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Klopp put down his cellphone with a sigh, letting the device fall into a conveniently open drawer. There was nothing to do.
Well, there were many things to do. But all of them seemed to have something to do with Liverpool’s abysmal season so far.
Klopp had checked the news to see if there was anything interesting. The only “interesting” things were Chelsea purchasing Joao Felix, United progressing to the semifinals of the EFL Cup, and more “Messi the GOAT” business.
He’d tried to call some of his manager friends. Every one of them was busy with their teams.
He’d looked on Youtube for any funny videos of epic fails, or maybe a few United losses. All he could see were people trashing Liverpool. Going to social media—something Klopp thought he’d never do—retrieved the same results.
Klopp was tired, no, exhausted, of Gary Neville’s utter bull. Generally, he was exhausted by the whole media. He needed a distraction.
“Pep!”
“No need to yell, I’m right here.” Lijnders looked up from his laptop computer, sipping yet another cup of coffee. “What’s on your mind?”
“More like what’s not on it. All these news and tactics and transfers and rumors…” Klopp’s gaze caught the old Polaroid camera sitting on the shelf. “I have an idea.”
Lijnders groaned, shutting down the laptop. “Last time you had an idea, what did it bring us?”
“Cody.”
“Okay, so you have a point there. What’s the big idea?”
Klopp pointed at the Polaroid camera. “Let’s take a team photo. All of us—we can have a photoshoot!”
Lijnders shook his head in amusement. Even though Klopp was 16 years older than him, the German often had the energy of a young kid. So often in fact, that it was when he actually acted his age that Lijnders worried about him.
“We haven’t taken a proper team picture since December,” Klopp insisted. “And Cody’s here now, and we couldn’t have the staff and kids in the Santa hat photo because it was for the website, and—”
“December was only eleven days ago,” Lijnders pointed out. “And plus, how are we going to get the little ones to stay still for the photo?”
“It’s a family photo, Pep. It’s not a formal poster.” Klopp took the camera off the shelf, along with a scrapbook. “Plus, the scrapbook could use updating.”
Lijnders hesitated before nodding. “Let’s do it.”
*
Soon, everybody was gathered in the auditorium for the photoshoot. Some wore their LFC kits, but most of them were in their everyday clothes. That included the kids, who had come up with some borderline weird costumes upon hearing about the photoshoot.
“What are you wearing, Florrie?” Kelleher chuckled, lifting her in the air. The toddler was three, going on four in the next month.
Florrie chuckled, flapping her arms in the air. “Butterfly!”
Alisson grabbed Florrie from Keller’s arms, nuzzling the child. “Que doce, florzinha.”
Klopp watched the chattering as he set up the camera. Sure, they had smartphones; but to him the Polaroid camera would always be his favorite venue for memory-making.
“Alright!” Klopp surveyed the crowd of players, staff and kids. “Who’s going first?”
The next hour or so was full of laughter and some…amusing situations, to say the least. There were chaotic photos, adorable photos, and quite a few that couldn’t be described in one word.
Arwen clinging onto Nunez’s back, secretly undoing his man bun.
Tsimikas and Alexander-Arnold in a cardboard and tin foil sword fight.
Carvalho holding Tristian, both dressed as baby foxes.
Mo Salah posing by a cardboard pyramid, wearing a crown.
The “Knights of the Balbis Table” pretending to shave a disgruntled Milner’s beard.
Klopp captured all these moments and more, in deep thought the whole while. He was truly blessed to be with a squad like this—if they weren’t good on the pitch, at least they were a whole family off it.