Fabrice Muamba: I'm Still Standing Read online

  To the heroes of my life.

  You know who you are.

  By Fabrice Muamba with Chris Brereton

  © Copyright: Fabrice Muamba

  Cover design: Rick Cooke

  Cover image: Tony Woolliscroft

  Published by Trinity Mirror Sport Media

  Executive Editor: Ken Rogers

  Senior Editor: Steve Hanrahan

  Editor: Paul Dove

  Senior Art Editor: Rick Cooke

  Production: Alan Jewell, James Cleary

  Design: Alison Barkley, Graeme Helliwell

  First Edition

  Published in Great Britain in 2012.

  Published and produced by: Trinity Mirror Sport Media,

  PO Box 48, Old Hall Street, Liverpool L69 3EB.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holders, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequently publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-908319-34-0

  # Acknowledgements

  Thank You

  THANK YOU. Two small words that make all the difference. And two words that will never do justice to the many people who have made sure that I’m still here, alive and well today.

  First and foremost I’d like to thank God for giving me health, happiness and family and for also making sure I received the specialist care I needed to save my life.

  Throughout my existence there have been a lot of challenges and a few ups and downs but at the end of all the adversity I’ve come out stronger than ever.

  I couldn’t have written this book by myself and I’d like to thank the people that have helped make it become a reality. My wife, Shauna Muamba, is the first on that list because she has been there for me from the moment we met. She’s stood by me through thick and thin and she has given me a wonderful son, Joshua Jeremiah Muamba, who is not only my twin but also the love of my life. My love for these two people knows no boundaries and I’m glad I came back to grow older and wiser with them. I’d also like to thank my dad Marcel, mum Christine, step-mum Gertrude, Uncle Paul, Aunty Fifi, Hugo and my mother-in-law Marva Lashley for taking care of Joshua throughout that trying time back in March.

  Eddie Kadi, Henri Bruno, Rashid Kamara, Johan Djourou (my brother from another mother), Thierry Henry aka Dikembe, David Bucho, Ike, Dr Mohiddin, Dr Deaner, Professor Schilling, Dr Tobin, all the doctors from Tottenham Hotspur, all the paramedics and ambulance staff, plus everybody who helped me at the London Chest Hospital and St Barts Hospital, also deserve a mention.

  This entire book is a tribute to the amazing work that goes on in hospitals across the country every single day. I remain amazed by just how brilliant you all are. God has put all these people in my life for a reason and I love them and thank them from the bottom of my heart.

  Football has been a huge part of my life and I’ve had the privilege to play with some of the best players in the world. I would like to thank Arsene Wenger for giving me the opportunity to play professional football with Arsenal and all the members of the club who encouraged and supported me.

  Also, anyone connected to football – whether I trained with you, had a massage from you or just spoke with you – thank you for the experiences gained, they all collectively helped me become a better player and a better human being.

  Bolton Wanderers is my club and they have been so supportive of me in my time of need especially the chairman Phil Gartside, owner of the football club Eddie Davies, Owen Coyle and the management team and staff that were employed at the club at the time.

  Key Sports Management also deserve a mention as they’ve ensured that my career has progressed over the years. My agent Warwick Horton is someone I’m forever indebted to for all that he’s done for me, for his advice, guidance and for managing every situation brilliantly.

  Lastly I have to mention Chris Brereton who spent many hours with me not only writing this book but getting to know my family and I. Thank you for writing my story the way I wanted it to be told.

  God has blessed me and helped me in so many ways. I thank every person who prayed for me when my situation seemed to be so hopeless.

  Life is a precious thing – one moment you’re up, one moment you’re down, but in spite of all this, remember God loves you and he will never leave you even in times of trouble. It’s part of his master plan so just have faith.

  Be inspired by this book, focus on your goals and you can achieve anything. God bless you all.

  Fabrice Muamba, October 2012

  WHEN Fabrice died, I was sipping a pint in a Bangkok bar.

  At the time I was working on the sports desk at the Bangkok Post newspaper and I, like everybody else, was desperate for information, desperate to know what had happened and what would happen. I went to bed that night fully expecting to read his obituary by the morning. It stayed that way for what felt like months.

  From a professional point of view it was grim – deaths belong at the front of a newspaper not the back – and personally it was also a strange time. I was no different to the rest of the world, in journalism and elsewhere, who were hoping this young man would recover.

  As time went on and Fabrice improved, I got the opportunity to return to the UK for a position with Trinity Mirror Sport Media.

  I started the same week Fabrice announced his retirement.

  In the middle of August – on my third day with the company and fifth day in the country – Steve Hanrahan, my senior editor, walked over and asked me a ridiculous question.

  “Have you ever written an autobiography in six weeks?”

  “No,” was the obvious and accurate response.

  I was told that talks had started with Fabrice and that I might be involved in some way. But writing a book in six weeks? From start to finish? That’s impossible.

  We did it in five.

  Trust me, Fabrice isn’t the only one scratching his head wondering about the twists and turns that life can take...

  He is a tremendous guy. Everything you’ve already heard about him already is 100 per cent accurate. Humble, intelligent, polite, quiet and funny – he is the complete opposite of what you consider to be the average Premier League footballer. He is a man who clearly enjoys life, even more so now for obvious reasons, and he is hugely devoted to Shauna and Joshua, who are equally as passionate and caring about him in return.

  Fabrice’s life was an incredible tale before White Hart Lane even happened and helping him, in however small a role, since that time has been a pleasure, an honour and a great experience.

  He is the first person I need to thank but certainly not the last.

  Firstly, the entire team at Sport Media have been incredible in ensuring this book exists. The strict deadlines, which often threatened to send my head into an eternal spin, were managed beautifully by this brilliant and experienced crew.

  Without wishing to pick out too many individuals, Ken Rogers, Will Beedles and, especially, Paul Dove and the aforementioned Steve have poured their time and expertise into what you are about to read. This book just wouldn’t be here without them. It’s as simple as that and to witness the way they’ve helped turn the raw product into the finished article is something I remain in awe of.

  Jonathan Northcroft, Greg O’Keeffe, Robin Brown and Rory Smith also warrant a mention for the frequent times I’ve needed advice, a set of fresh eyes or both. They are all fine journalists and good friends. All the above helped keep me on track, as did M
ark Boyns, who read the draft and chipped in with new ideas and suggestions.

  Additionally, Dr Tobin, Owen Coyle, Phil Mason and Mark Alderton at Bolton Wanderers, Dr Deaner, Dr Mohiddin, Professor Schilling, Angela Boon and Hayley Burwell at Barts Health NHS Trust and Peter Fisher and Alistair Drummond from the London Ambulance Service have all been supportive in helping me fill in the gaps of what happened on that day back in March. Many thanks to them all. I must also applaud Arsenal’s Steve Leonard and Dan Tolhurst for all their assistance in talking me through Fabrice’s time at the club.

  Fabrice’s wife, Shauna, has also been a wonderful help and someone who deserves a huge amount of thanks and recognition. As this book shows, the role she played in Fabrice’s recovery was so important and her strength, then and now, is a lesson to us all.

  Lastly, and most importantly, I want to praise my family for all that they are and all they have been. When you spend many hours interviewing a young man about what dying does to your perspective on life, it cannot help but make you consider your own thoughts on what counts. In my case it has just confirmed what I’ve always known to be true: I’m the luckiest man alive, including Fabrice himself.

  I will never be able to truly express my gratitude for the wonderful start to life that I’ve had and the unconditional love and support received from my mum Mary, dad Steve, sister Cassie plus all four of my grandparents, all of whom I’ve been lucky enough to know and grow up around. It’s been a blast. May it long continue.

  Chris Brereton, October 2012

  # Introduction

  My Life Story

  I KNOW why you’re reading this. Don’t worry, I’d be doing the same if I was you.

  In the same way that the motorway is jammed for miles and miles when there is a crash, and everybody slows down to take a look when they pass the scene, I know that my collapse and everything that followed was pretty strange and unique. It’s only natural to want to know more when something shocking happens. It’s human nature.

  Yet when there is a crash on the motorway only a few people really see it. When I died, everybody was watching – the match was broadcast on television and the instant media reaction meant my story went around the world before I was even stretchered off. As a result I have no issue at all with people knowing who I am and being interested in my life solely because of those crazy moments at White Hart Lane. People were shocked and stunned by what happened. They weren’t the only ones.

  I’d always intended on writing a book because I felt that my life story was far more interesting than most professional footballers’. I won’t lie and claim that I planned on sorting one out in these circumstances or quite so soon. I fancied a decent read about 15 years from now where you would read the Fabrice Muamba story on the back of a career full of England caps and silverware. However, life had other things in store for me.

  I never dreamt, not in a million years, that I would be the centre of a story like this. I shouldn’t really be here. I cannot believe I’m still here. God has his own plans for each and every one of us but it’s still hard to understand what I’ve been through.

  How does a fit 23-year-old Premier League footballer, who has never had any previous health scares or career-threatening injuries, end up face down and dying in front of thousands of people in a stadium? Then, unbelievably, why does his heart start working 78 minutes later? How can he be lucky enough to have some of the country’s best medics working on him within seconds of collapsing?

  Why did this happen to me?

  How did I survive?

  How did I come back?

  The questions go on and on and on but I don’t mind any of them. I also have no problem in people mentioning the “D” word either. Some think I will be offended if they ask me whether I believe I actually died or not.

  In my eyes, I was dead. Beyond hope. Gone.

  The medical world might see it slightly differently, claiming

  instead that I just stopped breathing and had no heart output, but if that isn’t a definition of “dead”, then I don’t know what is! That is dead in my book – the one you’re reading now – and I want to make that as clear as can be.

  When I woke up on that cold March morning, even in my wildest imagination I would never have been able to foresee the amazing chain of events that would unfold. That my life would pretty much end... but yet I would still survive.

  And, of course, my story isn’t finished there.

  Coming back was just the start for me. The road to recovery would be a long and winding one. Adapting to a new future, with targets to strive for, potential pitfalls to avoid and obstacles to overcome, wouldn’t always be easy. I came to realise that the life I formerly knew would change forever. I had to find the courage to change with it, the inner strength to believe that I could be a new Fabrice Muamba. The same, only different. Reborn.

  But I’m still here. I’m still standing.

  #1

  Judgement Day

  MARCH 17, 2012. This is it. This is my chance. The drizzle falls from the skies as we emerge from the tunnel. The thrill of matchday. The sense of expectation. Everything I’ve ever wanted, it’s all here in this moment. The chance to show what I can do, to be a professional footballer.

  We walk out in our team lines. Bolton in black, Spurs in white. The fans rise from their seats and clap, songs echo out from pockets in the stands. This is it. Under the lights and on Saturday night television. The cameras follow our every move as we step on to the pitch that is crisp and moist with the rain, perfect for passing.

  I glance up at the big screen that is built into the stand at one end of the ground. A full house at White Hart Lane.

  We are one game from Wembley. It will be tough, no doubt about it. It’s a hard draw but we’re in the last eight of the Cup, the FA Cup. The trophy that every boy who loves football dreams of winning.

  The week leading up to the game has been the same as any other. I am feeling really great, just the usual Fabrice. An easy going and normal guy who gets on with his job. If anyone wants anything doing – for the team or for a mate or whoever – then I’ll happily get on with it and do it. I don’t think there’s anything special about me.

  But I’ll be honest. The season hasn’t been easy. Not everything has gone according to plan, not for me or Bolton. We’ve struggled for results and I haven’t been a regular in the side. I’ve been in and out of the starting line-up, which is frustrating. My last start was against Chelsea at Stamford Bridge on February 25 and they taught us a lesson, beating us 3-0. After that, I sat on the bench for the defeat to Manchester City a week later before again coming on as a substitute when we beat QPR. No player wants to be dropped and I’m the same. The Spurs game is a chance, my chance, to get back into the team and keep my place.

  So I’m looking forward to the trip. The FA Cup will be a welcome break from the league, and a chance to dream of playing at Wembley again. It’s a special place and a special competition. Don’t believe the doubters who say the FA Cup is not what it was. There is no better feeling than playing at Wembley.

  Sometimes you get an idea of what the team selection will be well before the weekend and on the Thursday before the game there is a huge hint that the gaffer Owen Coyle will be making changes from the side that has just beaten QPR. My hopes are up that I will be getting the nod. Without anything official being said, Coyle makes it clear that I’m in. In my head I start to prepare myself for the game. I’m feeling physically sharp and mentally fine.

  I go home after training and follow the usual routine. I pray for God to give me the confidence to play and do well. I speak to my dad, Marcel, and we agree that we will speak again in the morning. As far as I’m concerned, everything is looking great. I have nothing to worry about, nothing to be stressed about, nothing to fear.

  That night, I pack my bag for the trip to London. Before an away game on a Saturday I always sort my travel stuff on a Thursday night. I can’t be bothered doing it on a Friday as it’s usually a
full and busy day. It’s much better if it’s ready before we set off for wherever we are playing. One less thing to have on your mind ahead of a game. I spend the rest of the evening getting prepared before another typical ‘me’ night – relaxed, chilled, stress-free.

  #####

  I get up on Friday and follow my usual routine. Nothing out of the ordinary. I have my Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, pray with my partner, Shauna, and set off for the training ground where I can prepare for the game.

  I do have another role on away journeys – I’m the chief food organiser. Shauna has her own catering service and some of the boys order from her on a regular basis. And for a good reason. I might be biased but her cooking is amazing. The boys ring her up, get her to cook them some of her Caribbean classics – her jerk chicken is the best in the world – and then it’s my job to take it with me so the boys can enjoy it on the train. Chicken, rice and peas, plantain – they will eat anything they can get their hands on. You should see them. They absolutely love it. On that Friday, Zat Knight, Darren Pratley, Nigel Reo-Coker, Ivan Klasnic and me all had enough to keep us going on the journey. When they’re eating Shauna’s magic it’s the only time they’re quiet. You can ask anyone from Rio Ferdinand to Emile Heskey – they all get their food from Shauna.

  So after getting home from training I pick up the food orders and get a lift to Stockport station from Shauna.

  I’m feeling good. Nothing is wrong. All is well. Just another Friday before matchday. Getting myself ready. Preparing. Making sure I’m in the right frame of mind, all set to do what I do best: play football, live my dream.

  We get to Euston at about 4pm after our usual journey. A couple of hours full of chat, banter, card playing and ribbing. It’s the same in any football club all over the world. We’re having a laugh and a joke because life is good. We’re on our way to play a game of football, so how can we not be happy?

  I sit with Ivan Klasnic. He’s a good guy. He is such a character and he is very... how shall I put this? Very German! He says what he thinks and he says it up front. I like that. I see a different side to him than most in football, so I know him well. I have loads of mates in football and many of them are like Ivan – two different people; the guy on the pitch and the guy off it.