• • •
Glenn Hoddle’s first game as manager of Spurs was a big one: the FA Cup semi-final against Arsenal at Old Trafford on 8 April 2001. Sol and Glenn of course knew each other from his time with England. They had a mutual respect. Their first conversation after Glenn was made manager was about Sol’s fitness. Would he be ready for the FA Cup semi-final?
Sol was of course desperate to play. He had been injured for the club’s last cup semi-final against Everton at Elland Road in 1995 when Spurs lost 4-1. He had watched that match in despair. He was desperate to get on the pitch this time. It was a game Spurs were expected to win. Sol was having trouble with his right ankle. He was in pain, and was no more than fifty per cent fit. But they both knew a half-fit Sol was better on the pitch than in the stands. It was a risk they were both ready to take. Sol, although fiercely against playing when injured, was determined not to miss out. Injections and adrenalin would help. Hoddle decided Sol would play.
• • •
Arsenal 2 Tottenham 1, FA Cup semi-final, Old Trafford, 8 April 2001
Arsenal: Seaman, Silvinho, Adams, Keown, Dixon, Vieira, Parlour, Lauren, Pires, Wiltord, Henry. Subs: Ljungberg, Manninger, Luzhny, Kanu, Cole. Goals: Vieira 33, Pires 74.
Tottenham: Sullivan, Young, Campbell, Perry, Carr, Sherwood, Clemence, Doherty, Ferdinand, Iversen, Rebrov. Subs: Walker, Korsten, Leonhardsen, King, Thelwell. Goals: Docherty 14.
Att: 63,451. Ref: Graham Poll.
Spurs score the opening goal through Doherty but that only seems to force Arsenal into action. On 33 minutes, Vieira equalises after Campbell fouls Parlour – in doing so, the Tottenham skipper gets a yellow card and limps off the field with an ankle injury, for the last time wearing a Spurs shirt. For the Arsenal winner, a fine cross by Wiltord presents Pires with an easy tap-in. Arsene Wenger’s team reaches yet another FA Cup final.
The gamble involving Sol hadn’t worked. ‘I wasn’t fit but thought, or rather hoped, I could still influence the game. In the end, the ankle injury I sustained put me out for months. But I still wanted to give a hundred per cent for my team, for my club, for Tottenham. On that front, nothing had changed,’ says Sol.
Ledley King came on as sub for Sol. The King is dead. Long live the King. The Spurs fans would be moved to applaud their skipper as he walked dejectedly from the field. It would be the last time they would cheer him. The last time they would see him as their hero. Some of the Spurs fans clapped hesitantly, like they were unsure what was going to happen next. The camera followed his exit as if it knew something no-one else did. The fans still had no idea what was going on. No news is good news, they convinced themselves. But of course, they were in search of forlorn hope. They were all asking what would be the next act of this extraordinary drama.
As Sol took those slow steps, he knew that unless there was some sort of miracle, it was the end. This was going to be his final game for Spurs. All around him, situations and events had stirred in readiness for change and challenges … and victories and defeats.
A couple of weeks after the game, Sol went to visit Glenn Hoddle at his home in the evening. In secrecy. Away from everyone and everything. It was time to hear Hoddle’s take on the future. All started well. Polite.
‘Good evening. Everything all right?’
‘Fine, just fine,’ Sol said, perhaps too quickly.
The meeting turned out to be awkward. Two individuals that like to avoid confrontation. Sol believes Hoddle didn’t try hard enough to assure him things would be any different now he was in charge. Hoddle leaned forward, not meeting Sol’s eye. ‘He didn’t give me any reassurance and did nothing to try and keep me at Spurs. His body language was as if he couldn’t be bothered. They used to call him “chocolate” – he loved himself so much.’ It was as if Hoddle already knew it was too late, that Sol had already left the club. He wasn’t wrong. A new beginning, maybe, would be best for him and for Tottenham. They shook hands. Time to go. A slightly awkward handshake. Still with much left unsaid. Sol walked out to his Porsche and turned the ignition. Nothing. The car wouldn’t start. Typical! He had to go back and call the AA. Nothing more embarrassing than graciously leaving and then having to go back to the person you’ve just said goodbye to. He went inside and asked if he could use the phone. ‘My car!’ he said. He was there for an extra hour in half-silence, drinking cups of coffee. Sol didn’t see it as a subliminal sign: Don’t be in such a hurry to leave, stay with Tottenham. No, he didn’t think of it for a moment.
For the rest of the season, Sol watched from the sidelines. The days moved slowly. He hardly noticed anymore the way most observers scrupulously examined the expression on his face. How they reacted to his movement. No-one knew what he was thinking, or what he was planning, right up to his last hours at the club.
The last meeting between all parties took place at the training ground. ‘Those present were Daniel Levy, David Pleat, Hoddle, Sky and Sol himself. ‘It was amiable. There was no shouting,’ Sol says. ‘I said the least while Sky represented my feelings. They talked about numbers. If we win this, you will get this bonus; if we finish here, you will get this. I thought, how are we going to reach these goals if we aren’t buying any new players? How can we? I do remember as the meeting drew to a close, I said, “I hope this conversation stays within these four walls.” We all agreed. Unfortunately, it was repeated in the press that same night, and at that point I definitely knew it was over.’
Lifelong Tottenham fan and soon-to-be FA chairman Lord Triesman says: ‘I thought he was a tremendous player and losing him was always going to be distressing. And him going to Arsenal was particularly distressing. But I don’t carry any grudge. He was our captain and dominant on the field. I saw the players around him get better. So, when he left, we didn’t lose just one player, we lost a few…’
There was no fanfare as Sol pulled out in his Porsche, away from White Hart Lane. He left Tottenham on that last day feeling maudlin, like sitting in a plane, not having to say goodbye, but having no-one to say goodbye to, either.
Manager George Graham and captain Sol Campbell lead Tottenham out before the 1999 Worthington Cup final at Wembley.
The sweet taste of victory. A jubilant Sol with the Worthington Cup trophy alongside team-mates Allan Nielsen, Ian Walker and Les Ferdinand.
An intimate dressing room moment for Sol, clutching his first major trophy for Spurs.
Arsenal
‘Winning means you’re willing to go longer, work harder and give more than anyone else.’
Vince Lombardi
The weather was surprisingly warm for so early in the morning. Sol woke and immediately sat up. He liked, as he always had, the sense of some real peace and solitude. Today was more important than ever. He wanted to be ready. It was going to be the day he would announce to the football world his transfer; and, the day his family and friends would find out. It was part of his personality to have kept it to himself. Not the odd remark here or there, pandering to the million or so questions he was constantly asked during this time. The only person who knew was his mother and she hadn’t taken in the magnitude of his forthcoming move. As long as Sol was happy, she would be. ‘Whatever he did was fine with me. He is a good boy,’ she says.
Sky arrived at Sol’s 1970’s Hertfordshire house very early. He was in good time. He hadn’t slept well the night before. He had the sort of sleep, when you’ve been dreaming that you’ve been dreaming, which comes near to waking. He asked Sol if he was ready. Sol nodded to his agent; he was fine. They didn’t hang around. There was no casual morning walk in the large garden, which ran down to a brook. No time to clear one’s head. It was all a little tense. ‘Come on, let’s get going,’ said Sky. He would drive Sol to the training ground, where the announcement would take place. He had collected a stack of morning papers. There were no rumours; nothing had been written. Almost unbelievable in this day and age.
• • •
It comes as a surprise. A short journey down the A41 and you�
�re in Totteridge; an idyllic country backwater a few miles from Central London. The large family house is welcoming as soon as you drive onto the gravel. At the back, from the terrace, you look out on to a large finely cut lawn shaded by oaks, weeping willows and silver birch. The place has a sense of tranquility, a calm. On the rare midsummer evenings when all is still, you can hear the cries of birds and other creatures hidden in the undergrowth.
Leading up to his transfer, Sol, along with Sky Andrew, met David Dein and Arsene Wenger at Dein’s house twice. He met Dein on his own a further three times. Because of Sol’s longing for secrecy, they always met very late at night. The first meeting with all four took place at the end of May. ‘It was after Spurs made the announcement that Sol was leaving,’ Sky says.
Wenger had noticed Sol’s play and stature as soon as he set eyes on him. ‘I had Thierry Henry who used to pass people for fun. But with Sol, there was a wall. It was as if he was indestructible, such a power spread from him. There was something special there. I wanted him in my side and told David Dein that.’ Dein said that he would try to recruit Sol.
Dein called Sky Andrew and asked if Sol was going to renew his contract at Tottenham. Just asking; nothing more. He knew the rules. Sky said he was still undecided. There was still a chance but Sol would not entertain anything else until he got to the point where he was moving on. Fine. Dein had the sagacity to see that it was unlikely he would re-sign. He would leave it for now but call Sky again once the 2000-01 season was over and Sol was out of contract. He did. Dein immediately asked directly what the possibility was of Sol joining Arsenal. ‘I don’t know to be honest,’ Sky answered. He promised that he would put the question to Sol. Dein trusted Sky. ‘Sky Andrew has the highest quality. One of the real good guys in football. Punctual, discreet and efficient,’ Dein says.
Sky put down the phone and rang Sol. He was interested.
Dein and Wenger made a powerful pair. Both as sleek as cats. The perfect blend of a man who knew how to pitch his club as the best in the country and a manager, tactically astute, who spoke the same philosophical language as Sol, with a mentality he installed and reinforced in a player’s psyche. ‘David Dein made me feel protected. He was going to help and promised to be there for me,’ Sol recalls. ‘Come to us, he said, and you will be part of our family. We will protect you.’ He couldn’t have said anything better.
It was a positive first meeting. Dein and Wenger had impressed. They encouraged confidence. They were ambitious for their club and wanted the best. ‘I recognised at our first meeting that he was a complex man who didn’t show his cards,’ Wenger remembers. ‘I also met a very deep person. I saw someone who liked reality, nothing superficial. He wanted to hear the truth. Not compliments. He didn’t want to hear from a sycophant.’ They all shook hands firmly. ‘I liked him,’ says Wenger, ‘because from that first meeting and beyond, when he gave his word, I knew he was committed. I have seen so much talent but respect is more linked at the end of the day not with the talent, but with the vision you have of the man. When he says he is committed to go to war for you, I know he will fight for his team until the very end.’
Dein concurs: ‘I liked him immediately. He is a deep thinker and I immediately felt fatherly towards him.
‘Yes this sounds and feels good,’ Sol thinks and is his usual calm self. He isn’t going to rush into anything. Never has. They wouldn’t be expecting an immediate decision anyway. Dein had told him to take his time. ‘Call me if you’d like to meet again to discuss things further. I will be here.’ Sol felt their interest was unshakeable; they wanted him. He could see it clearly. He was tempted. Very tempted, even more so when he thought of the most important factor – the quality of Arsenal’s players. It is said that if a group of people hang around each other for long enough, the quality they possess will somehow brush off on each individual. In this case, the quality was obvious; yes, what a squad he could be part of. He didn’t think for one moment that he was being disloyal to Spurs and their fans. He had given them good and loyal service right up to the end of his contract. They had never tried to sit him down, like Dein and Wenger just did. Told him he was wanted. That he was their future. It was the truth. He’s looked back at that time again and again, especially after all the things he’s gone through, and says, with hand on heart, that Spurs never said he was truly wanted. Yes, they made him an offer but they never said, ‘We love you and want to build a team around you.’
‘Whether you believe me or not, they never took that extra yard to keep hold of me.
• • •
‘Well. What do you think?’ Sky asked, as the car drove away from Dein’s home after their first meeting.
‘Yes, it was good. Very good,’ Sol replied.
But first, he had other business to attend to. He was being courted by two of Europe’s most famous clubs: Inter Milan and Barcelona were still pursuing him.
• • •
He did not fly direct to Milan. He had spoken to a friend, ex-Crystal Palace footballer Dean Gordon, who was going to Monaco to attend an event. ‘Come with me to the South of France,’ Dean said. Sol agreed. He could see Monaco for the first time and then go on to Milan, a three-hour drive away.
In Monaco, Sol attended the Laureus World Sports Awards at the Grimaldi Forum hosted by Heidi Klum and Gregory Hines. Tiger Woods and Cathy Freeman won the top awards and anyone who was anyone in the city was invited to an event full of bright summer dresses, with sportsmen looking their best. Before he reached the party, he was in a boat in the harbour when a tender passed by and this massive man shouted out across the water: ‘Hey, Sol!’ ‘I thought, who the hell is this guy?’ says Sol. Later on he bumped into the same man at the Laureus party. He looked at Sol with intense interest and Sol wasn’t sure if he was very interested to introduce himself, very myopic or both. He finally announced he was Paul Kemsley, a new director at Tottenham; just one of life’s coincidences. Kemsley had established a property and securities company, Rock Joint Ventures, with the help of ENIC and Spurs chairman Daniel Levy. Rock was an investor and developer of commercial and residential property. Kemsley told Sol to relax, not to worry about ‘all this transfer stuff’. He would sort it. Too late. Far too late, Sol thought. He felt very calm. He was going somewhere else, to another team, maybe even Inter. Whoever signed him would get one of the best defenders in the world. He had never felt so confident of his talent. Never.
The drive to Milan is uneventful. The weather has remained fine, the roads easy. Finding the Inter corporate offices proves a little more difficult. The GPS at first leads them to the wrong street. Milan is light on traffic; it’s the middle of summer and the Milanese have headed to the seaside, but it doesn’t seem to help Sol navigate a maze of streets. He stops to ask someone the way. He swears he hears the man laugh. Perhaps he’s an AC Milan supporter sending him to the rival offices? They aren’t too far away now. But the traffic lights are red on each block. When you’re in a hurry, they’re always red; when you’re not, they’re green all the way. A policeman holds up his hand and stands poised in the air, like a yogi. It’s all right for him to look so pleased with himself; he’s not in a hurry. Come on, thinks Sol. I don’t want to be late. It is the only time he gets flustered, if he thinks he’s going to be late. Eventually they get there. Dean leaves Sol and drives away. He might have said, ‘Good luck.’ Sol doesn’t remember.
He takes a deep breath and enters the building. He is immediately asked upstairs. There is no waiting. He is meeting Inter’s sporting director, Giuliano Terraneo, and owner, Massimo Morrati, the son of Angelo Morrati who led the famous club through their golden age. Since Massimo took over, he has dreamt of emulating his father’s success. In 2001, he had yet to succeed.
Tall, grey haired, bespectacled and in a dark blue suit, Massimo Morrati is charming, a man who makes an impression without even trying. He welcomes Sol. He offers coffee; the best Sol has tasted in any meeting. He then drinks mineral water, which is poured by the owner h
imself. ‘We shall arrange everything,’ he says; the royal ‘we’, as if anything is possible. He speaks of the history of the club, the scudettos they’ve won, outlining their plans for the future, what action is going to be taken to make his club, our club, great again. He encourages confidence. Sol is tempted. He strokes his chin; he hasn’t shaved. ‘And now you will be taken to our stadium and the training ground.’ He makes for the door but not before Morrati has said, ‘I hope we meet again.’ He acts as if he has just hosted a fine dinner party. Nice man, thinks Sol.
It was the duty of Giuliano Terraneo to take Sol to the San Siro. He leads Sol out into a waiting Mercedes, driver at the ready. The ground is not far. Well, it certainly doesn’t seem far. This time the lights are green all the way. As the car motors through the city to the stadium, Sol gives a passing thought to East Road, to Tottenham, how he has begun to feel wanted by those he has recently met. It’s not a tough science for owners and managers to understand what their top players need; it’s often no more than a little bit of love. Sometimes it’s staring them straight in the face.
‘He asked many questions. He wanted to know everything,’ remembers Terraneo. Sol is guided round the San Siro like a tourist. After visiting the dressing rooms, media room, and executive boxes, he walks onto the pitch. There isn’t a soul in the stadium. No-one marking the pitch, no-one in the stands. A white sun illuminates an utter stillness. He feels totally alone and thinks of the legends who graced this field: the great Italian defender Facchetti, the backbone of La Grande Inter Burgnich, Picci, and Milan’s Baresi and Maldini. The imagination fills what the ears cannot hear. Eighty thousand fans chanting for their heroes, a chorus of cat calls for the opposition. He looks up to the very top tier where surely the fans can hardly see anything going on but just live with the chants of fellow supporters. The vast overhang on one side of the stadium shadows half the pitch. Sol walks away from the shadow and is met by the burning sunlight. He’s suddenly lost in the moment. And then the sprinklers turn on and he wakes from his daydream.
Sol Campbell Page 12