An ode to Roberto Firmino: The golden smile behind Liverpool's golden era
The Brazilian is on his farewell lap at Anfield, but what a legacy he will leave behind on Merseyside.
So, Roberto Firmino then.
I’ve been debating writing this piece. Wondering whether to save it for when the Brazilian actually leaves. I’ve a funny feeling that his story at Liverpool isn’t complete yet, and that there are big moments, big goals and big smiles to be added to it. I guess last Sunday was vindication, in that sense.
But given the talk around him, and given Jürgen Klopp’s revelation today that it had come as something of a surprise to find out the Reds’ No.9 was planning to move on in the summer, I feel it’s best to say something.
So let’s start with this; what a player. What. A. Player.
The kind you’d want to be, if you had the chance. We’d all love Kylian Mbappé’s pace or Erling Haaland’s brute force, I’m sure, but the joy of Firmino was in the brain, the way he moved and the places he moved to, the way he read and responded to the game.
I once heard someone say of Teddy Sheringham, a similarly deft interpreter of the centre-forward position from another era, that “I think he’d already played the game in his head before we even kicked off”, and you could certainly attribute that quote to Firmino. He didn’t score as many as others, Sheringham included, but he worked harder than others could, saw things that others didn’t, and as a result, the likes of Mo Salah and Sadio Mané were able to do things that others couldn’t.
I remember being sat in the ECHO office late one weekend in 2015 - I’m pretty sure it was a Saturday night - with Andy Kelly, who was my editor at the time. There had been a lot of speculation that a deal for Firmino was in the offing, that progress had been made, and then we got the confirmation we were looking for. Deal agreed, subject to work permit.
I remember standing over AK’s shoulder as we constructed the story, then smiling as we watched the reaction. We had a thing called ‘Chartbeat’, which showed you exactly what people were looking at on the ECHO website. Everyone was looking at Firmino. He might not have been a household name, but he was BIG to Liverpool fans. If only they knew how they’d feel about him a few years later.
I remember those early weeks, when Brendan Rodgers was trying to hold back the tide and when nobody at Liverpool seemed happy, and especially not the footballers. Firmino didn’t smile much back then. He looked lost, playing occasionally out wide, sometimes as a sort of faux No.10, and on one occasion as a left wing-back at Old Trafford. It won’t surprise you to learn that he didn’t look all that great. A lot of people - including some of Rodgers’ staff - wondered if they’d bought a dud.
But I remember the conversations with those who had driven his signing. “He’s superb,” they told me, “but he needs time…oh, and he’s a centre-forward too.” I’m not sure I bought it, but the point of having such conversations is to give yourself a bit of perspective, a wider understanding.
So I remember the early days of Klopp, an elusive performance at Stamford Bridge on Hallowe’en (they had pumpkin-flavoured cheesecake) and then an absolutely brilliant one at the Etihad a few weeks later. The first signs. The first goal. The first introduction to Bobby. The No.9, but not a No.9. Our No.9.
I remember speaking to Jamie Carragher and Steven Gerrard, separately, after Liverpool went to Australia at the end of the 2016-17 season. They took a few legends on that trip, you might remember, and both Carragher and Gerrard were adamant that Firmino was by far the best player at the club, easily the best trainer, and the one who made everyone else look the part. Ball knows ball, as the kids might say.
I remember standing in the mixed zone - it was more like the queue for Day One at Glastonbury to be perfectly honest - at the Wanda Metropolitano in the early hours of June 2, 2019. Liverpool had just beaten Tottenham to win the Champions League. I grabbed a quick word with Joe Gomez, who kindly allowed a colleague to wear his medal for second, and with Jordan Henderson, who spoke with the enthusiasm of a man who’d just completed his self-assessment tax return (or rather, a man who just wanted to go and celebrate with his mates rather than speak to me and James Pearce).
And then Bobby appeared, hair sprayed red, teeth dyed white. I’m certain he had a bottle of Heineken in his hand too. He’s made a habit, Firmino, of turning down post-match interview requests (from the UK media, at least) with a beaming smile, but on a night like this he was prepared to make an exception.
‘Brilliant!’ we thought. A word from Bobby. This will be good. It wasn’t. He never stopped smiling, but offered little more than “I am very happy” during his 25-second ‘speech’. He sauntered off into the night as us journalists wondered what the hell we could possibly make from that. Nearly four years on, we have our answer!
I remember the goals. A stormer against Arsenal (he liked Arsenal), a dink at Palace, a blast at Stoke. Big one, the Stoke one. Grand National Day I believe. The top came off after that one. His, not mine.
He scored the first goal in front of the new Main Stand at Anfield. Found the net against United in the Europa League. He didn’t always score the easy ones but he could finish when he needed to. In 2017-18 he was unplayable, the string puller as Sadio Mane and Mo Salah ran riot. Roma at home is the high water-mark for that front three in terms of performance. Truly devastating. Firmino scored twice and created the rest of the carnage. One of the great No.9 performances I’ve witnessed.
I picture Manchester City, John Stones shrugged aside and a clip in off the far post. I picture the backheeled assist for Salah at Southampton, the jink and the finish to win a big one against PSG. The ‘one-eye’ celebration. There was a hat-trick against Arsenal, another goal at the end of a glorious team move at the Etihad (albeit in defeat), a huge one against Spurs. I only wish he’d been fully fit for that final. He wasn’t, and it showed. Divock Origi got the glory that night. Bobby won’t have cared.
He got his moment the following year. His goal won the Club World Cup for the first time, and his goals elsewhere kept Liverpool steady at the top of the Premier League. They pissed it in the end, but don’t underestimate the significance of strikes at Southampton, Chelsea and Palace before Christmas, the game-breaker at Leicester on Boxing Day, or the winners at Spurs and Wolves in the January. Momentum won Liverpool that league, and Bobby did as much as anyone to keep that momentum going.
His pictures from the title win are the best. Sunglasses, curly red hair and a smile to light up L4. He always gives the impression he’s enjoying life, and I’ll be honest, that means something to me as I get older. Nothing worse than a miserable footballer. It’s why Fernando Torres never took a hold with me. Sorry.
When I think of Firmino I’ll think of selflessness, someone who took more pleasure in other people scoring a goal than he did himself. His kung-fu celebrations will live on, I’m sure, and were notable because they usually weren’t for his own goals.
I’ll think of the subtlety, a lay-off here and a flick there, a run towards the ball when the opposite was the call. Space, space, space. His world was about space. I’ll think of the showmanship, that assist for Salah against Newcastle, or the one that should have been for Mane at Genk. A completely unnecessary one for Darwin Núñez at Rangers this season. Just for the sake of it. Just for the fun. The same with the no-look finishes. So unnecessary, but so enjoyable.
I’ll think of a player who typified Liverpool under Klopp; classy, hard-working and smart, but also humble to a fault and hungry like they’d never eaten before. Bought to take the club on, and doing exactly that.
I’ll think of a guy that we never really got to know, not in any deep or meaningful way. He was just ‘Bobby’ really, wasn’t he? Off in his own little world, whistling, singing and dancing, but adored by every teammate, staff member and supporter who ever encountered him. He plays the piano now, apparently. Who knew, and why didn’t Liverpool’s social media team make some hay with it?
I’ll think of his song, booming out down concourses, through train stations and in the car parks of motorway services for all eternity. It’s the best one, if you ask me. Everything about it just works. My colleague and friend Pete Staunton was singing it all weekend at the Champions League final in 2019, and he was only there to cover Spurs.
I don’t need to hope this, as it’s a guarantee, but I hope he gets the best three-month farewell tour imaginable. I hope ‘Siiii, Señor’ rings out at Bournemouth and in Madrid, at the Etihad and Stamford Bridge and at Leeds and West Ham and Leicester and Southampton.
I hope Anfield leaves Bobby in no doubt whatsoever as to the esteem he’s held in. Players like him do not come around often. Liverpool have been beyond fortunate to have had a few in recent years but I suspect that if you ask any of this generation’s team to name their favourite, it’ll be Bobby. Michael Edwards didn’t name his dog after him for nothing, and you don’t need to look far to find out what Klopp thinks of him. No player has ever played more games for Klopp than Firmino.
As a journalist, I’ll content myself with the memories, and the suspicion that there’ll be a few more to come between now and May. And I’ll spend the rest of my days, I’m sure, pointing out that while this striker and that striker are good and smart and inventive and fun, they don’t quite do it like Bobby did it.
Roberto Firmino, Liverpool’s No.9.
Some footballer.
Just caught up with this - marvellous tribute to a marvellous footballer
Fabulous tribute to my favourite Liverpool player of the modern era. Thank you Neil, it's much appreciated.