The sun was setting over Merseyside when the news finally became official—Darwin Nunez, the tall, fierce, and unpredictable Uruguayan striker who had worn the red shirt for three seasons, was no longer a Liverpool player. He had packed his bags, said his goodbyes, and boarded a plane to join Saudi Pro League giants Al-Hilal. For many, it wasn’t just the end of a contract—it was the end of a chapter filled with highs, lows, and unforgettable moments.
Among the hundreds of tributes and farewell messages, one stood out. It came from Mohamed Salah—the Egyptian King, Liverpool’s legend, the man whose goals had defined an era at Anfield. Salah’s words were not rushed, nor were they crafted to simply fill social media space. They were heartfelt, genuine, and written with the kind of sincerity that comes only when you’ve shared a dressing room, a battle, and a dream with someone.
“I consider myself lucky to have had you as a teammate and friend,” Salah wrote. “You were always very real and brought so much good energy wherever you went. You made us laugh and showed heart in everything you did. You will be missed and I wish you the best in your new club.”
Simple words, yet they carried weight. They revealed something about Nunez that perhaps statistics, debates, and highlight reels could never show—his humanity. Behind the frustration of missed chances and the constant debate about whether he had justified his £85 million price tag, there was a teammate who was loved and respected in the Liverpool camp.
Darwin Nunez’s Liverpool career will forever divide opinions. Some will remember the chaos he brought to defences—the way he could burst past a line of defenders in a heartbeat, the way he played with fire and urgency. Others will remember the sitters he missed, the moments when composure deserted him at the crucial second.
He arrived in the summer of 2022 from Benfica, hailed as the man to lead Liverpool’s next attacking era. He was tall, powerful, and lightning quick. Jurgen Klopp called him a “monster” in training. His first season had flashes of brilliance—goals against top teams, fearless running—but it was also littered with inconsistency. Still, the fans gave him patience. He had fight, and in Liverpool, that matters.
Over the years, Nunez scored 40 goals in 143 appearances. That’s not a terrible record, but it was less than what many expected given the hype and the transfer fee. And yet, despite the criticisms, Nunez became a cult figure. The kind of player fans argued about in pubs, the kind they defended in heated online debates, the kind they laughed with when he did something unexpected—good or bad.
But football is ruthless. By the end of last season, even his biggest supporters knew it might be time for both sides to move on. New manager Arne Slot wanted a sharper, more clinical attack. Liverpool were already working on deals for other big names—Alexander Isak from Newcastle, Marc Guehi from Crystal Palace, and teenage sensation Giovanni Leoni from Parma. Selling Nunez freed up funds to chase these targets. Still, the farewell was emotional. Nunez’s own message to Liverpool fans was long and heartfelt.
“Thank you, Liverpool,” he wrote. “Three years on, it’s time to say goodbye. I’ll take with me countless memories that will live with me forever. I leave with a full heart, thanks to the love of a crowd that never let me down and always had my back—through the highs and through the lows. Liverpool will always be part of who I am. I’ll miss you more than words can say. To all the staff and my teammates—thank you and all the very best for the future.”
There is something about the way footballers say goodbye that always tugs at the heart. Because no matter how big the club, no matter how expensive the transfer fee, no matter how much the move makes sense, a footballer’s life is built on bonds. Dressing rooms are like families—loud, messy, full of banter, arguments, and shared victories. Leaving isn’t just about walking away from a pitch; it’s about leaving behind the people you’ve sweated with, travelled with, and celebrated with.
For Salah, the departure of Nunez was more than just a squad change. They had played together, created goals for each other, celebrated in front of the Kop. Salah’s message wasn’t just to a teammate—it was to a friend. That’s why it resonated so much with the Liverpool faithful.
Liverpool fans reacted in different ways. Some posted videos of Nunez’s best moments—the goals against Manchester United, the fierce finishes in the Champions League, the wild celebrations. Others joked about his unpredictability, remembering the times he smashed the ball into the stands from close range. But almost everyone wished him well. There was no bitterness, no sense of betrayal—just acceptance that it was time.
The money from Nunez’s transfer is already being lined up for reinvestment. Liverpool are in deep talks for Isak, who has made it clear to Newcastle that he wants the move. Marc Guehi is also high on the list, with Crystal Palace reluctantly open to negotiations if the price is right. And then there’s Giovanni Leoni, the 18-year-old defender who has already caused controversy in Italy for choosing Liverpool over Serie A’s biggest clubs.
Arne Slot is pushing for all three deals to be wrapped up before the transfer window closes. His plan is clear—Isak to lead the line, Guehi to bring leadership in defence, and Leoni to be moulded into the next Van Dijk. It’s a bold rebuild, and selling Nunez was part of making it possible.
Still, football has a way of making fans wonder “what if?” What if Nunez had stayed? What if Slot’s system unlocked something in him? What if, after all the missed chances, the goals had started flowing like a river? We’ll never know now. What we do know is that he leaves behind memories—some frustrating, some brilliant, but all part of the story.
In Saudi Arabia, Nunez will start fresh. At Al-Hilal, he will play alongside some of the biggest names who have made the move from Europe. The pressure will be different, the pace of the game slower, but the expectations will still be high. For him, it’s a chance to be the main man again, to score freely, to feel the joy of football without the relentless Premier League spotlight.
For Liverpool, life goes on. The season is long, the competitions many, and the ambition sky-high. Slot will now focus on blending his squad, while Salah will take up his role as leader and talisman once again. Yet somewhere in that dressing room, his message to Nunez will linger as a reminder of the human side of the game.
Because at its core, football is about people. The goals, the trophies, the transfers—they matter, yes. But the friendships, the laughs, the shared moments in the tunnel before a big game—those are the things that stay in a player’s heart long after the boots are hung up. Darwin Nunez may have left Anfield, but thanks to Mohamed Salah’s words, we know he won’t be forgotten. Not by his teammates, not by the fans, and certainly not by the club that took a chance on him three summers ago.
