Alison s handwriting: Klopp is the lighthouse of the long night, the green scenery between me and my father has not ended

Recently, Theplayerstribune published Alison's handwritten article. In this article, he tells how Klopp caught his collapse with his father's heart when the bad news came from Brazil. At the same time, Alison also talked about his two generations of goalkeepers with his father, and his understanding of the Liverpool team song "You Will Never Walk Alone".

There is a picture in my mind about my father when I was young. This is deeper than mere memory. Do you know that memory is always blurry? But this is different. It is colorful and warm. Almost like a dream.

At that time, I was about 3 years old and was already playing mini football with my brother Muriel in the living room. He was 8 years old and I followed him around like “stringed to his waist with a rope.”

My father just returned home after a long work and collapsed on the sofa and lay completely flat. Do you know what my father looks like after a day of hard work? It's like the whole body weighs four hundred pounds. "Ah... I'm so tired..."

In Brazil, this is the iconic pose - put the pillow under your head and your right hand hangs on the edge of the sofa.

My brother and I rushed into the room and began to shake him.

"Dad...Dad... Get up!"

He protested for a few seconds, then rolled from the sofa to the carpet.

"Great!"

Then my father rolled directly under the sofa. He disappeared. I can only see two big hands stretching out from the darkness and waving wildly.

"You definitely can't score the goal today. I'm Tafarrel!"

It was during the World Cup. The carpet is our stadium. The gap under the sofa is our goal. My father's big hand is Brazilian legendary goalkeeper Tafarell.

My brother takes turns playing Rivaldo, Bebeto, Ronaldo, Dunga...

I can only be a role he doesn't choose. (The fate of all my brothers.)

The picture is so vivid that I can even smell the smell at that time. The leather smell of the sofa, the aroma of mother cooking dinner, the smell of father's clothes.

I saw his big hand swing back and forth, trying to make a heroic save in the World Cup final. Occasionally he would poke his head out from under the sofa to make faces. My brother and I were both laughing so hard that we were crazy.

This is not only a picture that can be seen with closed eyes... but also a personal feeling, as if yesterday.

When I received the news of my father's death, I was separated from my hometown from me from my hometown. It was the mid-2020/2021 season and I was at Liverpool. His death was very sudden and I could not accept it at all. My mother called and said that an accident had occurred at home and her father drowned in a lake near her home. I just remember being completely lost at the time. How could a man like his father leave? He is the "real man" in people's words. The strongest existence.

I have heard legends about him since I was a child. He is also a goalkeeper - this is probably the gene in our blood. On the court, people said he was fearless and would rush directly to the offensive player to block the shot with his face.

"Your dad is such a lunatic." His old friends told me.

I used to think it was just an exaggerated story. But the facts are much deeper than football.

He is a complete person, both on the court and in life. He adheres to the principle of "family first" in everything he does. Always like this.

His departure completely defeated me. I can't even think about football. We must keep reminding ourselves that we are still playing professional football and that Liverpool is fighting for the top four. The epidemic has made the situation more complicated, and the process of returning to China is like a nightmare. My wife is pregnant with our third child and the epidemic in Brazil is out again. The doctor said she should not travel far and could only stay in Liverpool with her children. This made her very painful-she loved my father deeply. We often joke that my father loves her the most.

If we had a small dispute in front of our father, he would always say, "I think Natalia is right."

She is a daughter he had never had before.

I can only fly to Brazil alone.

The memory will be blurred in the next two or three days. I just remember that flowers are constantly being delivered to my home. Van Dijk, Andrew Robertson, Fabinho, Firmino, Thiago... all the brothers sent flowers and condolences. Not only his teammates, but even Guardiola and Ancelotti also sent letters of condolences. This deeply touched my heart. Every 10 minutes, a courier knocks on the door holding flowers.

Only those in pain can understand how important these small actions are. They remind you: Even the biggest opponent recognizes the real person behind the jersey.

I will never forget Klopp's call. I feel guilty for absent from training because we are in the four critical periods. But he said, "You can do as long as you need." I said, "Well...but..." He said, "It's okay, don't worry about anything." Klopp lost his father at a similar age as me, and he deeply understood my pain. To me he is not only a coach, but more like a second father. I think everyone can feel this - from the moment when Origi beat Everton, he rushed through the half-time like a madman. I occasionally watch that video on my phone and laugh every time. But it is more of a moment that the public cannot see: after the away win we sat on the bus and raised our glasses to celebrate like typical Germans and Brazilians.

Klopp gave me time to mourn—not every coach can understand it so much. That's how Liverpool is. It's unique here, and the players are unique. The team manager Ray Hogan sent a message saying that the whole team decided to pay me the charter flight for the funeral. But the reality is cruel: at that time, it took 14 days for hotel quarantine. It was difficult to think that it was too late to be locked in the hotel for two weeks after attending the funeral. The most painful thing was that my wife had to face the late pregnancy alone. She may be in labor at any time.

The phone call with my mother and brother is the most difficult call in my life. We cried bitterly, but finally decided: my father would want me to protect my child and his "beloved daughter". This is his life creed and the best way to commemorate him.

I hug every opportunity to hug him, and I say every moment I can say "I love you". No unspeakable words. He knows it all.

But at this moment, I never felt so far away from my hometown.

We attended the funeral through FaceTime. My brother held up his cell phone and broadcast the whole live broadcast. I prayed and cried with my mother, and even said goodbye in front of the coffin. The magic is that at that moment you will forget to pass through the screen. Memories and love cross the distance, and you are talking to your father in eternity.

Yes, I have nothing to say. The only thing left is: "Thank you."

is not only for the identity of a father, but also for the friendship of friends.

Without teammates and clubs, I couldn't spend that time. When I resumed training a few days later, my father's images always came unexpectedly: when he was playing in childhood like a statue; when fishing with him on the lake; drinking matte tea with the barbecue and saying two words every five minutes; after Tafarrel saved a penalty in 1998, he smashed his whole face into the funny scene of birthday cake celebration; after a day of hard work, he still climbed into the bottom of the sofa to play Tafarrel's persistence...

These scenes made me burst into tears during training.

Imagine: When you are setting up a wall to defend Arnold's free kick, tears blurred your vision! It's hard enough not to cry normally!

But the teammates were incredibly tolerant. They mourn together like family members. Returning to the training ground gave me peace. I often say that football is not a "choice", but an instinct engraved in the bones.

In Brazil, football is the wave you control.

Returning to the court allowed me to find peace and ride the waves toward the calm waters.

After returning home from training, I often slumped on the sofa like my father did back then. With her feet raised, her left hand matte tea, and her head rest is soft. Every day, his son Matteo would rush into the living room after school and stuff the ball into my hand.

"Come and play..."

He is five years old and obsessed with football. We found that he read through YouTube search records:

'ivrpol'

'hi liit liverpol'

'livrpool dad save'

'liverpool vs meelan'

'all we need is alisson becker song'

(The last one is from my daughter Helena - she sings every day for breakfast)

Matteo keeps improving until he can spell "Liverpool". He would cry when he was forced to sleep at the Champions League night! The first thing I do when I wake up is to watch the highlights of the game.

He has never criticized me so far.

"We tied last night."

"Is that?"

"Yes, they scored, we scored too. I love your dad."

Then the game will always start on the floor. No matter how tired you are, your father must be the goalkeeper.

At first we used the bottom of the sofa as the goal, but later he forced us to buy the "real goal". Now the mini goal is placed in front of the sofa, and I am lying on the floor to imitate my father's appearance that way he was blocking me.

carpet is our stadium.

Son plays Salah, Arnold or Vinicius.

I always say I want to be Tafarrel, but I have to be Alison. The story is repeating. The story continues.

Three months after the death of his father, his son Raphael was born. For my wife and I, it was a rebirth of hope. The light of life shines again. His name has a special meaning: it comes from the Hebrew word "God has healed." Six days after Raphael was born, something I cannot explain so far happened.

The key battle against West Brom, we must win to maintain the qualification for the Champions League. Everything went wrong that day, and the stoppage time was still 1 to 1. As a goalkeeper, you can only stand helplessly in the penalty area. We got a corner kick in the last moment. The goalkeeper coach called me to rush to the front court. put all one's eggs in one basket. I sprinted with all my might and saw Arnold take a corner kick as soon as I entered the penalty area. To be honest, as a goalkeeper, you will never feel that you can really score goals.

Just create chaos.

The next second the ball went straight to the goal. I shook my head and fell to the ground after attacking the door. Suddenly being shrouded in warm light - that's what it means to describe. Everyone hugged me. Thiago cried and hugged, Firmino cried and laughed, and Salah jumped like a child. Never seen him so happy to score for someone else! Pure joy.

The empty game makes this moment even more special. There was no cheering for fans, only the love of my teammates - they accompanied me through the darkest moments of my life. The benches, staff, and equipment administrators were shouting as if the Kop stands were full again.

I remember looking up at the sky, England was rainy and rainy. But for me, the sky is bright at this moment.

I said, "Dad...Dad..."

This is dedicated to you, Dad!

When I go back to the locker room and take off my boots, the people who lose their loved ones always ask:

"Did he see it? I am watching?"

As we all know, I am a believer, but many people don't know that this faith is not easy to come by.

Faith is invisible, or even indescribable. It is a stronger power than emotion or slogan, and a complete trust in Jesus.

Every time I hear the most shocking opening song in the football world, I think of these:

"When you walk through the storm..."

There are thousands of football songs, and only this song is memorable. Why? Because it is about the deep meaning of life: no matter who you are, you will eventually suffer. Dreams will be blown away by the strong wind. The one who loves deeply will eventually leave.

At that time, you couldn't escape the ultimate question: "Are they still watching? Can they meet again?"

I look forward to the day when I meet my father again. Looking forward to watching him hold matte tea in the shore of eternity, fishing like the old days. No need to say much, enjoy the lake light.

Before that day came, I was convinced: I will never walk alone. In the four years since my father passed away, my teammates, coaches, friends, and neighbors have given me and my family endless care. I know that part of my father's soul is still there - not only in dreams, but also when I return from training and sit on the sofa and feel the weight of 400 pounds, I hear the footsteps of Mateo and Raphael running from the room.

"Dad-Dad--!"

"I am exhausted..."

"You have to be a goalkeeper!"

"Okay okay."

I rolled down to the floor with a bang.

"Great!"

(Daughter Helena always spins and dances while we play)

Every time they run, every time I lay on the floor to guard the goal, every time I make funny faces, I can feel my father's presence.

"You will definitely not score today. I am Tafarrel!" The laughter of the child, to me, is God's response.

YNWA!

Alison

(Armour)