Crisis averted, precedent established
So Mohamed Salah and Arne Slot shook hands on Friday afternoon, and apparently that's supposed to make everything alright at Liverpool. The Daily Mail reports that after a week threatening to tear the club apart, the Egyptian forward and his manager had "positive discussions" following training. Salah is back in contention for Saturday's match against Brighton. Bridges haven't been burned. The Saudi Pro League and MLS clubs circling will have to wait. Crisis averted.
Except it isn't averted at all. It's papered over. There's a massive difference, and Liverpool supporters who think this handshake represents anything more than a temporary ceasefire are deluding themselves.
Let's review what actually happened here: A player earning north of £400,000 per week publicly accused his club of throwing him "under the bus," claimed the manager had destroyed their relationship, and suggested the club had broken promises made in the summer. He then sat out the Inter Milan match—didn't even travel to Italy—before engaging in what sounds suspiciously like a hostage negotiation that resulted in his return to the squad.
And the resolution? A handshake. Some "positive talks." The player gets what he wanted.
When the tail wags the dog
This is the fundamental problem with modern football's power structure, and Liverpool just provided a textbook example. A manager—hired to make decisions about team selection and tactics—benches a player based on form, fitness, or tactical considerations. That's literally his job. The player responds not by working harder in training or accepting the decision like a professional, but by going public with grievances designed to force the club's hand.
And it worked.
Salah's explosive interview in the mixed zone after the 3-3 draw with Leeds was calculated to do exactly what it did: create such a firestorm that Liverpool would be compelled to broker peace. "I could not believe I was sitting on the bench for 90 minutes. That's the third time. It's the first time in my career," he complained. As if his personal feelings about being benched should override the manager's judgment about what's best for the team.
Jamie Carragher called the interview "a disgrace." Steven Gerrard said it was "wrong" for Salah to claim he'd been thrown under the bus. Both former Liverpool captains understood what this was: a direct challenge to managerial authority from a player who believes his status puts him above team discipline.
The precedent that poisons dressing rooms
Here's what Liverpool's handling of this situation has taught every player in that dressing room: If you're important enough, valuable enough, or marketable enough, you can publicly undermine your manager and force the club to negotiate rather than discipline you. You can skip matches—even crucial Champions League fixtures—and return to the fold with nothing more than a stern conversation.
Arne Slot is seven months into his Liverpool tenure. He's trying to establish his authority, implement his system, and transition the club beyond the Jürgen Klopp era. And he's just been shown that when push comes to shove, Mohamed Salah's feelings matter more than his decisions.
The formation change tells you everything you need to know. Liverpool successfully switched to a diamond setup in Salah's absence and looked better for it. But now that peace has been brokered, the question becomes: Does Slot stick with what's working, or does he accommodate Salah to keep him happy? If it's the latter—and let's be honest, it probably will be—then who's really managing this team?
The commercial reality nobody wants to discuss
Of course Liverpool negotiated. Of course they found a resolution. Salah isn't just any player—he's a global brand, a commercial juggernaut, and still one of the most lethal forwards in world football when he's on form. Letting him storm off to Saudi Arabia or MLS in January would be a disaster for the club's finances and their title challenge.
But that's precisely the problem. Football clubs have become so dependent on star players' commercial value that they can't enforce basic standards of professional behavior. The player knows it, the agent knows it, and now everyone else knows it too.
Salah claimed the club "promised him a lot in summer" and "haven't kept those promises." What promises? A guaranteed starting spot regardless of form? Immunity from tactical decisions? The right to veto the manager's selections? These are the questions Liverpool should be asking publicly, but won't, because it would expose the uncomfortable reality of how player power actually operates.
What happens at AFCON stays at AFCON—until it doesn't
The Daily Mail notes that further discussions are planned between Salah's representatives and Liverpool during the Africa Cup of Nations, after the Brighton match. So this isn't even resolved—it's postponed. The player heads off to international duty, tensions simmer down, and everyone pretends the underlying issues don't exist.
Until they resurface. Because they will.
Whether it's contract negotiations, a rough patch of form leading to more benchings, or simply Salah's ego reasserting itself, this pattern will repeat. A player who believes he was wronged once will believe it again. A club that capitulated once will capitulate again. And a manager who backed down once has shown everyone he can be pressured into backing down again.
The cost of keeping the peace
Liverpool supporters should be worried, not relieved. Yes, Salah is back in the squad for Brighton. Yes, he might even start—though in what role remains unclear, given that the diamond formation doesn't really accommodate his traditional position on the right flank. Perhaps he partners Hugo Ekitike up front, assuming Alexander Isak's knock keeps him out.
But the damage is done. Every player who watched this unfold now knows that public dissent works if you're important enough. Every future manager knows that Liverpool's stars can go over their head when they don't like decisions. And every rival club knows that Liverpool's dressing room hierarchy places commercial considerations above sporting discipline.
Slot's "I have no reasons not wanting him to stay" comment on Friday struck an optimistic tone, the manager said. Read between the lines: That's not a manager confidently backing his decisions. That's a manager who's been told to make nice and move on.
The handshake might have ended the immediate crisis, but it's established a precedent that will haunt Liverpool far longer than Salah's eventual departure. You can't put that genie back in the bottle. Player power won, managerial authority lost, and no amount of positive Friday afternoon talks changes that fundamental reality.
This is modern football: where a handshake fixes nothing, but everyone pretends it fixes everything.
