Kevin Kampl's Journey from Football to Farming in Majorca

Kevin Kampl’s story was never meant to end in a melon field on Majorca. Yet that is exactly where you’ll find him now: boots traded for work gloves, the roar of the Red Bull Arena swapped for the quiet hum of island life.

For years, Kampl was one of those familiar faces you almost took for granted on a Bundesliga team sheet. German-born, Slovenian international, a midfielder who stitched games together rather than chased headlines. Greuther Fürth, Bayer Leverkusen, Borussia Dortmund – solid steps on a steady climb.

But it was RB Leipzig that truly became his footballing home. He arrived in 2017, stayed until 2026, and left as one of the club’s defining figures of the modern era. Eight and a half years in a project built on constant change is an eternity. Kampl wasn’t just part of the furniture. He was part of the foundations.

Then, in January 2026, it stopped. Not wound down. Stopped.

In the early days of the new year, Leipzig and Kampl agreed to terminate his contract. No farewell tour, no long goodbye, no carefully curated last dance. Just an abrupt full stop to a career that still had miles left in the legs.

The reason lay far from Saxony. Back in Slovenia, his world had been ripped apart. First, his brother died. Months later, his father passed away as well. Two hammer blows in quick succession. For a 35-year-old who had spent a lifetime in the rhythm of training grounds and stadiums, the losses cut deeper than any injury.

Football, in that moment, became impossible.

Kampl chose to walk away. Not to another league, not to a lesser role, not to a bench somewhere to wind down the clock. He left the sport completely.

Today, his days are measured in sunlight and soil, not minutes and matches. On Majorca, he has thrown himself into a new life as a fruit and vegetable farmer. It sounds like a cliché until you hear the detail.

“We have honeydew melons, watermelons, tomatoes, onions, peppers, and plenty more,” he told Bild, painting a picture that feels a world away from Champions League nights. The crops, he says, “grow like crazy” in the island climate. The olive oil they produce “tastes delicious”.

Then comes the line that snaps you back to the reality behind the idyll.

“I have had a pretty s*** year – there is no other word for it.”

There is no attempt to dress it up. No gloss. Just a man who has lived through the kind of grief that rearranges your entire sense of what matters.

“Life has to go on, even though it has been very difficult to accept everything that has happened,” he admits. “But the peace and quiet we have on Majorca has done us all a lot of good.”

The contrast could hardly be sharper. From the choreographed chaos of the Bundesliga to the slow, stubborn work of nurturing land. From pressing traps to planting seasons. From tactical instructions to irrigation systems.

Yet football has not disappeared from his life. It never really does for players who have given that much of themselves to the game.

“I always keep up to date with what RB Leipzig are doing, and I’ll continue to do so,” he says. He talks about being in the city often. There is a hint of something unresolved there, a door he refuses to close. “Who knows what the future might bring.”

If Leipzig was his professional anchor, the bond ran both ways. When he announced his departure, Kampl addressed the supporters with the kind of sincerity you rarely see in the era of media-trained statements.

“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.

“I felt so comfortable from day one, also with my family. It [the Red Bull Arena] was my living room. 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.”

Those aren’t the words of a player simply ticking off a farewell obligation. They sound like someone who knows that a part of him will always belong to that stadium, those colours, that noise.

The game moves on quickly. Leipzig will sign new midfielders, build new teams, chase new targets. But somewhere on Majorca, between rows of melons and tomatoes, one of their modern pillars is quietly rebuilding his life, step by step, season by season.

He has left football. He has not left RB Leipzig.

And if he ever does swap the fields back for the touchline, you sense the club he still calls “home” will be waiting.