In a gut-wrenching confession that’s left the Kop in collective heartbreak, Mohamed Salah – the Egyptian pharaoh who’s etched his name into Anfield’s immortals with 248 goals and a treasure trove of trophies – has dropped a bombshell so seismic it’s rumbling through Merseyside like a derby-day thunderclap. “I’ve been thrown under the bus by this club,” the 33-year-old superstar seethed in a raw, post-match interview after Liverpool’s infuriating 3-3 draw at Leeds United on Saturday, December 6, 2025, his voice cracking with the weight of betrayal. Benched for the third straight game under Arne Slot – an unused sub as the Reds squandered a two-goal lead at Elland Road – Salah didn’t just vent frustration; he hinted that next Saturday’s clash with Brighton at Anfield could be his final bow in red. “In football, you never know,” he said, eyes steely under the floodlights. “I’ve done so much for this club… but this situation? I don’t accept it.” As Saudi billions sharpen their pencils and Slot’s honeymoon dissolves into outright mutiny, one chilling reality dawns: Liverpool’s greatest modern servant might walk away in January, torching a dynasty for a Dutch dream gone sour.

The fuse ignited in the raw chill of West Yorkshire, where Liverpool – third in the table but nine points adrift of Arsenal’s relentless surge – arrived as champions desperate to ignite their stuttering title defense. Slot, the analytical Ajax alum who inherited Jürgen Klopp’s juggernaut last summer, gambled big: bench Salah again, this time for a “tactical tweak” against Leeds’ high press, opting for the untested flair of Ben Doak and Harvey Elliott. The Reds roared into a 3-1 lead by the hour mark – Cody Gakpo’s brace and Darwin Núñez’s  but as stoppage time ticked into eternity, Crysencio Summerville’s 95th-minute rocket leveled it, turning triumph into torment. Salah, 32 and fuming on the sidelines in a puffy tracksuit, waved grimly to the away end as boos for Slot echoed faintly. What followed in the mixed zone wasn’t a sulk; it was a scorched-earth soliloquy.

“I’m very, very disappointed,” Salah began, his trademark humility fracturing into fury as cameras swarmed. “I’ve given everything – two Premier Leagues, that Champions League miracle, 32 goals last season alone. And now? Sitting on the bench, unused, while we drop points like confetti. It feels like the club’s made me the scapegoat for this mess. Thrown under the bus, that’s what it is.” Pressed on his fractured bond with Slot – once hailed as a “non-negotiable partnership” in pre-season niceties – Salah didn’t mince words: “I had a good relationship with the manager. All of a sudden? Nothing. Zero. It’s broken down, and I don’t know why.” The Dutchman, in his own presser, doubled down on “rotation needs,” but his words rang hollow: “We’re adapting as a team. Mo understands the bigger picture.” Does he? Salah’s retort, laced with bitter laughter: “The bigger picture? Tell that to the fans who chant my name while I warm the bench.”

The nuclear hint came when a reporter dared the unthinkable: “Brighton next week – could that be your last game at Anfield?” Salah paused, the weight of eight trophy-laden years flashing in his eyes – that 2018 UCL final redemption, the COVID-era title clincher, the tearful contract extension in April that silenced Saudi sirens. “In football, you never know,” he replied, voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any dagger. “I don’t accept this. I’ve done so much… but if this is how they treat loyalty? Who knows.” It’s not bluster; insiders whisper of January feelers from Al-Hilal (£150m war chest reloaded) and PSG. Salah dodged the Saudi specifics – “I don’t want to answer that; the club’s taking me in a different direction” – but his body language screamed finality. Egypt duty for the Africa Cup of Nations in Morocco starts right after Brighton; by the time he returns, the transfer window could be a one-way portal out of Merseyside.

Anfield’s autopsy is brutal. Salah’s benchings – West Ham (1-1 draw), Sunderland (0-0 bore), now Leeds – coincide with Liverpool’s slide: five goals in four games without him starting, a defensive frailty that’s leaked 12 concessions already. His stats? Still supernova: 16 goals, 12 assists in 18 outings, an xG of 0.82 per 90 that dwarfs Gakpo’s 0.45. But Slot’s high-line heresy – tighter pressing, less Salahian freedom – has grated since October, whispers of training-ground clashes bubbling into open war. “Arne wants robots; Mo’s an artist,” one Carrington confidant leaks to The Athletic. Teammates? Fractured loyalties: Trent Alexander-Arnold, Salah’s overlap soulmate, broke ranks post-Leeds with a cryptic “We need our leaders on the pitch, not the sidelines.” Virgil van Dijk, the iron skipper, urged unity on Dutch telly: “Frustration’s fuel, but talk it out – for the badge.” Yet, as #SlotOut petitions hit 150k signatures and #FreeMo murals sprout on Walton Breck Road, the rot festers.

Punditry’s a powder keg. Jamie Redknapp, on Sky’s Monday Night Football, didn’t hold back: “This is Ronaldo 2.0 – but worse. Mo’s not just a player; he’s the heartbeat. Slot’s frozen him out for ‘balance’? Bollocks. January exit? Inevitable if Arne doesn’t bend.” Gary Neville piled on his podcast: “Liverpool kept him last summer to build a dynasty. Now? They’re dismantling it over ego. Saudi’s calling – and we all know Mo hates the desert, but principles have a price.” Even Klopp, from his German idyll, texted well-wishers: “Mo’s irreplaceable. Arne, swallow pride – or lose the plot.” Slot’s retort today? Frosty as a Fenway freeze: “We’re evolving. Results will prove it. Mo’s future? That’s for the board.” But with Michael Edwards in crisis mode – huddles at the AXA Training Centre stretching into dawn – the board’s sweating: free agency looms in summer, but January cash could fund a rebuild sans regret.

Fans? Devastated delirium. The Kop’s sacred ground, where “Allez, Allez, Allez” once drowned out Champions League anthems, now hums with dread. “He’s our god – how dare they bench him?” wails a 52-year-old season-ticket holder outside the Shankly Hotel, her scarf knotted like a noose. X is apocalypse: #SalahStays at 1.2 million tweets, fan cams of his 2019 Barcelona semi-final solo spliced with bench-side scowls. Petitions beg FSG to intervene; boycotts threaten matchday merch. One viral banner prototype? “Slot Out, Mo In – Or We’re Out.” Globally, Egyptian flags wave in Cairo cafes, while Saudi scrolls hype “The Pharaoh’s Return” with mock kits already in production.

For Salah, it’s poetic agony. At 33, time’s the thief – not form. He laughed off contract regrets, insisted no beef with mates, but the subtext screams swan song. Brighton – a Seagulls side flying high under De Zerbi’s remnants – awaits at fortress Anfield. Will it be a farewell hat-trick, a Kop serenade to rival Wembley ’22? Or a frosty finale, Slot’s stubbornness sealing a Saudi sunset? As December 7, 2025, dawns gray over the Mersey, one truth towers: Salah didn’t build Liverpool; he is Liverpool. Lose him now, and the Reds don’t just drop points – they drop everything. Arne, the clock’s ticking. The King’s crown is slipping. YNWA? Not without him. Tick-tock to Brighton – Anfield’s holding its breath.