There are occasional sightings of him around the city. A face is glimpsed; perhaps climbing out of a car, perhaps stepping into a mosque. A phone is surreptitiously brandished. The rumour spreads like fire. Pretty quickly these sightings take on the status of urban myths; brief brushes with the divine. There was the time he was at a petrol station and decided to pay for everyone’s fuel. There was the kid who chased after his car, went smack into a lamppost and now boasts a photograph of himself with a lavishly bloodied nose, and Mohamed Salah’s arm tenderly clasped around his shoulder.
A few weeks ago, with that new contract still unsigned, a rumour spread around the city that Salah was out at the docks filming content for the club’s media channels. Invariably by the time the crowds arrived he was gone. For the people of Liverpool, their greatest footballer is someone really only seen in snatches: a blur, a whisper, a trick of the light. And if this is partly the nature of celebrity, then it is worth pointing out that this is also how a lot of Premier League defences have been experiencing Salah this season.
