I still remember the moment. I was just about to take a nap when the message came through on a group WhatsApp chat.
Diogo Jota was dead.
A car accident. Gone. Just like that.
I didn’t know him personally. Never met him. Only saw him play from the stands and on TV. But I cried. And I wasn’t the only one. All over the world, Liverpool and football fans were rocked by the news.
We weren’t just mourning a player. We were mourning something deeper. Something more human. Sport isn’t life or death. But sometimes, it feels too close.
You often hear people say, “It’s just a game.” And they’re right, until they’re not. Because what sport gives us is far more than 90 minutes of brilliant goals, crunching tackles, inch-perfect passes, and last-gasp winners.
It gives us heroes. Memories. Escape. It gives us hope, especially when life gets hard.
“Corner taken quickly.” Alisson’s header against West Brom. The comeback of all comebacks in Istanbul. The kind that makes you believe in miracles The nights under the lights at Anfield, when belief becomes noise. The anthem that echoes through generations – “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” The list goes on.
And when one of those heroes dies, it shatters the illusion that the people on the pitch are untouchable. Suddenly, they’re not players. They’re sons. Brothers. Fathers. Humans – just like you and me.
Diogo Jota was all of that. And for fans like me, he was always a joy to watch.
There was something about Jota. He wasn’t the loudest or flashiest. But he worked hard. Played smart. Found goals whenever we needed them. “Just bring Jota on.” We’ve all said it. And more often than not, he proved us right.
That comeback moment against Spurs in 2023 will forever remain etched in my mind. And whether it was a fist pump or that iconic gaming controller celebration, every goal felt personal.
You could feel the connection, like he was celebrating not just for himself or the team, but for the fans who lived every moment with him.
And now, he’s gone.
When grief spills beyond the game
Grief in sport is strange. It’s collective but personal. We didn’t lose a friend. But it felt like we did. Maybe it’s because football and sport become intertwined with our lives in ways we don’t even realise.
We wake up at 3am for matches. We scream at the TV. We cry when we make history. We plan weekends and even holiday itineraries around fixtures.
So when someone like Diogo Jota is suddenly taken away, at just 28, we’re not just mourning a player. We’re mourning a part of our identity. A part of our joy.
The community that comes together
In the days after Jota’s death, I watched the tributes pour in. From teammates. From rivals. From fans around the world.
And once again, we were reminded that football is more than rivalry. It’s more than banter, more than league tables, more than trophies.
In moments like this, the game brings us together. It unites strangers in shared grief. It softens the lines between clubs.
Because underneath it all, we’re just people who love the game, and the players who give it meaning.
We go again, but not the same
Football moves fast. The next match comes. The next signing arrives.
Liverpool were riding high as the newly crowned Premier League champions. And now we have a new-look team full of promise, especially with the signing of Florian Wirtz. The excitement is real, especially after watching the pre-season win over Athletic Club.
But as a fan, you can’t help but feel a little guilty.
Because even as we look forward to the new season, the fresh faces and the promise ahead, a part of us can’t help but look back. Still thinking about Jota. Still wishing he were a part of it.
Diogo Jota wasn’t just a name on a team sheet. He was part of the Liverpool story. Part of our story. Our No. 20.
And even though he’s gone, his name and song will be sung. His memory will live on.
Sport isn’t life or death. But sometimes, when we lose someone too soon, it reminds us just how close it can feel. If anything, it reminds us not to take the moments or the people in our lives for granted.
Rest in peace, Jota. You’ll never walk alone.
