Work Text:
"What's the update on Firmino’s injury?"
"Do Liverpool still have a chance for top-4?"
"Will we see more of TAA's new position?"
Klopp wished that he could tell the media to shut up. He'd heard these questions about a hundred times before, and he was tired of giving the same answers. He didn’t even know why he was giving a press conference on a Sunday, but Milner had said that the press were waiting for him so he just had to get it over with.
Klopp closed his eyes for a brief second and rolled them as many times as he could, ready to answer the same repetitive, boring, dubious answers.
That was when Elliott, Diaz and Carvalho dropped down from three ropes attached to the ceiling. Not just in their normal kits, but in tuxedos. And wearing sunglasses, in front of the media.
And THEN they started to rap.
My name is (what?!)
My name is (what?!)
My name is (what?!)
MASTER P!
My name is (what?!)
My name is (what?!)
My name is (what?!)
MASTER P!
Klopp individually and thoroughly cursed every particle of the world, wondering how he would explain this one to the press. He didn't need to.
All the press had randomly disappeared. Which was exactly what he wanted to do but couldn't for appearance's sake.
He looked up to the ceiling, trying to decide between screaming at the three or laughing at the sheer ridicule of it. He also didn't need to do that--Elliott, Diaz and Carvalho were gone.
“This has got to be the craziest day ever,” he muttered, pulling out his phone to dial Milner and tell him the conference was over.
*
Klopp finally made it out of the press conference room an hour later, sighing in relief. Now he could get to what he really liked doing—watching the boys fool around in the training ground, playing an epic game of Capture the Flag.
That was, until he saw a mural scrawled all over his tactics whiteboard.
Now, very few things managed to get Klopp truly annoyed. Two of those things were Schalke 04 and Man. U. So seeing a mural of the mascots of those two teams, larger than life and stomping on the BVB crest, was a final straw.
“Who did this?” Klopp shouted, hoping that one of his boys would give a straightforward answer. Nobody did, and he gave up, scowling as he rubbed two erasers over the hideous drawing. If whoever did this graffiti was going to insult BVB, at least they could draw the proportions correctly.
In his fury, he didn’t see the 26 and 66 scribbled in the corner of the drawing.
*
Klopp hated this. Besides the press conference incident and the BVB-insulting graffiti incident, there had been a foam bratwurst incident, a fake worm in the coffee incident, and his desk had been wrapped in ribbon. He’d also been prank-called 21 times, his hats had gone missing and even his hairbrush had disappeared—along with everybody in Kirkby Ground.
“This is starting to get ridiculous,” Klopp muttered under his breath as he gave up looking for Ludger. Even the owl had gone missing. “Why is everything so crazy today? First that press conference, then the mural, and then—”
A sudden crunch brought Klopp back to reality. He’d stepped on a fortune cookie, and among the crumbling remains of the cookie was a message.
Jesse told me that you need a little excitement in your life. So I got everybody together to orchestrate some practical jokes. Happy April Fools’ Month. Your friend and player, James Milner.