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The first time I saw Mohamed Salah play was in August 2017. Arsenal were the visitors to Anfield. Liverpool were sensational on that sunny Sunday afternoon. Bobby Firmino and Sadio Mané had fashioned a 2-0 first-half lead, before the third member of Jürgen Klopp’s new attacking trio added his name to the record.
Arsenal’s corner was cleared to Héctor Bellerín, about 30 yards out. Salah was on him instantly, robbing the hapless Spaniard easily. His whirring legs blurred like the Road Runner’s as he raced into the Arsenal half and towards Petr Cech. I’d never seen a player bear down on the Kop goal so rapidly.
Then came a cool finish and an almighty roar, followed by his celebration. Tongue out, arms spread wide, embracing the adulation. A sign of things to come. And it was exhilarating – one of those Anfield moments that swipes the breath from the lungs. We had a player. We had a team. And nothing would ever be the same after that.
We left Anfield that day full of hope, but who envisioned the damage that front three would go on to inflict on world football? All led by the constantly smiling Muslim lad with the big hair, and his unrelenting brilliance that spanned the best part of a decade.
Two hundred and 54 more Liverpool goals later, the end is now nigh. There was no shock when the breaking news notification arrived. This has been in the post since Salah’s omission and subsequent outburst at Leeds. Unlike Klopp’s unexpected “running out of energy” address in 2024, we’ve had a chance to mentally prepare for this. I’ve found myself lingering a little longer in my seat after games, cognisant that opportunities to observe this modern Liverpool giant were dwindling.
Sadness felt over it happening now, with the team in such a mess, is rivalled only by gratitude. Salah remarked in his statement on Tuesday confirming his departure at the end of the season that Liverpool – club, teammates, city, and fans – had given him the best times of his life. Well, right back at you, Mo.
The two league titles and a European Cup are indelible. He was the man in the Liverpool team that reached two other Champions League finals and amassed 110 points from a possible 114 across 38 Premier League games. Maulings of our greatest rivals became routine. Salah dismantled Manchester United as if it were at the behest of ‘90s kids, like me, whose childhoods were tormented by Sir Alex Ferguson’s sides; 7-0 at home and 5-0 away. They weren’t so much football matches but bespoke exorcisms. Overall, he scored 13 goals against United, including my personal favourite Anfield goal.
Sunday 19 January 2020, the one that in effect ended the 30-year wait for a league title. Salah’s legs again whirred towards the Kop end after a break from an opposition corner. The coolest finish. The mightiest roar. Shirt off, arms wide, embracing the adulation. We’re all Alisson in that moment, charging the length of the pitch to congratulate Salah. Often, after a few Friday night beers, I’ll fire up YouTube chasing that same ecstatic feeling from the ground that day. “And now you’re gonna believe us, we’re gonna win the league!” It’s therapy.
That goal was the closest we’d get to commemorating the 2020 title as a congregation. Five and a bit years later, thousands of us would be the backdrop to a Mo Salah selfie after a goal that sealed the title for real.
There are many reasons we haven’t seen Salah’s best form since, but Anfield folklore will cite that profound effort to make Liverpool champions again. It transcended the raw data of 29 goals and 18 assists. It was specific, telling contributions in seemingly dozens of close games. When we struggled, he kept believing. He kept running, shooting and trying to find the perfect pass. He willed the 20th title into existence, and it may have consumed the last of his elite greatness. Liverpool have benefitted immensely from Salah’s insatiable appetite to be the best. Those charged with carrying the team on in his absence should spend the next few weeks taking notes.
Liverpool fans will tell you there’s a big difference between ranking our best and our greatest. Luis Suárez arguably qualifies among the best, for example, but never among the greatest. Because greatness encompasses the lot: ability, longevity, consistency and loyalty. The number of contributions to the trophy cabinet. Also intangibles like star power, iconic moments and an unbreakable rapport shared with supporters.
There are only a few truly indisputable shouts for “the greatest”. Kenny Dalglish, Ian Rush and Steven Gerrard have long sat at the top table. Pull up a pew for Mohamed Salah too, because he’s the greatest Liverpool player I’ve seen. There’ll never be a Liverpool team that he would not walk into. Like Stevie and Kenny before, so much of what Mo brings is irreplaceable. You shouldn’t even try; just cope and forge a different path.
I hate that it’s coming to an end this improperly, during such a miserable season. I was ecstatic with last April’s two-year contract extension, but maybe the summer would have been the perfect send-off. And maybe a red ribbon can still be wrapped around his departure? Maybe, with a weight lifted, there’ll be more of the old Mo magic to witness at the Kop end?
At the very least, Anfield gets a few more opportunities to acclaim its Egyptian King. We must savour them. Watching him has been the thrill of a footballing lifetime.
Chris Smith is a freelance journalist and author of Always Liverpool.
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