Kevin Kampl’s Journey: From RB Leipzig to Farming in Majorca

For nearly a decade, Kevin Kampl lived inside the noise. Champions League nights, title pushes, the constant hum of expectation at RB Leipzig. The kind of stage that makes players look untouchable, almost fictional.

Then reality hit him harder than any tackle.

Kampl, German-born but a proud Slovenia international, walked away from the game in January 2026. No farewell tour, no drawn-out goodbye. Just a mutual agreement with RB Leipzig to terminate his contract and a decision that football, for once, had to come second.

The reason was brutally simple. And human.

In Slovenia, his brother died. Months later, his father passed away as well. A double loss that ripped through the 35-year-old’s life and left the rhythm of training sessions, matchdays and recovery cycles feeling meaningless.

He couldn’t carry on. So he didn’t.

This is a player who built his career in Germany, climbing through Greuther Fürth, Bayer Leverkusen and Borussia Dortmund before truly finding his place at RB Leipzig. From 2017 to 2026 he became part of the club’s identity, a fixture in midfield, a reference point in a side that grew into a Bundesliga force.

For Leipzig fans, Kampl wasn’t just another signing. He was there through the highs and the dips, through early doubts about the club’s project and into an era where they regularly challenged the established order. He became, in his own words, at home.

But when life collapsed, the stadium that had felt like a living room suddenly wasn’t enough.

A Different Kind of Field

Today, you’re more likely to find Kampl among rows of crops than pressing an opposition midfielder. He now works as a vegetable and fruit farmer in Majorca, embracing a life that couldn’t be further removed from the glare of elite football.

“We have honeydew melons, watermelons, tomatoes, onions, peppers, and plenty more,” he told Bild, painting a picture of abundance rather than absence. The produce grows fast, wild almost, in the Mediterranean sun. The olive oil they make there, he says, tastes “delicious”.

It hasn’t been a romantic escape from reality. Kampl calls the past year what it was: “pretty s*** – there is no other word for it.” No dressing it up, no soft edges. Just honesty from a man who has spent months trying to process the unthinkable.

“Life has to go on, even though it has been very difficult to accept everything that has happened,” he added. The key, for him and his family, has been the quiet. “The peace and quiet we have on Majorca has done us all a lot of good.”

From the roar of the Red Bull Arena to the stillness of a Majorcan morning. From tactical meetings to irrigation systems. The contrast is stark, but Kampl has leaned into it rather than running from it.

Still Tied to Leipzig

Even as he trades boots for work gloves, Kampl hasn’t cut the cord with Leipzig. Far from it.

“I always keep up to date with what RB Leipzig are doing, and I’ll continue to do so,” he said. He still sees the club as part of his life, not just his past. “I will also be in the city a lot, so who knows what the future might bring.”

Those last words hang in the air. Not a promise, not a plan, but an opening. A hint that the relationship between Kampl and Leipzig isn’t finished, just paused while he rebuilds himself away from the touchline.

When he announced his departure earlier this year, his message to the fans underlined how deep that bond runs.

“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. It wasn’t the language of a player passing through; it was someone speaking about a place that anchored him.

“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 lines read less like a goodbye and more like a letter from someone stepping away to breathe.

What Comes Next?

Kampl’s story slices through the illusion that top-level footballers exist in a different universe. One season you’re preparing for another tilt at Europe. The next, grief drags you out of the game entirely and you’re learning how to coax life from soil instead of dictating tempo in midfield.

He has swapped the chaos of the fixture list for the rhythm of the land. The applause of 40,000 for the quiet satisfaction of a good harvest. Yet his eyes remain fixed, at least partly, on Leipzig.

The club that became his home still plays on without him. The question now is not whether he will play again – that chapter appears closed – but whether, one day, the man tending melons and olives in Majorca might return in a different role, carrying with him a perspective forged far beyond the white lines.