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Klopp paced the touchline, careful to avoid any bumps on the pitch. The last thing he needed was to trip over his own two feet, especially since he had a very important call coming in.
He waited for what felt like an eternity, watching the players go through their paces in the warmups. Exactly fifteen minutes before kickoff, the call came in.
"James? Can you hear me?"
"Of course I can hear you, we both have our speakers on." Despite the sarcastic remark, Klopp could hear Milner's smile through the telephone line. "It's been too long since we talked, gaffa."
"Same here. How's Brighton?" Klopp narrowly dodged Gakpo and Diaz, racing each other down the hall. The two were in good spirits, like the rest of the squad. "Did you get my package?"
“I'm enjoying it right now! Four ounces of Ribena diluted in sugar-free fizzy water per day keeps the doctor away. But you know there are Asdas in Brighton too, right? I could get Ribena from there.”
“Well...yeah," Klopp admitted. "But I thought I'd ship some to you. Y'know, as a good-luck-at-your-new-club present.”
“That's...actually comforting to know. And don't tell Andy, but I miss him ranting about Jammie Dodgers for two hours during road trips. Good luck during the game, I'll call you at halftime."
"Yeah, halftime." With that, Klopp hung up the call. He sorely missed Milner's wisdom and sarcasm, but the Yorkshireman wouldn't want him moping about it. He'd want him in the locker room, getting the boys ready for the match.
*
Even after twenty-three years of managing and thirty-four years of getting involved with the sport, Klopp never tired of watching the team huddle together after scoring a goal. The shouts of pure joy almost always carried some sort of humor with them.
"Darwin, mi chico!"
"What a hit!"
"THIS! LAD! IS ON! FIIIIIREEEE!!!!"
"Dar- weeeeeeeen !"
Even without many supporters in the stadium, the players' chit-chatting was enough to fill the air with an electric buzz. Even the bench players were having their say in things.
"We need a rap song for this!" Tsimikas pulled Jota next to him, handing him a pair of wooden drumsticks. "Come on, man! Drop some beats!"
As soon as he saw the drumsticks, Jota's eyes lit up. He began to drum out a rhythm on the seat below him, tapping out a steady beat.
"Perfect." Tsimikas cleared his throat and began to rap. "Liverpool FC is hard as hell! But with Darweenie, you could never tell!"
"My name is not Darweenie!" Nunez yelled from the pitch. Tsimikas hadn't exactly been subtle with his rapping, and he'd caught the attention of all the players on the pitch.
Tsimikas ignored him, continuing to rap. "When there’s got a problem, he'll have solutions! He'll bring this club to the next evolution!"
*
Just before halftime, the opposition equalized. It was a stunning volley, in all fairness, but Klopp couldn't help but rue the missed chances in the first half. In the first half, Liverpool had remained in equilibrium, and Klopp was left wondering if they could have been slightly more clinical in the first half.
"The opposition's goal was really effective," Klopp told the players at half-time, "but we can't drop the ball like we did on the pitch. We have to take our chances when we have them, okay?"
Most of the players nodded in agreement. All of them, that is, except Kelleher, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet since the goal had gone in.
"Caoimh, que es ?" Although Adrian hadn't been included in the matchday squad, he'd come along with the others who'd been left out. He scooted next to Kelleher, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Kelleher looked up from the—apparently very interesting—floor tiles. "Maybe if I'd paid more attention to that ball, we could've still been 1-0."
Adrian ruffled Kelleher's hair with a fond smile. He'd known the Irishman since his debut season for Liverpool as a teen. "It was a difficult volley, amigo . Even if you could've done better, it's up to you to improve and make sure it doesn't happen again."
He glanced at the other goalkeepers next to them. "That's what we're all about, right? Learning and moving on."
The goalkeepers nodded in agreement, joined by the outfielders. The smile returned to Kelleher's face when Pitaluga snuck a small square of chocolate when he thought nobody was looking, and Alisson pulled him in for a hug.
Klopp watched his players, unable to contain his smile. If there was one thing the team couldn't be faulted for, it was their camaraderie. They were always there to lift each other up and celebrate each other's successes, even when physical distance limited them.
His phone buzzed. It was a boatload of texts, and not all of them were from Milner.
SarcasticMilner: I promised to call, but Adam and I are in the longest Asda’s queue in known history 😩
SarcasticMilner: I watched the match, I still have my LFCTV GO subscription 😉 Better luck in the second half, guys
SarcasticMilner: Tell the other guys good luck, okay?
SiSenor: Milly you’re here too?
SarcasticMilner: Oh hi Bobby
SiSenor: Tell Darwin that I really liked his goal ⚽🔥 Good luck in the second half
Naby-lad: Good luck guys!
SiSenor: NABY LAD
SarcasticMilner: oi where’s Ox???
SiSenor: He told me he was busy
Could this team get any better? Klopp typed a response into the fast-paced chat.
Boss: You boys are just the sweetest ❤️. We’ve got to go out for the second half, ttyl
SiSenor: TTYL
Naby-lad: TTYL
SarcasticMilner: Pray for us to get out of this queue, TTYL
*
Only minutes later, Klopp was left wondering why he didn’t just barricade himself and the team inside the locker room. Almost as soon as they stepped out on the pitch, Karlsruher scored the go-ahead goal. It was 2-1, and Nunez's opener felt miles away.
Sure, this was mainly the B-team, along with a few A-team players. But they had lost control of the lead too easily. If they'd kept their heads on, they would've been winning or at least drawing.
"We've got to change the strategy," Klopp told the coaching staff. "We have to tighten the defense, but we need to get an equalizer. This may only be a friendly, but we still need to show our opponents that we can compete. Any stats for us, Pete?"
Krawietz nodded, flipping his notebook to the page he’d been writing on. “We’re not finishing our chances. We need to penetrate their defense better, so…maybe we should get Cody up the field more and let Lexi handle the midfield.”
“It’s a risk, isn’t it?” Lijnders pointed out. “Diogo can do the job. He’s been getting chances.”
Klopp frowned as Liverpool missed yet another chance. “But none of them are going in. Let’s go with Pete’s plan, what do you all think?”
The staff nodded in agreement. “Let’s do this.”
“Cody!” Klopp barely managed to keep himself inside the technical box as he called Gakpo to the sidelines. “Tell Lexi to play in midfield. You shift to No. 9! Play the…”
He hesitated to say the next words. It was the first time they would be used without their namesake on the team.
He hesitated to say the next words. It was the first time they would be used without their namesake on the team.
“The Bobby role.” Thankfully, Gakpo understood Klopp’s tactics. A brief flicker of wistfulness crossed his expression before he jogged back to the team.
After the adjustments were made, Liverpool’s attacking play evened out significantly. The chances got clearer, and the link-up was smoother. Finally, at minute sixty-nine, Gakpo scored an equalizer that could only be described as acrobatic. When the goal went in, the managerial staff crowded around Krawietz, high-fiving him as if the match was a European final and not a preseason friendly.
“Pete’s got the eye of the tiger!” Kornmayer shouted, nearly knocking Klopp out of the dugout. "The thrill of the fight! He can fly like a butterfly, he can sting like a bee--"
"LADS! Keep your heads on!" Alexander-Arnold shouted over the celebrations. "Otherwise this will all be for nothing. The match still hasn't been won."
The Liverpudlians grumbled a bit, but it was all good-natured. They got back into position, beating the Karlsruher players to the line. They all had their game-faces on, ready to battle out the final twenty-one minutes.
Lijnders pointed towards the players, steely focus written on their expressions. "That means more than the goal, doesn't it?"
Klopp nodded, flashing a thumbs-up to Alexander-Arnold. "With this attitude, we could win the league."
*
Liverpool had a history of last-minute goals on their record, no matter the competition. Quick-fire goals weren't uncommon either--just ask about half the squad.
So when Jota scored a brace in the final ninety seconds, it only seemed fitting. When the fourth and final goal was hammered in, the players gathered together in a tired yet elated celebration. The final whistle blew shortly thereafter, signaling the end of the friendly.
"We never do things the easy way, don't we?" Klopp joked in the locker room. He'd definitely have to look into the more detailed match stats to smooth out the wrinkles, but he could take a few minutes to celebrate the first win of the preseason with the boys. "Those goals were poetry in motion."
Lijnders rolled his eyes, but smiled. "I wonder what Milly would think if he saw this."
At that very moment, the phone rang. It was Milner. Klopp and Lijnders stared at the phone, bewildered, before answering. Milner's face popped up on the big screen, surprising the players.
"FINALLY, THE QUEUE IS OVER! Oh sorry, good work on the win, too. That switch between Diogo and Cody was brilliant, was that some classic Pete work? Bobby's asleep and Naby-lad's in rehab for that injury. I swear he's cursed or something—”
"Milly!" Robertson popped up out of nowhere, carrying a delighted Alexander-Arnold bridal-style. "Did you like my present?"
"I definitely did not expect the recipe for an oatmeal-cookie burrito. But yes, I liked it." Milner crossed his arms, surveilling the squad from the other end of the call. "Well, I learned one thing today."
Tsimikas raised his hand like a kindergartener on a sugar rush. He squirmed so much that he nearly fell off Gakpo, who carried him on his back like an oversized kid. "That Cody gives me awesome rides?"
"That our redesigned midfield is shaping up?" Alexander-Arnold guessed.
"That I'm hungry?"
Diaz laughed, rolling his eyes. "Lexi!"
Mac Allister shrugged, biting into a granola bar. "I haven't eaten in hours."
Milner shook his head, turning up his volume. "You're all wrong. The point is that without Ali, we're dead."