In Liverpool’s match against Wolves last night, Diogo Jota’s widow and their children watched the game on the spot, and their two children entered the field as ball boys before the match. Both Liverpool and Wolves paid tribute to Jota in this game. Former Liverpool manager Jürgen Klopp wrote a long emotional article in a British newspaper to deeply mourn Jota.
Jürgen Klopp Remembers Jota
— Jürgen Klopp
Diogo Jota. Every time I say or hear this name, I still smile. To be honest, it brings a bright smile to my face. It’s affection, it’s admiration, it’s love.
I know it’s contradictory. Thinking of Diogo makes me happy, because losing him, and losing him in that way, is incomprehensible. It’s so cruel, a pain I still feel today. At moments like this, even those who believe in a greater purpose, a higher meaning—people like me, people like Diogo—can’t help but ask: Why Diogo? Why now? Why in this way?
I still believe, but moments like this test that belief. The only way I can understand it even a little is to hold fast to this truth: Great sorrow is the price we pay for great love. From Diogo’s closest family to his supporters around the world, you can see how deeply loved he and his brother André Silva are. The scale of that heartbreak says it all.
He inspired the best in people when he was alive, and even in death, that hasn’t changed. Arne Slot, the staff and players at Liverpool; Roberto Martínez, the staff and players at Portugal; supporters, opponents, teammates, politicians, community leaders, children—they have all shown their best selves, and that reflects Diogo and everything he stood for. Is there a more fitting tribute than that?
Why was he so loved? For me, it’s simple. Because in Diogo, people saw the best version of themselves. Or perhaps the best version we want to be. He was humble and authentic. He never pretended to be anyone other than himself. In those terrible hours and days after the accident, the tributes that poured in were always the same: he was funny, he was normal, he was sincere. Diogo was Diogo, unapologetically. Though I remember the footballer with immense pride, it’s the man who stays deepest in my memory. And the beautiful thing is: both versions of him possessed the same qualities.
When I first really got to know him, that spark was immediately obvious. Of course, he was a top footballer—we all saw that at Wolves. His movement, his finishing, his intelligence, his work rate were all top-class. But what really caught my eye was his hunger, his humility. He didn’t need to announce himself. He just worked. He listened. He strived to make the team better. When I looked at Liverpool in 2020, I thought: “We need this man.” Not just for his football, but for his character. Someone who could score crucial goals, but also lift the dressing room, raise standards, and bring the team closer together. And that’s exactly what he did. I fondly remember the impact he had when he joined the team. It was even better than we hoped. His Premier League debut goal against Arsenal; his hat-trick in Atlanta; his solo run at Brighton… “What a player we have!” we all thought. And what a man.
That continued throughout my time at the club, and even after I left. Time and time again, he stepped up in the biggest moments, when we needed him most. This April, I celebrated his winning goal against Everton in my living room, but I cheered like I was a supporter on the Kop. A title-deciding moment. Now, it has become an immortal moment, ranking alongside some of the most important in the club’s glorious history. I always said: as an attacking player, you also have to work hard defensively, and Diogo was incredibly good at that. He chased everything. He fought for every ball. He pressed frantically. Then the next second, he’d give you a smile, a handshake, or a little joke in the corridor.
I remember seeing Diogo juggling several devices at once on the plane or bus during away trips: one playing Football Manager; another playing Candy Crush; a third watching someone else play a game; and a fourth following and supporting André, who was playing professionally in Portugal. That complex mix of competitiveness, total dedication to football, and absolute kindness—that was Diogo.
Off the pitch, he was a source of joy. He loved life. He loved his family deeply. He loved his beagles, which were an important part of his family life. He never forgot where he came from. The boy from Gondomar. He had a laugh that could light up a room, and his eyes sparkled when he joked with his teammates. He never acted like a star. He was always approachable, always respectful, always warm. Always interested in others, caring about what was happening in their lives. I loved him for that.
Losing him, and losing André, is one of the hardest moments I’ve had to try to come to terms with. To be honest, I still haven’t found any answers. Some questions have no answers, I guess. But despite all this pain, I also feel something else: gratitude. Gratitude that I had the chance to coach him. Gratitude that I knew him. Gratitude that I brought him to Liverpool, and that those supporters were lucky enough to share in his talent and kindness.
In his first interview as a Liverpool player, Diogo said he was “a team player. I will do my best to help the team.” He lived those words every day. Ability plus attitude. That’s why he had such a big impact at Liverpool. He was the supporters’ representative on the pitch. As shown by his reaction after scoring the winning penalty against Leicester City in the Carabao Cup… a trophy we went on to win. He shouted towards the away end at Anfield, and I didn’t understand why at the time. Later, someone told me it was because he was angry about songs some Leicester supporters had sung that night about poverty in Liverpool. That was Diogo.
You don’t need to be there, as I no longer am, to understand that the dressing rooms at Liverpool and Portugal will never feel the same without him. For the players and staff, from my experience of teams, I know that walking out at Anfield will never feel the same without that bright smile he always gave you.
I said, “You can’t replace someone like him.” I hope people understand that this isn’t about football; it’s about life. There’s only one Diogo.
But even in sorrow, I choose to remember the joy, because he brought so much of it. He lived happily. He played happily. I truly believe that remembering him with a smile is exactly what he would have wanted.
To Rute, to the children, to the whole family—I want you to know how deeply admired he was, and what he meant to so many people. My thoughts, my heart, my strength are with you.
Rest in peace and carry on, my friend.
My No. 20. Football’s No. 20.
My Diogo.
Always in our hearts, You’ll Never Walk Alone.
