

  A white envelope falls through the letterbox into the hall. It is not immediately picked up. In fact, it’s there for hours before Sol notices it and sees it is addressed to him. He holds it up to the light as if he’s inspecting a rare artifact.

  The house is empty. Not a sound. Thank God, he thinks, I can have a bit of peace while I read the letter. He knows who it’s from but it’s taken time to arrive. The length of time has made him think, or rather, reach the conclusion he’s been turned down. Just as he’s about to rip it open, he hears the front door. It’s Sewell.

  ‘What do you have there?’

  ‘I think it’s the letter from the FA telling me whether I’ve been accepted for Lilleshall.’

  ‘Let’s see it. Give it to me, will you?’ Sewell says, snatching it away from Sol’s grasp.

  His father tears it open. He wears a mock-mournful expression on his face.

  ‘You’ve been accepted. They want you,’ he says.

  Sewell passes the letter back to his son without any congratulations. Sol reads out the words as if the letter isn’t important. Little does he know or understand, these lines will be the beginning of a new life.

  His father goes into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Sol follows, the letter still in his hand. Not a word is said between them; the only sound, Sewell’s spoon stirring the milk into the tea, followed by more silence. The moment is not being recognised as anything particularly special. Why should it be? The letter has simply invited Sol to join a football academy. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it. There is no realisation for Sol, his father or anyone else who reads the letter that Sol has just been recognised as one of the best sixteen young footballers in the whole of the country and has beaten hundreds of hopefuls to get there.

  • • •

  The decision to go to Lilleshall was not immediate. For many of us there is a sense in life to allow movement, escape from where you were brought up, out of your neighbourhood, just across the river, the ocean, and the country. But for most, we will think about it and think about what the future may not bring, then cart out numerous excuses as to why it is impossible to take that step.

  In the Campbell household, there was hesitancy, even though Sol had spent virtually every minute of every day trying to work out how he could escape. But he did it without really knowing what he was escaping from. He was now playing football nearly every day of the week. Training with Tottenham, playing for the district, his school and for his Sunday league side, Rippleway Newham. He had even gone for a trial with Essex. He was loving his football, but at that time he had no aspiration (and in many ways didn’t think it was possible) to make
football his profession, his life, his future. The FA had taken their time to get back to Sol; by the time the letter arrived, it was no longer at the forefront of his mind. He’d let it go, started to think about other things. He also thought he was a second choice. ‘They took a long time making their decision,’ says Sol, but there is no proof he was a substitute for anyone, and Keith Waldon says, ‘I am not sure if that’s true.’

  It was his parents who encouraged him to accept the offer. ‘They thought it was a chance to get out of my neighbourhood. To improve my life,’ says Sol. They informed Lister Community School that Sol was leaving. A new life beckoned. He didn’t know it then, but within months, everything he subconsciously craved would be his.

  Don Howe presents a sixteen-year-old Sol Campbell with his cap at the graduation ceremony for the FA School of Excellence at Lilleshall.

  The England Under-18s squad that won the European Championship trophy in 1993, beating Turkey 1-0 in the final. Back row, left to right: Andrew Dent (team doctor), Dave Galley (head physio), Kevin Gallen, Kevin Sharp, Chris Day, Andy Marshall, Sol Campbell, Rob Bowman, Nicky Butt, Ted Powell (manager). Front row: Julian Joachim, Paul Scholes, Noel Whelan, Jamie Forrester, Chris Casper, Darren Caskey (capt), Robbie Fowler, Mark Tinkler, Gary Neville.

  Lilleshall

  ‘He’s going to be a very good footballer.’

  Sir Bobby Robson

  Sol, in dark blazer, white shirt and tie was bound for Lilleshall. His parents were going with him for the induction; Sewell in suit as always, Wilhelmina wrapped up warm, carrying a large bag. They caught the underground to Euston and changed to take the train to Stafford.