R.I.P. Diogo Jota
Something tragic happened today that jolted something in me I didn’t expect.
News has just broken that Diogo Jota—Liverpool forward and former Wolves star—has died in a car crash.
I cried when I heard. Real tears. And I think part of that was realising I haven’t lost my humanity. Not completely. Not even after everything I’ve seen in Gaza these past nine months. All the horrors, the numbness, the desensitisation… somehow, this still broke through.
Because Jota wasn’t just a footballer. He was one of ours. A lad who lit up Molineux, who helped bring pride back to a town that doesn’t get much to cheer about. Wolverhampton saw him grow. We watched him rise.
And now he’s gone. Just like that.
I don’t want to just say R.I.P. and move on. I want to honour him properly. Thank you, Diogo, for every goal, every run, every moment in old gold that made us feel alive. You were class. And you’ll never be forgotten in this city.
Rest easy, lad. And thank you for reminding me I can still feel.