I’m sitting on that bench for 90 minutes and just can’t believe that it’s happened. For my career, it’s the first time. Actually the third time now they left me out.
Everyone saw what I done for this club, especially last year. Right now I feel like I’m being thrown under a bus, honestly. They made promises in summer, a lot of promises, but being on the bench three games isn’t keeping them.
My relationship with the manager was good, everyone knew that. Now, all of a sudden it feels like we have no relationship and I don’t really know why.
I will go to AFCON soon. Against Brighton at Anfield, I will say goodbye to the supporters because I am going. What happens after, nobody knows. You never know in football. I even invited my parents for that game.
It’s unacceptable to me, this situation. After everything, it’s just perplexing.
Saudi was interested before and they might still be. My contract is until 2026, but if things keep deteriorating, maybe January is a possibility.
Right now, it just feels like my time here might be over. And that’s very disappointing.
The truth is my legs still feel good. I could run all day, like I used to down the right side. But now I just watch, and the game looks faster from over there.
I remember when I first came to Liverpool. The rain was cold but the people were so warm. Now the bench feels colder, and it’s a different kind of quiet around me.
In training, I still score most of the goals. The lads, they pass to me same as always. But then the team sheet comes out and my name isn’t there. It’s a strange feeling, like you’re a ghost already.
My phone has been buzzing, of course. Friends from Egypt sending news articles. My agent just says to be calm. But how can you be calm when something is ending?
I think about the title we won last season. I held that trophy and it was the heaviest, best weight. Now things feel light, like they could just blow away.
Maybe the club wants a younger face. I’m 33, but I don’t feel old. I see the young lads running and I think, I can still teach you things. If you’d just let me play.
There was a promise about being important here until the end. That’s what I believed. Now I’m not sure what “important” means to them anymore.
Sometimes I sit there and remember specific goals. The one against Everton. The Champions League final. Those memories are bright and loud. The stadium now, from the bench, is a quieter picture.
I heard the manager say it’s a “tactical decision.” That word, tactical. It means nothing and everything at the same time. It means you’re not wanted for the plan.
My father says I should be proud no matter what. My mother worries about my smile. I tell them not to worry, but they’re coming to the Brighton game anyway. Maybe they sense something I haven’t said out loud.
The sun in Saudi Arabia is very bright, I’ve heard. A different heat. A different life. It’s not something I planned for, but football takes you places, planned or not.
I look at my shirt hanging up before a game. The number 11. It’s just a number, but it feels like my own name. Soon, maybe, it will be someone else’s name. That is the strange business we are in.
For now, I’ll pack my bag for Egypt. The national team always wants me. There, I am not a substitute. There, I am still Mohamed.
