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As an experienced coach, Jurgen Klopp had seen his fair share of bad luck. But one day in late winter was in the running to be the worst bad-luck day of his life.
He had woken up late, tripped on his shoelace and fell down the stairs, and all his bratwurst had spoiled because of a power outage late in the night. And just when Klopp thought his bad luck couldn’t get any worse, he turned the key in the ignition and it happened. The sputtering, coughing sound of a broken, smoking engine.
“Oh, das ist einfach perfekt,” Klopp muttered, tossing down the keys. “Stupid engine, now I have to get you fixed, you freeloader.”
He decided to weigh his options. Training started in an hour, and his car was broken. Running would be impractical, as he would tire out easily, and the German just couldn’t find the courage to find a bike and ride it in the area where all the squad lived. So as things stood…Jurgen Klopp was facing a very long walk to Kirkby.
As he paced his driveway wondering when the next bus came, a car rolled to a stop in front of his driveway. It was Virgil van Dijk.
Not Mane. Not Henderson. But Virgil van Dijk.
“Flüche,” Klopp muttered as Van Dijk rolled down the window.
“Hey, boss!” the Dutch center-back called out. “Are you planning on going to training or should I tell Pepjin to lead today?”
“Car issues.” Klopp couldn’t find a way out of the situation. “Do you happen to know when the next bus to Kirkby is?”
“Don’t be silly!” Van Dijk’s long arms stretched to open the left door of the car. “Come with me, boss. I’m already heading out so you should be right on time.”
“Virgil, that won’t be necessary--”
“Coach.” Van Dijk grew serious. “Get. In. The. Car.”
“Are you trying to kidnap me, Virg?”
“NOW.” Van Dijk pointed to the ominous-looking storm clouds increasing in size.
Klopp could see he had no choice. He sighed and climbed into the car, slamming the door shut before Van Dijk sped away.
*
Van Dijk’s car was clean, and quite comfortable. What made it almost unbearable was the music on the radio. It was some very weird synthesizer opera, and it scratched at Klopp’s ears like a cat, waiting to be let inside.
“Not the best thing in history, huh boss?” Even Van Dijk, who had rather eclectic tastes in music, cringed as the bass tried to hit a soprano note.
“It sounds like the singer’s been gargling screws.” Klopp pointed to the CD compartment. “Are any of those less painful?”
Van Dijk shrugged, extending the CD case. “Take your pick.”
Klopp selected a random CD, and Van Dijk slid it into the player. Everything was fine before it began playing.
“I love you/Please say you love me too/These three words--”
“What the…” Klopp couldn’t believe his ears. “Virgil?”
“Oh, sorry.” Van Dijk stammered, blushing furiously at hearing the love song swirl through the air. “I think that was a prank from Robbo?”
“Virgil van Dijk.”
“Okay, so it’s mine, big deal!”
“For the love of Bavaria, Virgil, change the damn CD.”
“Okay, okay!”
Van Dijk swapped the CD faster than he’d ever ran before. Seven seconds later, he regretted it.
“Yes, sir, I can boogie/ I can boogie-woogie-woogie the whole night long/ Yes, sir, I can boogie/ But only to the tune of a certain song!”
“Okay, now that is a Robbo prank,” Klopp retorted as Van Dijk panickedly slammed the “eject” button. “Virgil, you’re going to break that thing, careful.”
Van Dijk slid another CD into the player, and finally, it was something decent.
“Old man Gabe has been so blue/ Without his horn, what could he do?”
“Didn’t know you had ancient jazz records, Virg. When was this even created?”
“Forever ago, same as you.”
“You take that back, Virgil van Dijk!”
“Never.” Suddenly, Van Dijk screeched to a stop.
“What is it, Virg?”
“Ducks.” Van Dijk pointed to the flock of mallard ducks waddling along the road--a mother and a bunch of fluffy ducklings.
They waited for three minutes and fifty-four seconds. And just when the ducks were almost finished, a few of the ducklings decided to get silly and run back to where they came from. The mother had to go back for them.
“That mallard hen is me when Robbo gets into some ludicrous scheme again,” Klopp couldn’t help but note as the brown and yellow balls ran across the street. “Stands to reason.”
The ducks finally finished crossing, and Van Dijk restarted the car. They had only driven a few yards, when…the most ludicrous thing in history happened.
An elephant.
“I thought we were in Liverpool, not in India!” Van Dijk slammed the horn a few times to try and get the elephant to move, but the gigantic creature ambled along as if there wasn’t a sense of urgency in the world.
“Try scaring it,” Van Dijk suggested. “Maybe it’ll learn what speed means.”
Klopp rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “MOVE IT, SCALY!!”
“I beg your pardon, elephants are very moisturized.”
“Well, they hide it well.”
“How does an elephant get here in the first place?”
“Don’t ask me! I certainly didn’t bring it here!”
Finally, the elephant finished moving. Then as soon as Van Dijk decided to turn the key in the ignition, a rustle sounded from the nearby bushes.
Two flipping baby elephants.
*
They ended up pulling up in Kirkby twenty minutes late. Everybody was waiting outside the door.
“What took you so long?” Mane wondered as Klopp stepped out of the passenger’s seat. “We were just about to send a search party for you two.”
“My car broke down,” Klopp explained. “Thankfully, Virg happened to be driving by and offered me a ride.”
“So you carpooled?” Henderson laughed in disbelief. “The boss and Virgil were in a carpool. I can’t imagine! And in Virg’s car!”
“It was actually pretty decent.” Van Dijk frowned. “Except the last few bits. And the first few. And some in between too.”
“But we got here, right? And now I can call a mechanic after we’re done.” Klopp slammed the door shut. “Thanks, Virgil, you saved my dignity back there.”
“Anytime, boss.” But then Van Dijk paused as he realized. “Wait, were you about to ride a bicycle?”