If there is a through line to the outpouring of grief across the footballing world after the death of Diogo Jota, it is the sense of a footballer who was deeply admired. Supporters, teammates and coaches might have adored his talent but there was something deeper about this man that means his passing is so painful even for those who don’t know him.
It is best typified in an interview given four years ago. His first season at Liverpool had been a success in spite of injuries; his second would see him playing a starring role as the Reds won a domestic double and took the Premier League and Champions League races to the wire. As was the way when a player at the top of his game speaks, he was invited to reflect on the challenges he came through on his road to stardom. After all, he was still turning out for his local team, Gondomar, at the age of 16, not earning a salary but on his own form of a pay-to-play contract.
Instead, Jota chose to shine the spotlight elsewhere.
“I wasn’t paying, my parents were,” Jota told the BBC. “I remember that was the hardest thing for me, I could see their struggle to get the money into the club. I think that caused me a debt that I will never pay back. Obviously, I try to.”
This was a superstar who never forgot that he was where he was through the aid of others as much as the remarkable talent in his own boots. As Jurgen Klopp put it that same year, he wasn’t just an “exceptional player” but an “exceptional boy” too.
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Jota was also a player of gaudy talent. That much was apparent to any Championship defender who ran into him in Wolves’ promotion season, the year when he would rock up at the City Ground or the Madjeski and single-handedly demolish the other team. His exhilarating cocktail of qualities are typified in the last goal he scored in Liverpool red, dancing past Idrissa Gueye with his right, one more touch to put himself in a shooting position, a brilliant low drive that downed Everton and sent Arne Slot’s side marching towards the title with jubilance. Jota had that clutch quality to him: think of the equalizer at Old Trafford on his first trip as a Red, the last-gasp winner over Tottenham, the consistency with which he ruined Arsenal’s day.
Those moments earn you a place in the hearts of your supporters. It feels like there is more to it than that, something that would convince a Wolves fan to immediately make the pilgrimage to Anfield. “He wore his heart there,” he told Hayters, clutching the badge on his old gold shirt. “When he kissed the badge, you knew he meant it.”
Jota cared and Jota worked. There were never hints of frustration in the media when he lost his starting spot or public attempts to engineer a move from Molineux to Anfield. When injuries hit him, he would redouble his efforts, fighting through muscle problems last year to make a telling impact for Liverpool down the stretch. Flash back to that final goal. The dribble and finish enchant you, but where does it come from? The diligence to chuck yourself into a tackle high up the pitch. A Portugal international with over 40 caps, a man with nothing left to prove in the sport, and he would always outwork the other guy.
At a time of tragedy, it seems perverse to write about a player’s statistical profile, but it tells us something about Jota the man. When Michael Edwards and his recruitment team concluded that then-23-year-old with 16 Premier League goals could be the man to eventually break up the fab three of Roberto Firmino, Sadio Mane and Mohamed Salah, they saw a player who kept getting in shooting positions, whose expected goals would one day be reflected in actual output. Those numbers were a reflection of Jota’s personal qualities. He may not have been the biggest, strongest or even the absolute quickest (though boy did he have a burst), but he would work as hard as any forward to get himself in positions where he could make a meaningful impact for his team.
Assistant manager Pep Lijnders celebrated the “pressing monster.” For all the talent they could call on in attack, Portugal always looked a better team for having Jota in it. Liverpool fans loved the lad from Portugal, “better than Figo, don’t you know.” No wonder, when he seemed to have time to rally for supporters in need.
In his 28 years, Jota brought incalculable joy to so many football fans. His death and that of his brother seem all the crueller given he was just getting the joyous moments he deserved: the Premier League title, more international honors with Portugal and of course his marriage to long-term partner Rute Cardoso, with whom he had three children.
His story should go on from there. More trophies with Liverpool and Portugal. The next generation of footballers would be better off if they had been under Jota’s tutelage. All of that almost pales into insignificance against the life he and Rute might have had.
On and off the pitch, Jota was this sport at its best. There was something of the way he went about his job that drew the admiration of others. “They say that we only lose people when we forget them,” said Wolves and Portugal teammate Ruben Neves. “I will never forget you.”
Football will be a better place if others follow that example.