Mohamed & Me.

A legend's gone, but maybe it's for the best. If only I could do the same with parts of my own life.

In trying to put across my opinion on sports over the course of my life, and certainly in the year since I’ve tried to make it a career, I’ve had plenty of feedback. Usually, the vast majority of commentary, delivered with great amusement, would be around my complete lack of emotion towards the actual players on my team. Whether it was the likes of Patrick Willis on the 49ers, or Steven Gerrard at Liverpool, I was un-arsed enough at their eventual departures to basically shrug my shoulders.

The way I always saw it, and mostly still do, football, or any sport, is very much a ‘you know when your time’s up’, deal. We can’t escape the effects of time or financial realities, so I never saw much cause to mourn those who decided to move either into retirement or play for another club. Even some of my favourite players, like Roberto Firmino, received something of a Niles Crane-like ‘friendly wave from across the room’ rather than an outpouring of emotion. There were some exceptions, of course, but I’ll come to them.

So why, upon trying to process my feelings about Mohamed Salah leaving Liverpool, did I just feel myself tear up? Was someone who was once described (sports-wise, I’m actually soft as shit personally) as having a ‘heart of flint’ really changing with the times?

Honestly, I don’t know. Like most things in my life in the last few years that have prompted an outpouring of emotion (breakups, heartbreak, health problems, loss of mobility…and so on), I’m not sure I really know how to process it.

I cannot truthfully say the Liverpool team of 2026, on the pitch at least, will miss him; his effectiveness has gradually reduced over the years, sans a ridiculous scoring run twelve months ago that delivered a much-needed title win. In addition, I can’t really say he hasn’t been the target of my ire (along with everyone else in the team, almost) for most of the last twelve months, either. Liverpool have become a slog to watch, and in all fairness, he’s a big part of the reason why. I won’t analyse Liverpool any further than that, if only because a) most people don’t seem to like what I’ve got to say, and b) there’s enough pontificating about it on platforms like this one to fill a battleship.

No, my reaction isn’t about today, or tomorrow (even as I wonder what comes next for Liverpool, given the stasis we’re in)…it’s more about memories. What actually set me off was a discussion on Twitter about the top 5 Salah memories/goals. There are hundreds, of course, but my eyes turned particularly moist when I read this one.

Phil Blundell@PhilBlundell

Top 5 no order City away 17/18 Southampton away 18/19 United home 19/20 City home 21/22 Chelsea home 18/19

7:02 PM · Mar 24, 2026 · 5.48K Views

---

15 Replies · 76 Likes

I like Phil and generally agree with him, and I think, broadly, those five would be high on my list too. But that’s not why I’m having to take pauses typing this. I can mostly tell you where I was for a lot of big moments in Liverpool’s history, but these are perhaps more crystallised than most.

That’s because, when I look at them, they all have some memory attached. It might be one of the last games I watched with my family before I moved to Manchester. It might be the memories of a night out with literally all my friends, one of the best nights I ever had, that made me certain I was right to move here. It might be because it was the goal that made me realise I was finally going to see Liverpool win the league in my lifetime. It might be a memory of screaming my best friend’s place down when he scored a ridiculous goal. Or, finally, it might be the goal that happened when I was with my best friends in the pub, and led to a year’s worth of exclaiming ‘Prophet Mohamed, Salah!’ (We were replacing Jesus Christ. I know it’s a bit on the nose. We liked it. I dunno. It’s our in-joke, go with it, I’m not perfect).

Last visit to Anfield in 2018.

The thing is, it’s actually none of those memories alone that make me tear up. It’s the realisation that it’s now all, as of May, going to be a time long gone. Most of my friends in those stories? I either don’t know them any more, or they moved away. My family? Not to get too maudlin, but each of us is getting older, and the mad dog that knitted it all together has left us. Those pub nights? Rarer and rarer, because I’ve not got the mobility I once had, not since the thing that changed all our lives. As for the league, well, beyond a stirring win last season, which actually prompted me to realise I’d made some great choices in following my dreams (one of which is writing), that looks a long way away.

Again, though, it’s not those things in isolation. It’s just…it feels like the death of something. To see Salah at his best was to see a football immortal, a man at the top of his game, and a man who loved what he did…and his power was to make you feel the same way. For those three heady top-of-the-top years with Salah, Klopp, and the rest, I felt immortal too. I had a friendship group I loved, my mobility was the best it had been, and every day felt like something to be attacked.

Now, years on, I can’t help but see Salah’s departure as my own, final, departure from that track - a bereavement of some of the best times of my life. The end of an era, not that I didn’t see it coming - I may have just not wanted to accept it. And no, I’m not talking about the Liverpool team, although that definitely coloured some people’s analysis this year - I mean, for me.

I know I can never go back to those days. I know Salah suddenly isn’t going to be 27 and in his prime again. I know the chances of us all congregating in Joshua Brooks to get pissed and celebrate have long gone. Just as footballers’ legs go, lives move on, people have kids, people get married, people come, and people go. I guess the problem remains when you’re still stuck there out on the right wing…

It continues a pattern I’ve seen since the end of COVID. I’m not myself anymore. My friends aren’t where I thought they were any more. I don’t hate them for that, or resent them, in the same way I’m understanding why footballers move on and clubs have peaks and troughs - life moves on, and it’s not their fault I didn’t, or couldn’t. In truth, I’d love to live that 2017-2020 utopia for the rest of my life - I could be anything, and despite my cerebral palsy, I could do anything, and I had some of the best people I knew beside me.

I guess I forgot my own maxim and my own emotional coldness. Because, like I said before, time waits for no man. So while I watched Salah scoring goals, winning trophies, and giving me some of the best memories of my life, I was daft enough to think it lasted forever. It didn’t. It couldn’t. But it was one hell of a ride, and it’s worth remembering every moment of it.

I have written this close to the end (I hope) of a depression spiral, and perhaps it’s a form of catharsis? Maybe it will all feel better in a week, month, or year; perhaps new people will come along in my life, new players will explode into the Liverpool team, and it will all feel OK again. And I’d settle for that right now. If I could, though, I’d wish for feeling immortal again. I’d wish for seeing immortals again. Liverpool Football Club has always managed to do it, historically - can I? I damn well hope so.

I’m acutely aware this has veered into very personal territory, and I’m sorry if you were expecting some analysis of Salah and what he meant as a footballer and to me. I think I’ve tried to articulate that as best I can. While it’s not just about me, my feelings, or anything else, I don’t know…I saw the notification on my phone and wanted to have the same reaction as I did to everything else in sports in the past - sadness, but overall indifference. I thought I could again. But I didn’t, and can’t. So I thought I’d write this and see if I felt any better. Let’s find out.

Thanks for everything, Mo. You gave me and thousands of others memories that will outlast us all, and lit up a huge part of my life. To paraphrase Frasier, though, I just wish I knew what to do with the rest of it.