When you hit a certain age, you really feel it. Or maybe its just that those moments of youthful joy become fewer and further betweenness? One of my constant reminders is that It’s hard for me to take in sports of any kind these days without being overly analytical about things. Is that the right pitch sequence? Why is the midfield a box and not a diamond? Nickel D on this down? Other than watching my teams win things—which, let’s face it, doesn’t happen all that often—it is really tough to puncture the analysis bubble. It means that sports, the thing that I got into because it was so fun, is usually a lot less fun. Add to that some of the disgusting political context and it is even worse. It just seems like a thing that I am committed to for absolutely inexplicable reasons, and a thing that demands my full attention. It isn’t quite a job because I’m not getting any richer watching it. At least not financially. Whatever it is, it just isn’t as much fun as it used to be.
Roberto Firmino is unforgettable for many reasons. First of all, its not like he’s going anywhere all that soon. Yes he’s leaving Liverpool for parts unknown. But he’ll be playing for a long time to come. I’m sure one day in the not too distant future someone’s WhatsApp group chat will light up with the story that Bobby Firmino happens to be playing five-a-side somewhere nearby. You get the sense he’s the kind of guy who will be playing in some form or another, forever. He’s also a champion through and through—World Cup winner, World Club Cup winner, Champion’s League winner, Premier League Winner, League Cup, FA Cup, Community Shield…. And finally, on an individual level he’s hit the heights, with multiple seasons of double-digit goal involvements, and he departs Liverpool as the highest scoring Brazilian in Premier League history.
Now, this doesn’t rise to the levels of major awards or anything like that, but Firmino is my favorite footballer. I’ve loved before, but my heart is probably no longer available for capture. When I was a teenager, I loved John Barnes, but in reality it was more the idea of John Barnes, not Barnesie himself, because I couldn’t actually watch him play except in the rare instances when international football was broadcast in the US, or in the once-a-week-sometimes highlight shows that filled out the dregs of programming on cable sports channels (in New York, where I lived, known by the very creative name of “SportsChannel’). Stevie G., of course. Daniel Sturridge, who might be an unlikely one for some, but who I was obsessed with as soon as I learned of his transfer from Chelsea. My adoration for Firmino, though, runs deeper and stronger than all of the above. It was born on November 21, 2015. More about that shortly.
I didn’t watch nearly as much Bundesliga back in the early 2010s, mostly because ESPN hadn’t yet signed the broadcast deal that brings every single match straight to my TV for mere pennies a day. I did keep tabs on a certain firebrand manager of Borussia Dortmund, whose innovative tactics were putting a scare into perennial winners Bayern. But I caught wind of Firmino because I was interested in one of his teammates at Hoffenheim, Kevin Volland, who had become the team’s main goalscorer and who seemed pretty darned good at it. The more highlights I watched, the more it was Firmino who caught my eye. All the flair you might expect from a Brazilian attacker was on display, but there was something even more going on.
Anyway, when I heard Liverpool had sent a chief exec down to Brazil to sign Firmino, I was stunned and shocked. Why would Roberto Firmino choose us? The previous summer had seen Luis Suarez leave Liverpool to go to Barca. Daniel Sturridge’s magical feet were too often in protective boots due to injury. The magical run to within a point of the Premier League title was obviously a one hit wonder to anyone paying attention. Top tier transfer targets like Alexis Sanchez were going elsewhere because, in fairness, there was no plan at Liverpool, or at least there didn’t seem to be one. The 14-15 season had ended disastrously, with some awful defeats and the sad departure of Steven Gerard. Firmino had also been linked with the evil empire in Manchester (the Red one). So it was pretty great and very surprising that Liverpool managed to land him.
Things didn’t start very well. This was the beginning of the end of the Brendan Rodgers era that Firmino was walking into. We quickly learned that Rodgers didn’t rate him and didn’t want him at all. Instead he saw Christian Benteke, a powerful striker in his own right, as the future. Was Firmino any good? Frankly, it was impossible to say because Rodgers didn’t play him. When he did get on the pitch, Firmino played in short spells. At one point Rodgers played him as a defender. And Rodgers Liverpool was falling apart under the anvil of backroom infighting and on-field fecklessness.
The transformation of Liverpool Football Club under Jurgen Klopp’s management took a long time. “Doubters to believers” wasn’t an immediate effect, not even close. But, some players quickly looked reborn under Klopp’s spell. There was Firmino’s fellow Brazilian Philippe Coutinho, who suddenly seemed ready to shoulder the burden as the team’s regista of sorts (and who suddenly learned how to defend). Divock Origi, who didn’t seem to know how to kick a football, would soon find a rich vein of form that launched him toward legend status. The midfield, which had a giant, Gerrard-shaped hole shot right through its center, was far from world class but suddenly fighting again. Even the defense, consumed as it was by subpar players like Martin Skrtel and Dejan Lovren, and with talents overwhelmed by injuries like Daniel Agger…even that defense was better. But no player better and more quickly reflected the Klopp vision than Roberto Firmino.
On November 21, 2015, Firmino announced himself to the English football world, with a masterclass display against sportswashing juggernauts Manchester City. It was the first giant-killing of Klopp’s Liverpool regime: a 4-1 thrashing of Manuel Pellegrini’s extremely talented squad, featuring the likes of Yaya Toure, Sergio Aguero, and England’s number 1 goalkeeper, Joe Hart. If Klopp’s side were giant-killers, Firmino was the lead assassin. Pellegrini’s star-studded lineup couldn’t handle him. In fairness, not even Franco Barese himself would have stood a chance. Not on that day. With Liverpool ceding possession to the hosts, Firmino pressed the living hell out of the center of City’s end of the pitch. Defenders were panicking and midfielders couldn’t turn. There was no out ball. There was only Firmino. In possession, Firmino, Coutinho, and midfielder Emre Can played quick pass and move football and blitzed their way into the City box over and over and over. Firmino scored one and assisted another. City players looked lost and confused. Firmino had a huge smile on his face for what seemed like the entire match. The final score was 1-4. But the score was much less important than the message. Klopp’s boys were here. And Bobby would be leading the charge.
There were other stellar performances, of course. A volley against Stoke City that looked like it could have destroyed the netting. No-look finishes. A clever flick against Watford. A memorable angled daisy cutter against PSG in the Champions League. Any number of magical goals against Arsenal, including a slaloming run in which Arsenal defenders just kept getting sent for the Echo. A lob of Man City’s goalkeeper Ederson in January, 2017 that ended City’s bid for an undefeated season. Another against City a few months later that sealed Liverpool’s win in the knockout stages of the Champions League. A winner against Tottenham during the pandemic season. Two match winners in the Club World Cup. They all felt like huge goals, and all probably were. This is just the tip of the iceberg.
But what made him special, at least to me, wasn’t necessarily the goals. It was everything else. A few years ago you could watch a “tac-cam” of European matches, and I’d just watch Firmino. The movement forward, left, right, forward, sprinting back to defend, holding the D on opposition corners to spring the counter. You didn’t need the tac cam to see the little movements that taught us that pressing is as great of a skill as dribbling, passing, shooting and saving. Little shifts of position, opening the body up sometimes, closing it in others. Knowing when to go and when to stay. Nobody did any of it better. There’s a good chance nobody ever will. Then there are the assists and the pre-assists—the passes before the pass, if you will. He just knew where to put it, and rarely was it the wrong choice.
Many describe him as “selfless” because of all of the running and work for the team. That’s all probably true. In a team of selfless players, Bobby stood out for the extent of his commitment. When he did come off the pitch for a sub, he almost always looked entirely shattered, both mentally and physically. But anyone can run around the pitch. It was the way he did it—clever, relentless, and pointed. Above all he was a kingmaker. There was a year when Sadie Mane was Liverpool’s top striker, coming in from the wing. Mane was very good for much of that season but he couldn’t have done it without Firmino. Mo Salah’s meteoric ascent in the 2017-2018 began with a Bobby lob pass to Salah away at Watford, and ended with Bobby’s assists in the mauling of Roma at Anfield in the Champion’s League semifinal. Without Bobby, Mo would have been the Egyptian Duke or Lord, but he wouldn’t have been a king.
What makes him all the more impressive to me is that Bobby Firmino was far from a perfect player for the Reds. He wasn’t suited to coming on as a sub and often disappointed in that role. When he was off it, he was really off it, and probably wouldn’t recover during a match. His penalties were very poor—terrible actually. He lacked pace and while great on the turn, couldn’t take on a defender. There were blemishes off the field as well, like the drink-driving charge. Firmino cleaned up his act and found God after that, but maybe he cleaned it up a bit too much, because like many of his fellow Brazilian footballers abroad, he was a supporter of the Brazilian far right leader Bolsonaro, whose intolerance and anger was matched only by his incompetence.
But at least in terms of the football itself, I’ve found a new favorite footballer. When we were kids, we’d watch something happen for one of our players on one of our teams and run to the backyard to recreate it. My friends and I used to wiggle our bats like Darryl Strawberry or try Doc Gooden’s high leg kick. We’d pretend to be Lawrence Taylor and try to tackle each other by the collar. Or Pat LaFontaine’s deeks and drags. You stop doing it as you get older until one day it is a distant memory. But I’ve only recently stopped playing in a weekend pickup football match because my body couldn’t handle it anymore. And every time I went out on the pitch, I knew I couldn’t do exactly what Bobby had done the day before, but I tried anyway. The athletes we come to admire for their skill and talent can give us goals, assists, and celebrations. But not many of those will ever let you feel your love for the sport as you watch them. That’s what Bobby gave me, and why I’ll always treasure remembering him wearing Liverpool’s colors.