Fabrice Muamba: I'm Still Standing Page 7
Nicklas had a car and it started me thinking that I would like that. Now that I had a bit of money I started to think differently. But don’t underestimate how hard I had worked to get there.
I didn’t pay rent but I did give my step-mum money for Daniel and also my step-sister Rachel who had also been born by this time. I was their older brother, so I wanted them to be ok, even though I wasn’t earning much.
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Dr Deaner has been on the White Hart Lane turf before, once during a charity bike ride five years ago with West Ham chef Keith Ross, a former patient, and once during a corporate day at the ground.
He could never have imagined that his hat-trick of appearances would be spent trying to bring a footballer back to life.
“I’m a cardiologist, can I help, have you got a line in?” he shouts as he approaches those working away on me. He feels stupid, stood there in his beige jacket and cycling trousers, but this is not the time to be self-conscious.
Both club doctors tell him that no drug line has yet been set up but that one will be put in place as soon as possible. At this moment in time nobody knows who this guy is, nobody can let him get hands-on just in case he’s a nutcase. The last thing I need now is some crazy attention seeker making me more screwed than I am already. Who knew being dead could be so complicated?
For now, Dr Tobin is my lungs and Dr Mughal is my heart as I’m lost under a bunch of bright yellow jackets and team kit.
Peter, Dr Tobin, Dr Mughal, Geoff and Mitch have been joined by Nishal Juggessur, Richard Ferro, David Moran, Richard Mandy, Bill Halpenny, Terry Bourke and Paul Moran from X9 who have brought on all the equipment they can carry. It’s like something off the telly as they begin to prepare the scoop stretcher in case I need to be quickly moved.
Peter, Mitch and Geoff keep supervising the AED machine, making sure the wiring and my oxygen tubes are all safely connected and working freely.
Dying because of a faulty piece of equipment is a big concern to these professionals – they all think I can be brought back, but only if they can keep the AED working properly.
‘Don’t die because of a malfunction,’ Dr Tobin says to himself, his mind so focused on the job at hand that he isn’t yet worried about my long-term prospects.
Other people are doing his worrying for him, including the players from both teams, as Webb begins to take control of the football side of things.
He consults his assistant referees Peter Kirkup and Michael Mullarkey as well as fourth official Chris Foy.
Along with Kirkup and Mullarkey, he has a quick chat with Spurs players Scott Parker, Ryan Nelsen and Rafael van der Vaart, as well as our captain Reo-Coker, and they all make it obvious that the players should leave the field as soon as possible.
They are not the only ones who need to move. I cannot stay here for the rest of the night. For the rest of my life. If I am to survive this then I need a hospital bed, not a football field.
Have you ever carried a big wardrobe or a couch or a bed? Of course you have. And I bet you didn’t do it in silence either did you?
It was no different as those around me prepare to carry me off.
Dr Tobin shouts “ready, brace, roll” and I’m shifted to my left as the first part of the scoop stretcher is placed underneath me. He then repeats the shout as everyone involved rolls me to my right. My head twists and my cheek briefly touches the cold turf as the second part of the scoop is put in place and clicked together with the first.
I’m lifted and placed into a bigger and more secure stretcher. Just six minutes and 43 seconds after hitting the ground I’m on my way. But it’s not easy. Three men on each side of the stretcher means 12 individual legs are at risk of getting tangled, 12 hands are grabbing at the edges, six minds all hope and pray that if I am dropped it isn’t their fault.
“Steady... steady... slower... move to the left Pete... watch your back there... that’s it... we’re doing ok... ok, keep moving straight ahead,” instructions and guidance fly in from all over the place as everyone concentrates on getting me safely off the pitch. Everyone is drenched in sweat while also juggling the oxygen kits and defibrillator equipment that are so important if I’m to survive.
As I’m moved towards the side of the pitch, Dr Mughal continues the constant chest compressions, refusing to stop, even for a second. There are many heroes out here and none bigger than him.
Imagine carrying that wardrobe, on a slippery surface, as someone stands virtually on top of it pressing down repeatedly. Then imagine doing it in front of half of London in person and most of the world on telly. Well, that is what is happening right now.
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Although this time in my life was great I continued to only have rare contact with mum. She wasn’t mentioned much in the house by dad or Gertrude and I didn’t want to bring her up in case it caused any frictions. Again, I lost touch with her for a while before I managed to get hold of her number.
I was so mad when I put the phone back down. Her conditions had got worse, she had moved even further from the nice side of Kinshasa to the real poor area. Tears flowed and I couldn’t stop them. It was then that I made my mind up. I said out loud “I will do whatever it takes to see her, to make her life better.” It was so difficult to hear how upset she was. In my head I thought people were hiding mum and her situation from me. She didn’t know I was getting paid at Arsenal at all – that’s how long it was since we had spoken.
I decided to start taking care of her. Behind dad’s back I applied for a Western Union account and moved as much money to her as I could. Rashid showed me how to set up my account and took care of it all and I started sending her whatever I could afford. What can I say? I’m a mummy’s boy. I wanted to make my mum happy.
God forgive me for saying this but in order to look after the woman who raised me, I also started selling my free Arsenal matchday tickets. I knew this was against the rules. I knew if I got busted I was on my way out of the YTS system super-fast. I knew a million people would feel let down.
But as far as I could see, mum needed the cash more than I did. Remember Arsenal v Manchester United, February 1, 2005? It was best remembered for the kick-off before the kick-off when Vieira and Roy Keane had a fight in the tunnel. I remember it for making the most money ever on a ticket. Someone paid me £500 – £500! – for a seat right behind the very same tunnel.
An hour and a half before the game I stood outside Arsenal tube stop, praying nobody would recognise me, shifting about in the shadows, when this guy offered me that much. The place was rammed with people on the way to the match – I couldn’t fail to sell my ticket and I knew it. I also knew it was wrong but who could turn down that sort of cash? I had covered up anything I was wearing that could link me to the club but what if a youth team fan walked past? It was a gamble but I knew it was one I had to take.
In that split second I was on the verge of throwing my entire future down the drain. It would take someone 10 seconds to bust me if they knew who I was. I knew I was letting down everyone who had looked after me and shown such care and dedication in trying to help me make it but when it came down to what matters all that was forgotten, especially as I flicked through the fat wad of £20 notes in my hand, counting it over and over again, thinking about how much it could help mum. I only sold tickets when I really needed to and I didn’t ever spend any of the money on me.
I’d seen worse things in my life than this. Mum was in a worse place than me so it was what I had to do.
And I would do it again now if I needed to.
Eventually I got hold of a picture of mum and I was really shocked. She had lost so much weight. It just wasn’t right for her to be suffering like this, so I tried to help when I could.
At the end of my first year in the YTS I set myself the aim of making my debut and I knew the Carling Cup was the way.
By this time I’d started playing some reserve games for Neil Banfield. He was so hard on us but not in a bad way. We respected him. He
was only tough on me because he wanted the best for us all. I’d watched guys making their debuts in the Carling Cup and that was now my goal. I was used to playing by now, I was up to speed and had the confidence and motivation to try and make it.
Also, I now saw the first team every day and that was important. I had lost my fear of the wider group. I was tall and gangly and stood out a bit so people noticed me and that helped me grow. When you do something every day rather than just a couple of times a week you can improve so quickly and football is no different. I grew stronger, my skills kept sharpening and I had more hunger than anyone I could see. This was what I was meant to be doing with my life. I was getting paid to hang around close to the Arsenal first team, watching guys like Robert Pires at the peak of their powers, trying to become them, to muscle my way into that universe.
You can’t help but change as a person either. Quincy dressed like a model, he was draped in Dolce and Gabbana and Versace all the time and he looked really slick. Nicklas wasn’t far behind. I hate to say it, but he can really put some clothes together. So different guys brought different styles and you wanted to try and keep up with that.
As well as being looked after by Liam and Neil, Steve Bould was also a massive influence as our coach. He was and is an Arsenal great and I learned so much from him. For a while, I was having trouble heading the ball so one cold day, on a deserted side pitch, he took me to one side and wouldn’t let me leave until I’d nailed it. That man can head a ball! He showed me what he wanted me to do and when he headed this ball from near the edge of the box it kept on sailing until it landed just this side of the halfway line. Talk about leading by example. He helped sort me out and I was soon back to my best.
Then one day I was asked to train with the first team on a Sunday. Training on a Sunday seemed a bit strange and before I knew it I had been picked for our Carling Cup game against Sunderland at the Stadium of Light that week.
Pat Rice told me I was going to be involved after training. He took me to one side and announced the good news. I was so excited. I walked around trying to act cool, trying not to scream out loud. I just mumbled my thanks to Pat and got out of there as fast as possible so I could shout and dance. My step-mum and dad were very proud. We prayed together and I went straight upstairs into my room. I didn’t do anything at all. I wouldn’t leave the house or answer my phone. What if I got hit by a bus going for a walk? What if my mobile blew up in my hand? I couldn’t risk it! I sat upstairs as the clock ticked down to the most exciting day of my life. Fabrice Muamba – First Team Footballer. Wow.
We took a private plane up north and I thought to myself that I needed to get hooked on this life. How had all this come by? How had it happened? It was all so much against the odds. I was on a private plane about to play for a Premier League club!
We got to the hotel and Arsene announced his team. I was starting. Amazing. I spoke to dad and he told me to do my best. We prayed together. I must have prayed about 10 times that day.
Sol Campbell and all the guys patted me on the back and told me I would be fine. Arsene just told me to keep passing the ball forward. He was concerned that I was passing the ball sideways far too much and he wanted me to keep the side moving towards their goal.
It was all so different. I walked into the dressing room with my kitbag tucked under my arm for the match and there it was – MUAMBA 44 – I can still see the shirt now. This is what I had worked so hard for. The nerves started to kick in as we started to warm up. And boy, let me tell you, did we need a warm-up. Sunderland is proper up north, it was October 2005 and it was freezing.
The noise when we walked out for the game was incredible. This was the big time, Arsene had already wished us good luck so there was nothing left but to go for it. Show everyone that I deserved to be here. A life already crammed full of adventure and a lot of tears was turning out great. I was so humbled to be playing and so grateful to get the chance.
When you watch the game on TV it’s so different to being out there. For me I wanted to get a big tackle in so I would feel comfortable and I got Steven Caldwell early on and after that I felt like I could then start playing.
When they attacked the noise was crazy. Like being stood in the middle of a hurricane. I remember thinking: ‘What is going on with all this noise?’ We won 3-0 and it was simply a wonderful experience. I was hooked. After the game my Facebook page was going crazy and I had texts from everyone saying: ‘Fab, you’re in there now!’ but I tried to remain calm. Let’s play 25 games a season before we all get carried away. We flew back home and I got in late. I couldn’t sleep until about 4am. My phone was melting with messages and all of a sudden girls are interested in me from all angles! I thought I was a player – in more ways than one!
Soon after the Sunderland win I played my first game at home when we beat Reading 3-0 in the Carling Cup and that was enough to convince Liam to offer me a professional contract rather than keep me on the YTS scheme.
I was agent-less and clueless so I knew I needed a bit of help and Warwick was the right man to show me what was what. He’s done an amazing job for me. Arsenal offered me a two-year professional contract on top of the half a year I still had left to run on my original YTS deal.
I went from £90 a week to £700 a week plus a £20,000 signing-on bonus! £90 a week had made me do cartwheels so you can imagine what that kind of money did. Crazy, crazy, crazy. I kept sending some to mum, I gave dad some too and life was good. But then I did something really stupid.
Because I had played for the first team, I got a bit big time-ish. When we played Brentford in the FA Youth Cup, it went to penalties and I felt cocky enough to take one. I felt even cockier running up, so I tried to chip the ball down the middle. You’ve never seen a worse penalty. This ball sailed miles over the bar and we ended up losing. Oh my God. Oh. My. God.
The next day Liam called us all into his office and had a go at all of us. He saved an extra bit for me.
“What WERE you thinking?” he growled. “Please, just tell me Fabrice, tell me just what you were thinking?” The advice continued. “Next time don’t bother being clever,” Liam said. “Just pass the ball into the net.” It was a good lesson learned.
If that wasn’t enough, shortly afterwards Thierry gave me another reminder of who were the real men about the place. Arsenal were playing Portsmouth at home and Thierry got a penalty... and chipped it over the keeper. Everyone had heard about my nightmare, so he went running off around Highbury trying to find me in the stands, looking for the spot where the younger boys sat, pointing to his eye letting me know that the goal was for me! Liam looked at me and called me something unrepeatable. When I see him now we always laugh about it but at the time it was so embarrassing.
Liam was brilliant for us. He was the best mentor any of us had. We lost against Southampton in one game – and they were a decent side with Theo Walcott running the show – but Liam wouldn’t have it. He tore into us again. He wanted us to learn responsibility and to take responsibility on the pitch. He pushed us hard, the only way it should be.
The professional contract changed a few things in the sense I now didn’t have to start training until 9am rather than 8am. But the little perks didn’t hide the fact that the intensity went up massively and even though I wasn’t getting first team chances I felt I was in the right place to develop my game. Arsenal were a wonderful side and the facilities were out of this world. I was training with some of the best players on the planet.
I felt my time would come. I was still young and I was getting stronger. It was just a matter of staying confident and patient.
#7
On The Move
I’M carried past William Gallas who drops to one knee and prays.Bolton chairman Phil Gartside meets Webb at the edge of the pitch, as stunned as everyone else, searching for answers, searching for a way out of this mess.
Owen and Spurs boss Harry Redknapp have a touchline conference with Webb, Foy and players from both sides.
“We can’t play this game now,” Owen says to Harry. “My guys need to know how Fabrice is.”
“Owen, Owen, I’ll do whatever you need, whatever you need,” Harry replies. From the moment I collapse Spurs are with me every inch of the way.
Harry will ring Owen every day until I’m discharged, checking on my condition, checking that Bolton don’t need anything doing. He is one of many I will never be able to repay in full for his kindness. Owen didn’t see me fall, he just looked back across and saw me on the ground. He doesn’t know what is going on, all he does know is that the sound of both sets of supporters singing my name is making the hairs on his neck stand up.
FABRICE MUAMBA! FABRICE MUAMBA!
FABRICE MUAMBA! FABRICE MUAMBA!
He is a devout Roman Catholic and he begins to say his own prayers, prayers that are far more important than any team talk.
“Let him live, let him be well,” he says to himself. Pull through.
The game looks like it will be cancelled. How could it not be?
A 23-year-old is dying live on television.
I finally leave the arena, an unrecognisable shape lost among bright yellow coats, overworked doctors, incredible paramedics, devastated footballers, shocked officials, heartbroken fans.
The last sound as I’m carried down the White Hart Lane tunnel is the applause from both sets of supporters. The noise is ringing in everyone’s ears.
I wish I’d been around to hear it.
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At Arsenal, not everything was going according to plan. Nailing down a regular first team place was not easy. By the end of the 2005-06 season, any chances of breaking through seemed to be slim and Warwick advised me that it was time to start thinking about moving on loan. I was 18 by now and it was time to get out there. A loan spell meant I could still remain an Arsenal player while also getting some game time in.