Kevin Kampl's Journey: From Champions League to Farming in Majorca
Kevin Kampl once lived in football’s glare. Champions League lights, Bundesliga title races, the roar of the Red Bull Arena. The sort of stage where players can start to look more like brands than human beings.
His story over the past year has shattered that illusion.
The German‑born midfielder, who chose to represent Slovenia at international level, built a solid, respected career in his homeland. Greuther Fürth gave him a platform, Bayer Leverkusen and Borussia Dortmund showcased his energy and intelligence. But it was at RB Leipzig, from 2017 until early 2026, where he truly became part of the club’s fabric.
Eight and a half years. Multiple European campaigns. A dressing-room constant as Leipzig grew from ambitious project into an established Bundesliga force.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
A brutal year that ended a career
In January 2026, Kampl and RB Leipzig agreed to terminate his contract. No farewell tour, no gentle winding down of minutes, no final lap of honour scripted months in advance.
The reason cut far deeper than football.
Kampl suffered a devastating double loss in Slovenia. His brother died. Months later, his father passed away as well. The grief was too heavy, the emotional toll too great to carry alongside the demands of elite sport. At 35, he chose to walk away.
He did not dress it up. Reflecting on the period, he admitted: “I have had a pretty s*** year – there is no other word for it.” There was no attempt to soften the blow. Just the blunt honesty of someone who had reached his limit.
Football, with all its intensity and scrutiny, suddenly felt like the wrong place to try to heal.
From pressing lines to planting rows
Now, if you want to find Kevin Kampl, you do not look at the Leipzig teamsheet. You look across the fields of Majorca.
He has swapped tactical briefings for irrigation systems, traded training cones for crop rows. The former Champions League midfielder now works as a fruit and vegetable farmer on the island, embracing a life that could not be further from the Red Bull Arena.
“We have honeydew melons, watermelons, tomatoes, onions, peppers, and plenty more,” he told Bild. “They all grow like crazy here. The olive oil we make here tastes delicious.”
It sounds almost surreal: a player once tasked with breaking opposition presses now watching vines and trees instead of defensive lines. Yet for Kampl, the change is not a gimmick. It is a lifeline.
“Life has to go on, even though it has been very difficult to accept everything that has happened,” he said. “But the peace and quiet we have on Majorca has done us all a lot of good.”
The rhythm of his days is different now. No packed stadiums. No weekly judgement. Just the slow, steady work of growing things and, perhaps, piecing himself back together.
Leipzig still feels like home
For all the distance, Kampl has not severed ties with the club that shaped the best years of his career. Leipzig is still in his thoughts, still on his screen.
“I always keep up to date with what RB Leipzig are doing, and I’ll continue to do so,” he said. “I will also be in the city a lot, so who knows what the future might bring.”
That line hangs in the air. It is not a promise, not a hint of a comeback, but it leaves the door ajar. Maybe coaching. Maybe an ambassadorial role. Maybe something entirely different. For now, he is not rushing to define it.
When he walked away in January, he made sure to address the people who had sung his name for nearly a decade. His message to the Leipzig fans read like a farewell letter to a second home.
“Dear fans, first and foremost, I would like to thank you for the eight and a half wonderful years that I was able to play here. You gave me a home,” he said. “I felt so comfortable from day one, also with my family. It [the Red Bull Arena] was my living room.”
It was a line that captured his bond with the club. This was not just another stop on a journeyman’s CV. Leipzig had become part of his identity.
“You have always had my back. We have celebrated successes, we have overcome lows – but always as a unit. I am extremely grateful to you for always seeing me as one of you.”
A different kind of future
Kampl’s story is a sharp reminder that footballers live lives far beyond the touchline. Careers end for tactical reasons, for physical reasons, for contractual reasons. His ended because real life crashed through the dressing-room door and refused to leave.
He is 35, with a new trade, a new pace, and a new landscape around him. The melons and tomatoes in Majorca are now part of his daily work. The roar of Leipzig remains a powerful echo.
He still watches, still cares, still calls the city a place he will visit often.
The boots are packed away. The fields are growing. Somewhere between the two, Kevin Kampl is quietly writing the next chapter.
