Journalist: ‘xG does not stand for Expected Grief’ – The deep impact of Jota’s death on Liverpool’s players | OneFootball

Liverpool’s Season of Sorrow and the Shadows of Grief

Liverpool’s 2025–26 campaign has been unlike any other in Premier League history — one shaped as much by loss as by football. In July, tragedy struck when a first-team player died in a car crash in northern Spain, an event that, as Simon Hughes wrote in The Athletic, “has left a silence around Anfield that no song can quite fill.” His death, just days before pre-season began, cast a long emotional shadow over a squad expected to defend its title.

Songs of remembrance

In his piece, Hughes described how the club’s supporters have built a ritual of remembrance: “In the 20th minute of every Liverpool match this season, the same thing happens.” Regardless of the scoreline, the crowd unites in song — the familiar chant once roared in celebration now a sombre tribute. “It feels like an unofficial act of remembrance,” Hughes observed, “suffused with sadness.”

That collective grief has become part of Liverpool’s matchday experience. Commentators briefly note it before returning to the game, but for those inside the stadium — players and fans alike — the song reverberates with memories. As Hughes noted, “It would be understandable if each time they heard the song, especially at Anfield, it made some check what they were doing.”

Liverpool’s early-season form was bright, seven straight wins in all competitions, but as autumn arrived, so too did struggle: seven defeats in ten. “No defending champions in Premier League history have had to confront the death of an active senior player,” Hughes wrote, framing their difficulties as something more human than tactical.

Grief beyond statistics

Football loves logic — formations, pressing data, expected goals — but, as Hughes put it poignantly, “xG does not stand for Expected Grief.” The sport’s analytical lexicon cannot measure how players process loss, nor how a dressing room feels when a friend’s place is left empty.

Virgil van Dijk and Andy Robertson have shouldered the dual role of leaders and mourners. Hughes reflected on this burden: “You’d have to be devoid of empathy to conclude none of this is having a significant effect.” Critics have been quick to question Liverpool’s leadership, with pundits like Wayne Rooney suggesting complacency, but Hughes countered that “Rooney’s assessment seems to neglect the impact of [their teammate’s] death on Van Dijk, who has not only had to deal with his own sense of loss but also help put others back together.”

For Van Dijk, this has not been a typical captaincy. “It isn’t as easy as simply hollering at anyone who isn’t doing their job,” Hughes wrote, noting that no player or coach can truly prepare for leading through bereavement.

Slot’s quiet struggle

Attention has inevitably turned to manager Arne Slot. Some supporters have criticised his brief mid-season breaks, but Hughes offered a different lens: “Maybe Slot has needed those breaks to try to clear his mind?” The weight of managing Liverpool is heavy in normal times; doing so amid collective trauma borders on unbearable.

Hughes drew historical parallels, recalling Kenny Dalglish’s burnout after the Hillsborough disaster. “Just because Slot is away and getting a bit of sun on his back, it does not mean he is having the time of his life,” he reminded readers. The grief has affected not only the players’ rhythm but also the manager’s capacity to lead — a hidden fatigue that seeps into decision-making.

Healing amid heartbreak

Behind closed doors, Liverpool have taken measured steps to support their staff. Hughes reported that “a bereavement counsellor, originally enlisted when [the player] died, is still available to every member of staff at the training ground.” The presence of professional help underlines that moving on is not an overnight process.

New signings, including Florian Wirtz and Jeremie Frimpong, arrived to a subdued training ground. “Try and put yourself in their position,” Hughes urged readers. “Your new club are the reigning Premier League champions. You bounce through the doors… The place is meant to be buzzing, but instead, all you can sense is devastation.” Their integration has been shaped by empathy rather than excitement.

The mood at Anfield, too, reflects this dichotomy. “The game against Preston North End at Deepdale feels like a wake,” Hughes wrote of Liverpool’s first friendly after the tragedy. Even victories have felt muted, triumph diluted by the reminder of what is gone.

As winter approaches, Liverpool’s fixtures will carry added weight — particularly the trip to Wolverhampton Wanderers in late December, where their late teammate began his English career. “This is a season like no other for Liverpool,” Hughes concluded, “and just because they cannot call upon him anymore, it doesn’t mean he is not everywhere.”

That sentiment, perhaps more than any statistic, defines this Liverpool side: a team playing through pain, united by memory, and learning to live with loss.