By Coact Digital stories 

Dear Jota,

Didn’t it all happen too quickly? Winning the Premier League, lifting the UEFA Nations League, marrying your childhood love — as if you were always racing towards something unseen. Yet you were never hurried, neither on nor off the pitch. Calm and composed, your game was shaped by quiet confidence, never by haste.

Injuries held you back, forced you to watch from the sidelines despite your talent. Even in the national team, you waited patiently behind Cristiano Ronaldo. But nothing shook your focus. The heart you carried from the narrow streets of Massarelos stayed serene, as though guided by a silent saint. No off-pitch tension ever broke that calm.

Just days ago, you married Rut Cardoso. Who could have imagined you’d leave at only 28? In leaving so young, you challenged Bill Shankly’s famous belief that football is more important than life and death.

You rose from Massarelos, never brushed off its dust, and never forgot who you were. As a boy, they say you were so small you could hide behind a single leaf — ‘The Small Guy’, they called you.

But you won’t answer to that call anymore. No more waiting on the bench, ready to seize your chance. Today, every door of waiting is closed. It feels too sudden, too early. Does anyone really leave like this, Jota?

Across the football world, grief has settled like a silent shadow. At Anfield, flowers pile up from fans who may never have met you, but felt they knew you. The language of football once brought them together; now your absence leaves them speechless. Once again, you remind us that only death is absolute; everything else is fleeting.

Yet even in this mortal world, you dreamed of becoming eternal through football. Not for trophies alone, but for the love of the game, for the chance to keep playing. That quiet dream carried you from Wolves to Liverpool — a club where football often means more than life itself.

At Liverpool, you found Jürgen Klopp’s trust. Can you see now how deeply your passionate manager has broken down? So many times, you became his hope when the game seemed lost. The Kopites loved you, Jota. They even had a chant:

“He is lad from Portugal, better than Figo, don’t you know, oh his name is Diogo.”

You earned that love. Despite injuries, you kept fighting. You rescued Liverpool again and again. Even when it seemed impossible, you’d come off the bench and change the game.

But now, who will we look to for that miracle goal? Who will come on after the 80th minute to turn the match around? Our dear ‘Small Guy’, there’s truly no one like you.

Soon a new season will start. And in less than a year, there’s a World Cup. But how will you spend your time in the other world, Jota? Who will Ronaldo turn to when he steps off the pitch in a crucial match? Where will Portugal — or Liverpool — find that player who scores in injury time?

You’re gone, but football will go on. Headlines will move on, and grief will fade. But those who love football for what it truly is will keep you alive in their hearts — our ‘Better than Figo’, our injury-time hero.

Jota, we never thought we’d write to you in the past tense. Believe us, we never wanted to. Stay well wherever you are — and give love to your brother André, who left with you.

Farewell, dear Jota. Photo: Collected