Mohammed Salah feels betrayed; in an hour of crisis, he would have expected his manager to stand firm beside him. His manager Arne Slot too feels betrayed; in the darkest of days, in the tactical mess he is immersed in, he would have wanted his club’s talisman to understand him and not go public with his grievances. At the heart of the Salah-Slot saga is this sense of mutual betrayal, now at a level beyond peace talks that Liverpool’s greatest footballer since Steven Gerrard must have played his last game in the shirt that made him famous. And a shirt that he shed his blood, sweat and tears. Cruelly, Salah’s farewell would pass without a testimonial game, tributes or a statue outside the arena. He could be remembered more for the final act of indiscretion rather than the left-footed swipes that had etched several victorious nights. Liverpool had already entered the post-Salah era, just as Salah would realise that his Liverpool days were over. It’s a moving-over that could be tougher on Salah than Liverpool. …