Thank You, God. Thank You, Football. by Divock Origi

To all my family, friends, and supporters,

I want to tell you about something in a footballer’s life that people don’t really know about. I want to tell you about the silence. Only players really know the silence — that dead quiet that hits you the minute you walk into your hotel room after a big match.

There is one silence I will never forget.

June 22, 2014. 

Let me take you back to the second game of the group at the World Cup in Brazil. Belgium v. Russia. We needed a result to make it to the Round of 16, and the match was tough. 

To back up a bit, it was a miracle that I was even in the squad. I was 19 years old, and at the time I had never trained with the first team even once. Man, I’m blessed, I’m telling you. When I got the call, me and my mum were in the car on the way back home from the shop. I had just gotten her a special gift to celebrate having a successful season at Lille. So Marc Wilmots, the manager of the Belgium national team at the time, called me. And he’s like, “Hey, I’m about to call you up to the national team. I believe in you.”  

Me and Mum were just in disbelief. Straight up. We hurried to put on the radio, and we just started hearing all the names……… It was the prime of the Golden Generation. This is Dembélé, this is Kompany, who was captain, this is Hazard, this is Kevin, this is Thibaut Courtois.…….

And then Origi. 

Hearing my name coming through the radio felt surreal. I was so humbled and overcome with emotion.

Flash forward, and we’re in Rio in the match against Russia.

It’s nil-nil and like 3 minutes left. I remember, I drove deep, took the ball, gave it to Eden. Eden ended his action on the left, laid it back for me, and in the 88th minute, I tapped it in. 

Just imagine: you sub in for Romelu, who first took you under his wing. You’re in the Maracanã, your father’s dream stadium — your father, who never got to go to the bigger European leagues. Your father, who did an unbelievable thing and laid the foundation for you to walk in his big steps. Your father, whose favourite player was Pelé. 

To him, that was Pelé’s stadium. 

And then you actually score in Pelé’s house.

I was just carrying the legacy over. It was pure bliss, pure bliss. It was definitely a God moment. 

That’s what I call it: A God moment.

The king and the queen of Belgium were in the stadium. They were celebrating after the match. I broke the protocol and asked the king to take a selfie — he said yes. I saw my parents and embraced them, wiping away the tears in my mother’s eyes. And it’s so funny, I had teammates coming up, recruiting me to their clubs!! 

Like, “Bro, you want to come to Atlético Madrid?!” 

Hahaha. It was all so crazy. Then we took the bus back to the hotel, and when we got back, I went straight to my room. 

This is the silence. 

After a match there’s the music — in Rio, of course, it was samba — the drums and songs from the stands, there’s the press conference, and the media. Thousands of people screaming out of their minds from joy. There’s so much noise. Enough noise to shake the Maracanã, the King Baudouin, and Anfield all at once. It all just blends together in the stadium into one unbreakable roar of football passion. Walking off the pitch, your blood is hot and pumping with adrenaline. Your ears are ringing. 

Then you go to your hotel room, and it’s completely quiet. 

It’s almost peaceful, you know what I mean? Outside those doors, the world is celebrating. But inside that little room, it’s just you and your thoughts.

You really get to know yourself in that silence. That’s been the story of my career.

In the silence I found God. In my darkest moments, and at the highest peaks, when the world finally goes quiet, when I step into that room, alone, that’s when God whispers to me my purpose. I will explain this more later.

After my goal in the World Cup, Belgium completely erupted. I remember buying all the Belgian newspapers online, and all of them had my face on the front. There was a film crew at my house back home. My sister was interviewed. I saw Marvin Willem, my best friend, giving a comment. The whole nation was with me. Barbershops were giving free vouchers to put a yellow line in their hair like me. It was surreal. I became Belgium’s youngest-ever World Cup scorer, one of the ten youngest in the tournament’s history, and the first player of Kenyan origin to score at a World Cup — that last one means a lot to me. And for a brief moment, I was one of Belgium’s heroes.

Man, listen!! You couldn’t write a better movie than this. Hollywood, come talk to me!!!!

Only God can do this. Only God can create a story like The Divock Origi Story.

He gifted me with this unbelievable gift. And this gift went beyond anything I could ever have imagined. 

I came into this world with the ball at my feet. That ball became my best friend. At night, when I slept, that ball was right next to me. I tucked it in at night. Then I’d close my eyes and picture them showing my highlights on Match of the Day. Football was my whole life. “What do you want to be when you grow up, Divock?” Pffttt, come on, do you even need to ask?

When you’re young, and you’re dreaming of being a pro, it’s interesting. You visualize the high moments. You fantasize about it all. Got the whole script written. But you never really picture how it will end. 

In your dreams, you never get older, you never go beyond. You’re just suspended in time, on the pitch, in a moment of glory — winning the Prem or the Champions League, or getting capped in the World Cup. But the truth is that nothing lasts forever. 

I look back and just shake my head in awe at everything I have accomplished in this game that I love. Even now, as I write this, it is unbelievable to me that the little boy, from Belgium and Kenya, achieved all his dreams. 

All I can say is, thank you, God. Thank you, football.

After the World Cup, I signed for Liverpool, which was surreal. I remember I visited their facilities, and they played a compilation of my highlights dating back to when I was 15. They knew my playing style. They knew me. And I just felt it in my bones: I need to be here.

Brendan Rodgers, Liverpool’s manager at the time, really believed in me, and he was texting me like, “Hey, I have Daniel Sturridge, I have Raheem Sterling, and I want to grow you into this next version of the squad.”

Lille didn’t want to let me go right away, so we made an arrangement for me to stay on loan for a year. And that year wasn’t easy. My grandma, who was my dad’s mom, passed away. I didn’t speak about it that much. It was probably not the healthiest, looking back. In 2018, I started talking with a therapist to have a safe space to process my emotions. But back then, I didn’t have that. I told my friends, but it wasn’t in a vulnerable way. I wouldn’t have admitted this at the time, but I was going through it. I went inward.

It was like a cloud went over me, mentally. And I think because I didn’t really have the tools to get out of that, it’s almost like it stifled my creativity, the way I expressed myself on the pitch. It was hard for me to find that gear. And so I went even more inward. Lille is where I grew up. It was like a second home to me. I hated to be struggling in my last season there. I wished I had more to give.

I remember one day I told my dad I needed something extra, to raise my level back up. So he said, “You know what? Let’s go do some finishing.” And we trained together. Then, two weeks after my grandma passed, I scored a hat-trick. It was one of the few times I got a little bit of air that year. I always remember that moment because I felt like it had something to do with my grandma, and me and my dad coming together to train again like when I was a kid.

Let me tell you about my dad for a moment. Growing up, all I knew was that, “Dad won the championship.” 

That was in ’99. It’s my earliest memory of my father. His name is Michael, but everyone calls him Mike. He played for Genk, in Belgium, in the ’90s, and the Kenyan national team. I was three years old. You can barely form memories at that age. But still, I can remember being in the stadium, feeling the emotion. I was there with my mom, sitting on her lap, and one of her friends was with us. And I remember them speaking to each other very excitedly about how Genk needed to get a certain number of points to win the league. At that age, of course I couldn’t understand what that meant, but it was thrilling. 

After they won, he was like a legend. When I was older, and we would be out and about in the city, I remember random people would pull up on us like, “Hey, Mike!!” 

My dad, he had a gift. And then at school I played, and I learned, Oh, I have the gift, too.

When I was a kid, every time I would play football, people would say, “That’s the son of Mike Origi.”

I felt lucky to have a dad who knows football. He can be tough with you because he understood the game, so he was always speaking facts. Deep down though, I didn’t want to disappoint the Origi name. I was blessed that from the U11s, I was always one of the top prospects in the country. But man, it’s one thing for people to know who your dad is, but when other kids know that you are the son of so-and-so? They will come for you. So I did feel that pressure. And in a way, that taught me how to be comfortable in high intensity environments. I guess I learned to stop looking at his shadow as a weight, and I made it my friend.

Fast forward, and it’s switched. People see my father, and they say, “Oh, you are Divock Origi’s dad.”

That was his dream. Oh my gosh, it’s all he wished. And it came true.

First, his son’s name blew up in the Maracanã.

At Anfield, it became legend.

“You’ll Never Walk Alone,” those aren’t just words to me. They really mean something.

And when all of Anfield comes together singing it at once…… Man. It’s so beautiful it’ll tear your heart out.

In the cathedral that is Anfield Stadium, every game is just electric. It takes you to all levels. In the city, the working class culture, the Scouse accent, all of it just made Liverpool feel different, more down to earth. More real. The fans are the soul.

When I first moved to Liverpool, I lived in Formby, on the outskirts, but then I moved to the city centre. The fans would call out to me like they did with my dad in Genk — full circle. They would always see me and say, “Hey, Divock,” with the accent of course, “If there’s one thing you can do, if you can win us the Premier League, you’ll be a legend here!!!” 

When I scored, and I went for coffee the next day, it would be crazy. I was in the middle, in the heat of it, and I felt the energy. I used to pull my hat down low and ride my bike by the docks, or go on walks there. I had my little coffee spot. Liverpool became home.

Straight away I was close with Mamadou Sakho and Kolo Touré. The boys just embraced me. But then the first month didn’t necessarily go the way I wanted it to. The training levels were five, six times more than what I was used to. I remember telling Kolo, I was like, “Man, I don’t know if my body is going to be able to handle it!!!” 

French football has a different pace. If you think of it like music, French football can be a bit more of a slower, more technical, whereas the Premier League is a more heavy metal, trap rap kind of music. That’s how it felt to my body. You have to think quicker. Training is more intense. Everything is at the highest level. And so, for me, I was just adapting. I wasn’t playing much. And that was very frustrating. I went from the high of the World Cup, to not having a great season at Lille, to finally being at Liverpool and struggling to find my flow. 

Until Klopp came.

If the Premier League is heavy metal or that trap music, then Klopp’s football — you can double it. That’s the most intense football in the world, the way you’re pressing. I remember the first session, I was like, Man, you must be superhuman to play in his teams.

His style is so authentic to him. I think it’s so true to how he sees football. And something about Klopp, the same way he will tell you if something is wrong — and really, he will shout everything — is the same way he will come and give you the biggest hug. It goes both ways. On a human level, he’s one of the best people in the world. As a manager, he’s just the best. Period. And back then, his brand of football was new. Apart from Guardiola — which still is a bit different, Tiki-Taka, you know. With Klopp, it was just like taking an intensity dial and just cranking it.

Klopp had this way, and he said, “You know what? This is the way we’re going to go.”

I remember we went into that first game against Tottenham, and he put me in. Then I kept playing, and playing, and playing.

For a while, it was great. I got a hamstring, went into the gym, gained a couple of kilos of muscle, came back. And then, I had one of the best stretches of my life. I scored against Dortmund in the 2016 Europa League quarterfinal, playing that unbelievable game. Then later that year, I scored five in five. I was in the team. I was playing, and then near the end of April, I injured my ankle playing against Everton.

Had to get carted off the pitch and everything, man. It was brutal. Someone tackled me. And it was right before the Euros. I would have had to fight it out with Romelu, but it was looking bright for me for the Euros. Then in the blink of an eye, ankle injury, boom. Ligaments, two and a half out. You might not make the Euros, and you’re going to miss the Europa League fight if you do make it, which we did.

I went to the Euros, but I wasn’t 100%. And then the year after that, I wasn’t in the first 11 anymore. And we had one game a week because we weren’t playing Champions League.

So I was back in the silence. And it was deafening. That was hard to take. 

I remember one day, during my recovery, my older cousin, Arnold, came to my house. It was a normal day. We were just chillin’. And then he started talking to me about his faith. He spoke to me about Jesus Christ. And he wasn’t preaching or anything like that. He was just talking about what it all meant to him, and that made it accessible for me.

One thing he said that really resonated, is when he spoke about how, when you’re walking with Christ, you can still be who you are. It’s not about being perfect. It’s not a rigid thing. It’s freeing. And I think that opened my eyes. That’s when my faith journey really started. At the end of the season, in 2017, I was introduced to a sports pastor, George. That was amazing, having someone to connect with, who could answer all the questions I had about faith and purpose.

And in the off-season, I just kept continuing that spiritual journey, which was really rewarding. I met my mentor, Brian Lee from the Garden Agency. And I had been praying for someone like that, someone who could help me integrate my faith into my life more as a football player.

When the season started back up again, I wasn’t really in the team at Liverpool. So I decided to go on loan. I went to Wolfsburg. And on one level, it was a struggle. From a football perspective, it was the toughest year in my career. We played for relegation. 

But as a person, I evolved in ways I didn’t expect. 

The thing about Wolfsburg, it’s four hours away from everything. It’s a beautiful city with beautiful people, but it’s a little isolated. It’s not Berlin. But for me, that was exactly what I needed. I was just reading so much, and learning more about my faith and the man I wanted to be.

And I went back to Liverpool on a mission.

Now, I will tell you something I never shared before publicly. 

When I came back from Wolfsburg, I was supposed to leave Liverpool. Wolverhampton came with an offer of 30 million, and it made sense to go. I was out of the team. I wasn’t playing at all.

But when I prayed about it, for some reason it didn’t feel right. Something kept telling me to stay. And that’s when my faith kicked in. I can’t explain it, but I just felt like Liverpool was where God wanted me to be. I thought, It might not make sense now, but something good will come from this.

I stayed in Liverpool, and the first six months were extremely tough. Like I said, I wasn’t playing. I was doing heavy 5ks when I wasn’t in the matchday squad. Even during the 11 v 11 games at training I couldn’t participate. I had to be on the sidelines watching.

But Klopp was always there. I knew he believed in me. He’d always say, “Hey, keep training like this. Keep going.”

In private, I was training even more than anyone knew. It was like a little secret. The team used to train in the afternoon, and in the morning, I’d go to this little pitch in the city, and like every other day, I would go and just practice finishing — nothing but finishing. When the sun was rising, I’d load my balls up in the car, and I’d go on the pitch, hoping that there weren’t too many people there. I’d be praying no paparazzi snapped me. This little facility had six synthetic pitches. Sometimes you could rent all six, but usually not. And you put two small goals in the corner, and you had the big goal. And it was all about precision…… Now, visualize a moment, and finish.

You visualize it, you finish. 

You visualize it, you finish. 

Like that for an hour. I was doing this in October, when I wasn’t even in the main team. But that drilling over and over, just transformed me. That gave me a different type of composure, beyond just being calm. It was like a focus. I started to really master my gift. At some point I was finishing on my left foot almost as well as my right.

Laces inside. Finish.

Laces outside. Finish.

Just simple.

Fast forward, and it’s the 2019 Champions League semifinals versus Barca at Anfield. It’s pure chaos. Liverpool went into it down 3-0. We had injuries. And Klopp put me in.

You visualize it, you finish. 

You visualize it, you finish.

You visualize it, you finish.

The rest is history — our history. By the end of that year, I was a Champions League winner. And I’m the one that scored one of the two goals. 

I just wish I could get in a time machine and go back and tell that six year old boy in Belgium tucking his football in at night, praying that he will grow up to be like his football idols: You did it — you won the Champions League!! You won the Premier League!! Yo, they’re even playing your goal on Match of the Day!!! 

Just chill, man. Go to sleep. It will all work out.

When you can look back and savour all the sweet moments with only gratitude and zero regret, that’s when you know it’s time to say goodbye.

My dad was probably the first person I told that I was going to retire from football. This  was back in February. He asked me, “What kind of headspace are you in?” I think he wanted to be sure I wasn’t making a decision based on a bad feeling. But when I told him that I’d prayed about it, he fully understood. He said, “That’s something very personal. A decision only you can know when to make.”

I’ve been blessed to have seen all the stages and almost all of the major competitions in the world. In football, I feel fulfilled, like my journey has been complete. Scoring goals and winning trophies is one of the best feelings in the world. I’m going to look back and smile at all those moments — the God moments — and just savour them forever.

And I’m still writing my story. 

I’m excited about what’s next. I have new purpose and other things in life I want to pursue with the same passion I’ve pursued football all these years. For one, I’m really dedicated to pursuing fashion, as a craft. I’m already pouring myself into just gaining a ton more knowledge about the history and the industry. I aspire to study it at the highest level and hopefully have the opportunity to learn from some of the best designers in the world. I’m also going to continue to expand on the entrepreneurial side, with DLF, a football agency I’m developing with my partner and co-owner Marvin Willem Ofori. And ultimately, just looking for any opportunity to be a bridge, either for the next generation of football players, or more broadly, through my philanthropy. Or even just as a person.

In football, I always found a way to push it to the next level, and I’m still doing that in this next chapter. I’m truly passionate about it all. And I can’t wait to get started.

See you out there.

—Divock