Forever 20: Liverpool, Robertson and the Grief That Won’t Let Go

Robertson’s Tears Tell A Deeper Story - Liverpool’s Heart Still Healing

Andy Robertson was meant to be smiling. The night was glorious, and the journey long overdue. With a late flurry and two dramatic goals, Scotland confirmed their place at a World Cup finals for the first time since 1998. Robertson, 31 now, and conscious of the finite chances the game allows, had finally dragged his country over the line. Yet as the captain fronted the cameras after the final whistle, joy wrestled with something deeper. The tears in his eyes were not only for a nation’s drought finally broken, but for a friend now painfully absent.

Diogo Jota’s name hung in the air, just as it has every day since that awful July. Robertson spoke of conversations with his former team-mate, sharing dreams of playing on football’s biggest stage. They had missed out together before, one through injury and one through Scotland’s absence. Now, standing on the threshold of a tournament he may never see again, the Scotsman spoke through trembling emotion about how he could not stop thinking of Jota.

In this moment, the victory was still real, but the grief felt bigger. It is this duality that has defined Liverpool since the death of their No.20. You cannot talk about this football club now without acknowledging the hole he left behind.

Liverpool’s mourning hangs heavy over everything

It has been more than four months, but inside Liverpool Football Club, the weight of what happened to Diogo Jota and his brother Andre Silva has not lifted. The official tributes were paid. The number was retired. The flags were lowered and the songs altered. Yet nothing feels truly settled. At Anfield, in the 20th minute of every match, the supporters still rise with his song. Its melody has not changed, but the tone has. The celebration now sounds like remembrance. The joy is dulled. The grief is stitched into the noise.

From the outside, Liverpool’s current struggles may be framed in tactical or physical terms. There are issues with form, rhythm, and squad cohesion. But the story beneath the data feels rooted in something more human. It cannot be charted on a graph or rectified with training ground drills. It is harder to describe, harder still to solve.

Jota was more than a reliable forward with a knack for decisive goals. He was a constant in a squad that had become serial winners. A teammate who brought lightness to serious occasions. A player who laughed easily and worked hard, who connected with both senior pros and academy prospects. There was no arrogance, only mischief and humility. In an era when elite footballers often appear emotionally distant, Jota was immediate and real.

What do you do when that kind of presence is taken from a group overnight? How do you carry on when the dressing room feels colder and quieter than it should?

Slot’s toughest test began without a ball being kicked

Arne Slot arrived back from his summer break with expectation of defending the Premier League title, and going deeper in the Champions League, but inherited something far greater. His pre-season preparations were transformed into crisis management. The tragic death of Jota shaped pre-season, followed in September and October by the sudden losses of beloved women’s team manager Matt Beard and kit man Jonathan Humble, has left the entire club emotionally exhausted.

Slot has had to show leadership without leaning on tactics. He had to console without many shared experiences. His summer recruitment drive, which brought in names like Wirtz, Frimpong, Isak and Kerkez, was overshadowed from the first day. For those new arrivals, the start of their Liverpool career must have felt like gatecrashing a funeral. There was no bounce or buzz, just sorrow and silence.

Even the club’s Community Shield appearance against Crystal Palace felt misaligned with the mood. The football, naturally, became secondary. The players looked undercooked, mentally and physically, and that sense has lingered through the early part of the campaign. Liverpool’s seven wins in their first seven games masked the deeper issues. But the drop-off since then, with seven defeats in the next ten, is harder to ignore. A squad that once chased perfection now looks like it is simply trying to cope.

Grief has no timeline, especially in football

Robertson’s words about Jota in the aftermath of Scotland’s triumph were both beautiful and brutal. His nickname for him, Diogo MacJota, speaks of an affection that ran deeper than banter. The memory of Jota’s smile on his wedding day. The sense of unfinished conversations, shared dreams that can never be lived out. It was an outpouring that reminded everyone just how deep the wounds still are.

Grief in football is complex. The rhythm of the game demands progression. Matches come quickly. Points are at stake. Injuries happen. Fixtures pile up. The calendar shows no compassion. But the heart doesn’t move that fast.

Liverpool tried to return to normal quickly. Players came back to training within a week of the funeral. Pre-season resumed. Friendlies were played. But the sense that it was all happening too soon has not gone away. There is still a bereavement counsellor available at the AXA Training Centre, a reflection that this pain cannot be solved with time alone.

You see it in the eyes of Virgil van Dijk, who carries the dual weight of captaincy and loss. In the silences from senior players who do not want to speak about it, not because they do not care, but because they care too much. In the tributes etched into matchday banners. In the 20th-minute ritual that now feels sacred.

There is also something harder to quantify happening on the pitch. Liverpool have struggled to score late goals this season, the kind Jota made a habit of converting. The press is not quite as coordinated. The spark feels a little dulled. It would be overly simplistic to say one absence has caused all of that, but it would be dishonest to say it has had no effect.

A legacy that goes beyond numbers

Jota’s final season at Liverpool ended with a title. He was central to the effort, scoring and creating when others tired. But when his legacy is discussed now, the statistics hardly come up. What people speak about is how he made them feel. The comfort he gave. The joy he sparked. The generosity of spirit he showed when the cameras weren’t watching.

The club’s decision to retire the No.20 shirt was unprecedented. But it was right. Because Jota’s influence at Liverpool was not about legacy in the traditional sense. He did not define an era or captain a team. But he was loved. Deeply, properly loved. By his manager, his teammates, the staff around the club, and by the fans.

That kind of love does not fade with time. It lingers in quiet moments and explodes in noisy ones. It’s why his song remains. Why Robertson could not speak without tears. Why Gakpo, Van Dijk, Milner, and countless others have taken moments to honour him in their own way.

Jota is no longer at Liverpool, but in many ways, he is more present than ever. His name is in the stands. His memory is in the rituals. His kindness is in the conversations. And his absence is in every sigh when the team struggle.

This is not about excusing results. Liverpool’s form must improve and Slot knows that better than anyone. But perspective matters. Football clubs are made up of people. When those people suffer, the team suffers too.

Jota’s memory is not a reason for Liverpool’s inconsistencies. But it is part of the context. It is part of the club’s story this season. And it will continue to be.

Final thoughts

As Andy Robertson stood under the lights in Glasgow, he carried more than a nation’s pride. He carried grief, memory, and love. His voice cracked for a reason. Because some dreams, even when realised, remain incomplete.

Jota’s dream of another World Cup will remain unfulfilled. But Robertson will go, and he will carry his friend with him. That is what sport does at its best. It does not forget. It does not move on too quickly. It finds ways to honour those who are lost and to carry them forward.

Liverpool, too, will move forward. The fixtures will keep coming. The fans will still sing. The club will keep trying to win. But in every 20th minute, and in so many moments between, there will be a reminder of a player who meant more than goals. Diogo Jota was a footballer, a friend, and a figure of light. And at Liverpool, he always will be.