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IF there was one thing Klopp loved about his job, it was that it was relatively simple.
Besides the banter, arguments and occasional “surprises” that the squad (primarily the fullbacks) would provide, it was as easy as walking down the street. Nobody started a feud. Nobody had issues with teammates beyond the usual squabbles. Nobody complained.
So when training came around on Friday, Klopp got quite a surprise when James Milner came jogging up to him, signaling that they needed to talk.
The thirty-six year old was a hard worker, and initially Klopp’s fear was that he’d pulled a muscle. But Milner, oddly, seemed to be physically fine as he approached the German.
“James!” Klopp raised an eyebrow in concern. “What’s up? Need a break or something?”
Milner scowled, and Klopp could now easily see that Milner wasn’t in a good mood at all. Before he could ask why, though, Milner provided the reason.
“I want to play somewhere else.”
Klopp’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, silence ensued, before he finally got out a “why?”
“You always put me on at the last minute, gaf!” Milner snorted, and Klopp found the midfielder’s newfound attitude both unusual and concerning. “You always make me cover for Trent and Robbo, and I’m sick of hearing their awful jokes in my ears!”
“You do it well,” Klopp pointed out. “And if I put you on for the whole match, you’d certainly get injured.”
“But you never try me in the middle! I was meant to be there!”
“I’m looking out for you!” Klopp couldn’t believe how difficult Milner was at the present moment. “You should be grateful!”
The German was beginning to lose his temper, and Josep Lijnders noticed this. He walked up to the two, calmly asking “What’s going on?”
Milner angrily gestured towards Klopp. “The gaffer being blind is what’s going on!”
“BLIND?!” Lijnders was even worse at remaining calm, and raised a fist towards Milner. “What have you been drinking, lad? Where did your respect go?”
“Well, if SOMEBODY would just realize how sick I am of covering for the fullbacks…”
“James Milner, you’ve always been great, but now you are being utterly childish! What do you think the youngsters will make of this?”
“What do you think I make of basically being the fullbacks’ slave?!”
The quarreling got louder and louder, until the whole training ground echoed with the yells from the three. Everybody heard it, but still tried to go on. It proved almost impossible.
Henderson was busy with some hurdles, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped, only to see Robertson standing behind him, covering his ears.
“MATE! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” he yelled. “What has got into Milly today?”
“Don’t know.” Henderson shook his head, gently removing Robertson’s hands from his ears. “He’s been grumpy all day, I’ll say that for sure. He’s been sulking, not talking to anybody, easily agitated and I’m worried.”
Robertson nodded. “Milner’s usually great,” he added. “But today he’s been a real pain in the behind. I couldn’t stand rondos with him because he was so grumpy.”
“Milly doesn’t confront the boss.” Robertson tried to put two and two together. “And he’s definitely yelling at him now.”
Henderson slung an arm around Robertson’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go talk to him.”
“Milly.” Henderson approached the midfielder, interrupting the argument. “You’ve been sulking all day, what’s wrong, lad?”
“Lad?” Milner gave a small, bitter laugh. “You’re four years younger than me.”
“That’s right.” Henderson took Milner’s hand and tried to pull him away. “And as the captain, I have an obligation to make sure we’re all happy.”
Klopp nodded, still slightly mad. “And apparently Milner’s tired of covering for the fullbacks, even though he’s a professional at it.”
“I’ll handle this one.” Henderson steered Milner away from the boss and vice-boss. “Don’t stress yourself out, gaffer.”
“Alright, then, Milly.” Robertson was serious as he stared down the older midfielder. “What’s going on? You’ve been in a foul mood the whole day.”
Milner shrugged. “I’m tired of covering all the time for you guys! I’m always the insurance policy…”
“But it never bothered you before.” Robertson pointed out.
“Well, it just does now.” Milner crossed his arms, still grumpy.
“Come on, Milly,” Henderson cajoled him. “I don’t play where I want all the time, either. And I still play well in those positions. And even if things don’t go well, you can still have a good time.”
Milner harrumphed, trying to ignore them. “I don’t care if that works for you, I still don’t like it.”
Milner stayed like that for a while, and for a while, it was almost like he’d never been in a good mood in his life. In a way, he reminded Robertson of a tortoise, all wrinkled and folded hunched up inside its shell, and this rather amused him as he pulled out his phone with a sly look on his face.
“Knock, knock.”
Milner whipped his head so fast, for a moment Henderson thought he’d be dealing with a case of whiplash. “Who’s there?” he replied tentatively, as if testing the waters.
“You.”
“You who?”
Robertson smirked. “Yoo-hoo! You’re looking quite like a tortoise right now!”
He then showed Milner what was on his phone. The Scotsman had not only taken a sneaky picture of Milner sulking, but had fixated a tortoise head on the picture, complete with a shell on his back and the caption “slow oldie rocking his shell”.
Henderson facepalmed in disgust. Why would Robertson do that? Milner was already in a bad mood, he didn’t need that picture to make it worse.
He was just about to yell at Robertson and give him a piece of his mind, when a sudden noise interrupted him.
Milner was laughing at the picture!
“What--I mean--how?” Henderson spluttered. “What on earth---I mean, what’s funny about that?”
“But don’t you see?” Milner roared with laughter, clutching his sides. “I did look like that, Hendo, he captured it perfectly!!!”
Robertson jumped up, suddenly non-serious again. “MY THEORY HAS BEEN PROVEN!!!”
Milner rolled his eyes, but walked up to Henderson and Robertson, shaking their hands. “Yer all good lads, you know that? Sorry about what you heard.”
Henderson nodded, but frowned at the same time. “Apology accepted, Milly, but I think you need to apologize to him.”
He pointed behind him, where Klopp stood. He had been noticeably quieter since his fight with Milner, and watched the team training almost passively.
“I’m sorry.”
Klopp raised an eyebrow as Milner ran towards him. “Uh-huh.”
“No, really.” Milner blushed slightly, looking towards his feet as the words tumbled out. “It was wrong for me to yell at you like that, it was. I get that I’m good at covering the fullbacks, but I was just a little frustrated, yeah? But that’s no excuse and I’m really sorry and I don’t like it when we’re mad at each other, so please accept my apology and--”
But Klopp interrupted him as he took Milner’s hand in his. “You think I’m still mad at you?”
Milner nodded. “Yeah, perhaps.”
“Come on, Milly. I get it. I was there, we hate being on the bench. But I’m just trying to look out for you, okay, James? Because you’re one of my boys. I don’t want you getting hurt from my mistakes.” Klopp chuckled. “Plus, you know me. I’m too old to hold a grudge against you guys. Peace?”
Milner rolled his eyes, but shook the German’s hand. “You’re not old,” he chuckled.
Klopp nodded. “If something’s bothering you, just tell me, okay Milly?”
Milner seemed thoughtful, though. “Okay, maybe you’re a little gray and wrinkled.”
Klopp glared. “Don’t push it.”
“Okay, maybe you’re thirty percent old.”
“James Milner…”
“Probably sixty-five, just to be sure.”
“MY THEORY HAS BEEN PROVEN!!!”
“JAMES PHILLIP Milner!”
“Whatever!”
Klopp rolled his eyes, but smirked as, for the first time, he saw Milner laughing with his teammates.