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When Lijnders woke up that March morning, he could already sense it was going to be one of those moody days. Usually when that happened, it was in summer when almost everybody was on international duty or on vacation, and he could be home alone. But since today was World Cup qualifiers and he was in Kirkby already, there was no choice but to face the few staff and team members here.
He grumbled under his breath as he opened the windows. It was far from a beautiful day--rain was pouring down and making the whole outside of Kirkby look terrible. We really need to plant some flowers here, he thought as he reached over for the coffee maker--his only savior on days like this.
Of course, Klopp had to come in, wearing a ridiculously genuine smile. He always happened to be too cheerful for Lijnders on moody days. All. The. Time.
“Good morning!” Klopp waved as he reached for the coffee cup, before flinching. “Pepijn, the coffee is overflowing from your cup.”
“Sheesh, Jurgen, do you have a college degree in coming at the wrong time?” Lijnders snapped, grabbing the coffee cup and draining it in less than a minute. “We really need to make these things bigger.”
“Hate to announce it, Pepijn, but that was 12 ounces of coffee. And my degree was actually in sports science--wait, you just drank 12 ounces of coffee in a MINUTE?! Even Taki doesn’t drink anything that fast.”
“Could you just leave?” Lijnders silently growled under his breath. “The outside of our training ground is so dreary.”
“I know, right?” The Dutch groaned again--he just wanted to get out. “The scenery was bearable in Mainz, but here in Liverpool, it’s awful! I was actually thinking of planting a garden when we first came to Kirkby, but we all know how that would go…”
“Excuse me, Jurgen, but I want to be alone now.”
“Who put salt in your coffee, mister?” Klopp chuckled at his own joke, again. “Oh, right, that could have been me a few days ago. My bad!”
“GO AWAY!”
“Alright, I get it! What is going on with you today, Pep?”
*
Since it was international duty, only Adrian, Milner, Matip, Chamberlain, Konate, Thiago and Firmino were at training. Alexander-Arnold had jetted off to Dubai to continue his recovery from a hamstring injury, while Keita was sidelined because of injury.
Usually Klopp could handle about thirty players in a training session. But of all days, it had to be today that Milner wanted to talk to Klopp in private.
“Pep, could you handle the boys while I speak to Milly?” Klopp asked the Dutch assistant. “It shouldn’t be too long.”
“Fine, you want to leave me here?” Lijnders remarked. “Excellent. Why don’t you two just jet off on holiday and leave me all alone to face Manchester City?”
Milner raised an eyebrow at Klopp in confusion. The tactician simply shrugged, leading Milner to his office.
It was foggy, hard to see and the floodlights were on at 10 A.M. Lijnders grumbled underneath his breath, tugging his raincoat on tighter.
“Hey, Lijnders!” Matip punched Lijnders in the shoulder, flashing a grin at him. “You want to go out for lunch today? Oh, I forgot. The boss doesn’t want us driving in fog.”
“Will you shut up?” Lijnders snapped again. “Stop bothering me!”
“Okay, then…” Matip hesitated, as if he was trying to study Lijnders. “You know, Lijnders, you’re not acting like yourself today--”
“Who says that? I’m myself, I make the rules. Move!”
Matip gave him a weird look before going off to Konate.
*
At lunchtime, Lijnders had managed to find a table by himself in the cafeteria. He was just having his lunch in peace, until Florrie walked up to him.
“Peter Rabbit?” she asked, holding up the well-worn book up to him with a pleading look.
Lijnders groaned. What is it with people today? “Ugh, not now!”
“Why?” Florrie asked. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my choice.”
“Why?”
Lijnders finally cracked. For a moment, he saw red as he glared at Florrie.
“Will you STOP saying why?! It’s MY CHOICE! I’m NOT reading to you, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!?!?!”
His eyes snapped open as he realized he was hyperventilating. Everything that had been said to him that day echoed in his head like a bunch of ghosts.
“Lijnders, you’re not acting like yourself today…”
“Why?”
“Who put salt in your coffee?”
“What is going on today with you, Pep?”
A loud wail interrupted his daze. Florrie was bawling in Milner’s arms as the vice-captain tried to calm her down, while Thiago had his hands on Lijnders shoulders, shaking him and asking if he was okay.
“Leave me alone!” Lijnders yelled, trying to push Thiago off him. “Go away!”
“Pepijn Lijnders, what has gotten INTO YOU?!”
Thiago froze as Klopp entered the room, eyes on only one.
“I swear this guy got a Ph.D in spontaneous appearances,” Firmino muttered before Chamberlain could whack him.
“First things first.” Klopp turned to Milner, who had managed to quiet Florrie’s wails to quiet whimpers. “Is Florrie alright?”
“Lijnders yelled at her,” Milner explained. “She wanted him to read to her, but--”
“Alright, Milly, bring Florrie somewhere quiet.” Klopp shifted his attention to Lijnders, who had stopped hyperventilating. “As for you and I, we are going to my office.”
“I’ll take her,” Adrian offered. He took Florrie from Milner, bouncing the toddler on his hip as he mumbled a nursery rhyme in Spanish. “Arroz con leche, me quiero casar, con una señorita…”
*
“So what has really been going on with you?” Klopp demanded as soon as he and Lijnders had taken their seats. “You’ve been moody all day, what is going on?”
“Ugh…one of those days.”
“So what you’re saying is, you woke up on the wrong side of the bed and you're taking it out on everyone?”
“No! I mean…maybe yes-ish?” Lijnders gave up trying to hide it upon realizing how stupid it sounded. “Usually I’m home anyways when it happens, but today…you know, we’re in the home stretch.”
“But Pepijn.” Klopp couldn’t help but smirk at the usual excuse for hiding issues around the camp. “You really think that I wouldn’t let you take a break?”
“I knew you would.” Lijnders passed a hand over his face and sighed, having already recollected his temper. “But it just sounds so stupid.”
“It is stupid.” Klopp nodded. “And that’s why I’m telling you to take the rest of the day off.”
“But…the team--”
“Can wait.” Klopp took down one of his multiple scrapbooks from his shelf and opened it to a certain page. “Do you know exactly how many times I was in your place when I started coaching Mainz?”
“Um, zero?”
“Pep, did you say that just to make me laugh?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” Lijnders examined the picture, which was the Mainz squad’s summer picture. A very cross-looking German--Lijnders didn’t even need to guess who it was--was in the middle, crossing his arms and staring the camera down as if it had just stolen his credit card. The Dutchman couldn’t help but snicker at the picture.
“I know, right?” Even Klopp himself found it amusing. “Let’s just say I did not have the longest temper in history. I would often blow my fuse on the team…until I started staying home when I knew I would snap. But when I couldn’t…”
“You had to relax, right?”
“Exactly.”
“So you forgive me?”
“I was never mad at you,” Klopp explained. “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t something more serious than just a bad mood.”
“Well, then.” Lijnders puffed out his cheeks. “I’m going to have to apologise to Florrie now, won’t I?”
“You will. And Pep?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s not let this happen again.”
“Good idea.”