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Milner couldn’t wait to play United. He honestly couldn’t wait.
He had played in Leeds before, back when he was a young lad. And they almost never beat their archrivals, Man. United. But each Battle of The Roses led to something great.
James Milner. Game changer, title-winner, and butt-kicker.
Nobody could say he wasn’t honest.
After a few years, he went to City. At the time, United were the best team in Manchester. Milner and company solved that problem , thank you very much. Milner bossed every Manchester derby he could. He loved them all.
Now he was at Liverpool, who equally hated Manchester United. And they didn’t just hate them. They despised them. They loathed them. They utterly, utterly hated United, just like Milner.
So when Milner was named in the starting lineup for the Liverpool-United game, Klopp knew he’d got the reaction he was looking for. Of course Milner didn’t jump around for joy (he considered himself too old for that), but the German could still tell the vice skipper was delighted.
“Alright!” Milner slammed a fist into the picture of the United crest in the away locker room. “I hate Man. U, who’s with me?”
“Oh, yeah!” Robertson yelled. “Everyone who hates Man. U, put your hands up!”
“Let’s whip ‘em!” Alexander-Arnold shouted. “3-0.”
“Are you kidding me?” Matip exclaimed. “3-0? Man, we gotta do worse!”
“Alright, who’s in the mood for a 4-2?”
Alisson rolled his eyes. “Hello? Goalkeeper who likes to keep clean sheets here? I’d much prefer a 1-0.”
“1-0?” Henderson almost fell out of his seat. “We need to damage them, lads! Let's get out there and kick some United butt!”
“Yep,” Milner nodded wisely. “Even though it will be hard--”
“We are the Reds!”
*
Thirty minutes later, Milner was in heaven. Without dying!
Okay, so maybe Liverpool were leading United 2-0 with about 25 minutes in. And they were on cruise control!
“This is the perfect game!” Milner said to himself, chasing the ball with a smile on his face. “Nothing can go wrong, now can it, boss?”
Klopp just shook his head. “I never expected an Old Trafford trip to be this easy. But keep the intensity up, boys!”
Milner nodded. “Will do, boss!”
Two minutes later, Milner was sprinting up the wing. Salah was in front of him, waiting to receive the pass. Behind him was Robertson, handling CR7 like nobody’s business. And that’s when it happened.
A searing pain in his hamstring.
He tumbled to the floor in the same amount of time it took heaven to turn to hell.
“Milly!” Henderson exclaimed. Robertson and Alexander-Arnold were behind him, followed by Keita and Van Dijk. “Are you okay?”
Milner could barely bring himself to answer. “I-I’m done.”
“Easy there, mate.” Robertson knelt next to the midfielder. “Milly, come on, Hendo’s calling the meds.”
“Milly.” Alexander-Arnold gazed at the vice captain. “Please don’t die.”
“He won’t die, Trent,” Vera, one of the medics, assured him as she walked on with the rest of her team. “He’s just got a hamstring. Maybe he can play on,” she said, for the sake of Milner’s belief.
But Milner simply shook his head, utterly defeated. “I’m 35. I know when I can play through a hamstring. It’s game over for me.”
It didn’t take Robertson very long to find out that Milner was heartbroken by having to come off in such a game. The Scot knew his vice-skipper, and instantly decided to try and cheer him up.
“Come on, Milly,” Robertson tried. “Look on the bright side. You’ll be back before you know it!”
“Don’t say that,” Milner snapped, which made the Scot do a double take. “Everybody’s going to say that stuff already. I’m sick of it!”
“James.” Henderson used his rarely-used first name as he walked the midfielder off the pitch. “I get you’re upset, but you can’t snap at Robbo like that.”
Milner whipped his head around to glare at the skipper. “So you want me to hide how I feel?”
“It’s not like that--”
“Fine, then.” Milner turned away from Henderson. “I will.”
“Don’t do that, James,” Van Dijk called out. “Hendo was just trying to make you feel better.”
“Well, it’s not working!”
The substitution was made--Milner would come out for Curtis Jones. The youngster certainly didn’t expect to get to play so much of a huge derby, but a bit of his excitement fell when he saw Milner hobbling off the pitch.
“I’m sorry, Milner.” Jones tried to express his sympathy to Milner. “You don’t deserve this, but I’ll go out and make the team proud.”
Milner shook his hand, but muttered, “You just care about yourself playing.”
“James Milner!” Klopp shook his head in disbelief. “What has gotten into you? You’ve been acting up since the injury.”
“Boss, I-I didn’t mean to--”
“Now’s not a good time for apologies.” The German manager had immediately picked up on Milner’s state of mind and decided it wasn’t the time to call him out for his snappishness. “Milly, you tried your best. You were phenomenal out there.”
“Yeah, right--for twenty-five minutes.”
“Milly, I’m not angry at you, but you need to cool off before we talk again.”
“You--you don’t want to talk to me?”
“Milner.” Klopp was truly at his wits end. “I have to make sure the other boys are doing okay. Go sit on the bench with the others, and ice that leg. If it’s getting cramped, call the medics.”
Milner didn’t even answer as he limped unceremoniously to the bench. His head was throbbing from overthinking (or was it dehydration?) and now he was starting to see why everyone was so surprised. He had been really out of character.
And now his team was hurt. Jones’ day was spoiled, and Klopp was at his wits end. All because of a stupid hamstring that ended his derby—the big game, a chance to avenge United’s very being.
Milner groaned, taking his jacket and hung it up on the seat in front of him. But then it happened.
The coat disappeared.
“W-what’s going on?” Was it ghosts?
“Eh, Milly! Do I really look that much like a coat rack?”
Of course. The jacket didn’t disappear. It was Pepijn Lijnders, the assistant coach. He was sitting right in front of Milner, and had probably just moved it off his head.
Is my brain changing with this injury?
“You don’t look too good up there, Milly,” Lijnders pointed out. “I mean, yeah, you look great. The muscles, man. What I meant to say is, does the hamstring hurt that much?”
“No.”
Lijnders squinted, as if trying to read something. But then he finally seemed to realize. “You really wanted to give United a hard time today because you always played on teams who hated them.”
“Right.” It was refreshing, for Milner at least, that somebody saw eye to eye with him. “And nobody understands.”
Lijnders frowned upon realizing how dark of a headspace Milner was actually in. He got up from his chair and squeezed in next to the No.7, slinging an arm around him. “Feels like the end of the world, doesn’t it?”
“It’s just--” Milner didn’t really want to tell Lijnders how he really felt. “I really wanted to try and play.”
“Milly, I get it, alright?” Lijnders insisted. “You wanted to play and I got that. But I’m going to go back to what everyone’s saying—you can’t take it out on your teammates.”
“I’m awful.”
“No you aren’t. You’re upset.” Lijnders gently pushed Milner’s head so the midfielder would face him. “And since what’s done is done, all you can do is let it out.”
“I’m really not good at that type of stuff,” Milner admitted. “And I’m already feeling guilty from yelling at everybody.”
Lijnders gave him a serious look. “Well, there’s only one way to solve that, isn’t there, Milly?”
“I know, I know. I should apologize.” Milner sighed, watching the others play. “But everybody’s busy. And they probably don’t want to talk to me--especially Curtis. What does he think of me now?”
The away end erupted with cheers, cutting off Milner. He and Lijnders scanned the pitch to see what was going on. Salah had just scored, 3-0.
“We’re on a roll today!” Lijnders shouted to nobody in particular. “Take that, United!”
“That’s right, lads!” Henderson roared, sprinting off with Salah. “Take that, Sh—”
“HENDO!” Matip pointed to Alexander-Arnold. “MINORS!”
“Big deal. It’s not like he’s never heard it from the boss before.”
The others ran to the nearest corner to celebrate. In the huddle, Robertson glanced towards the bench.
“Hey, Milly!” he called over. “That one was for you, mate!”
“You agent of chaos.” Van Dijk smirked, but went off to celebrate with Alisson.
All that Milner could say was, “Of course.”
*
By halftime, Liverpool were 4-0 up, and so everybody was in a good mood now. Milner now sat on the locker room bench, leg propped up and wrapped in ice packs as he faced his teammates.
He exhaled, knowing that he’d have to apologize sooner or later. “Guys, before you say anything--”
“We get it, Milly.” Henderson couldn’t help but chuckle at the vice-captain feeling he needed to apologize. “You were upset because you wanted to avenge United. We get it--we loathe Man. United.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t an excuse for me to snap at you lads.” Milner gazed at Jones. “Especially you, Curtis, it’s your first game vs. United.”
Milner had especially feared Jones’ reaction, thinking that he wouldn’t forgive him for being so sour-tempered. But the Scouser just grinned. “It’s okay.”
“Aww, get in here!”
“Robbo, NO!” Henderson glared at Robertson, who was about to launch himself on Milner. “Milly needs to keep that leg still.”
“But--”
“Sorry, Robbo.” Milner, though, inwardly thanked fortune for giving him a break from Robertson death hugs. “No bone-crushing hugs today.”
Robertson just grinned as Alexander-Arnold went to Milner’s other side.
Klopp stepped into the room. He was obviously pleased with the display--who wouldn’t be pleased leading 4-0 at halftime?--but as soon as he saw Milner, his smile disappeared.
“Milner.”
The midfielder gulped. “Yes?” he almost whispered.
“I heard you made up with the others.” Klopp nodded in approval. “I understand why you were so upset now, James. But I hope you understand that the only reason I didn’t talk to you myself was that we were still in the game.”
“I get it, boss. It’s just that…at the time, I felt like you were ignoring me.”
“Milly, you’re the vice-captain and my player. I’m always ready to listen.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
Milner, already feeling a bit better, suddenly remembered something. “By the way, boss, you should thank Lijnders. He was the one who got me back to normal.”
“I will.” Klopp clapped his hands together. “Alright, now who’s ready to be United’s No.1 pain in the lower back?”
“Gaffer, for Edinburgh’s sake, JUST SAY BUTT!”