Gone Too Soon: For Diogo, For His Family | OneFootball

Remembering Diogo Jota: A Heartbreaking Farewell

A Morning That Changed Everything

There are moments in life that stop you in your tracks. Moments that punch the air out of your lungs, that make everything else disappear, and remind you of what really matters. I experienced one of those moments yesterday morning.

The news of Diogo Jota’s passing has left me numb. As I write this, 24 hours after the news broke, I’m still struggling to make sense of it, struggling to find the words that feel worthy of the man, the tragedy, the pain that now blankets his family, his teammates, and all of us who have watched him in red.

Football, in all its glory and passion and madness, suddenly feels irrelevant.

Diogo Jota’s Passing Leaves Us All in Shock

Yesterday morning, 3rd of July 2025, a day I will never forget. I sat down as I usually do, half-scrolling through news, thinking about a few pieces I needed to write, and then it hit me. The headline. The confirmation. The heartbreak. Diogo Jota had passed away.

I still can’t believe I’m writing those words. It just didn’t seem real, surely it couldn’t be real.

Two weeks ago, he was getting married. Laughing. Dancing. Starting a new chapter in his life. Now his wife is a widow, and his three young children are without their dad. The brutality of that is hard to fathom. It shakes you.

Life Beyond the Game We Love

I’m a dad myself. A husband. My kids are my world. I saw them this morning, bickering over who gets the blue cup and whose turn it is to let the dog out, and all I could think was: Jota’s never going to get this again. No more school runs. No more bedtime stories. No more silly little games in the back garden.

And his kids? They’re going to grow up with a hole in their life that no number of tributes, no level of support, no amount of time can ever truly fill.

That’s the thing about football. It consumes us. It dictates our moods, our weekends, our friendships. We fight over it, cry over it, live and breathe it. But then something like this happens and you remember that it’s just a game. A beautiful game, sure, but not life. Not the bits that really matter.

A Husband, A Father, A Red Forever

Diogo Jota was a superb footballer. Intelligent. Clinical. Understated in his brilliance. He never demanded the spotlight but often stole it anyway. He gave us so many moments to savour, from that incredible run of goals when he first arrived to the way he always seemed to pop up when it mattered most. But that’s not what I’m thinking about now.

Photo by IMAGO

I’m thinking about the man behind the player. The young dad who probably still had glitter on his clothes from a school craft day. The husband who’d only just said “I do.” The son whose parents must be utterly destroyed right now, not only Diogo but also André, a family torn apart.

This one cuts deep. Maybe because of the suddenness. Maybe because it feels so cruel, so senseless. Maybe because we all saw a bit of ourselves in him. He was the everyman footballer in many ways. Quiet. Reliable. No drama. Just got on with it. And now he’s gone.

Perspective in the Face of Tragedy

In times like this, you feel helpless. What do you say? What can you possibly offer that might ease the pain for those closest to him? All we can do is stand in solidarity, in grief, and remind his family that they are not alone. That the whole city, this club, these supporters around the world, will wrap our arms around them in every way we can.

Because Liverpool is more than a club. It’s a community. A family. And when one of us falls, we all feel it.

The tributes will pour in, rightly so. His teammates will wear black armbands, there will be a minute’s silence, perhaps a banner in the Kop. But I hope it goes beyond that. I hope this club finds a way to honour Diogo and support his family in the long term, not just in the immediacy of the shock. They deserve that. He deserves that.

My thoughts keep drifting back to his wife. I can’t imagine that kind of grief. The chaos of it. The unfairness. The sheer weight of waking up to a world without him in it. And then trying to stay strong for the kids. To explain to them why daddy won’t be coming home. I feel physically sick just thinking about it.

The Quiet Greatness of Diogo Jota

It puts everything into perspective.

The transfer window chatter, the fixture lists, the starting elevens, the debates over form… they all pale in comparison to this. This is real life. Raw and brutal. And there’s no playbook for it.

And yet, through it all, I find myself thinking about what we can take from this, even as the sadness overwhelms. Hug your loved ones. Say the things you’ve been meaning to say. Step away from the screens and the noise now and then, and just be with the people who matter.

He didn’t crave the headlines. He never seemed to let the fame of it all change him. He just worked. Trained. Delivered. Went home. And in doing so, earned the respect of everyone around him.

He was a man who carried himself with humility. That word keeps coming up in my mind. Humble. Even as he bagged vital goals for club and country, even as he carved out a name for himself in a team bursting with stars, there was a grace to him. No ego. No theatrics. Just honest, committed football. And now, tragically, it’s no more.

Liverpool Is a Family, and Today We Mourn Together

It’s strange how grief works. You find yourself getting emotional for a man you never actually met, but it’s not just him. It’s everything he represented. It’s the shared humanity. It’s the fragility of life. It’s the brutal reminder that none of us are promised tomorrow.

So, tonight, I’m lighting a candle. For Diogo. For his wife. For their three children. For everyone who loved him and is now left trying to make sense of the unimaginable.

And I know that somewhere in the Kop, the chant will rise again. Perhaps not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day soon.

Oh, he wears the number 20, He will take us to victory, And when he’s running down the left wing, He’ll cut inside and score for LFC. He’s a lad from Portugal, Better than Figo don’t you know, Oh, his name is Diogo!

You’ll Never Walk Alone, Diogo

Rest in peace, Diogo. You’ll never walk alone. And neither will your family.

We as a collective will make sure of that.