Anthony Quinn - Klopp: My Liverpool Romance

On Wednesday 11 December, the eve of the 2019 general election, the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra performed Handels Messiah at the Barbican Concert Hall in London. It was a joy and a relief to be in a place where the dismal sound and fury of Brexit couldnt penetrate, if only for a couple of hours. When the soprano opened Part III with the air I Know That My Redeemer Liveth I found myself transported in a daydream of reverential delight. I imagine others around me experienced something similar. What a lovely phrase it is I Know That My Redeemer Liveth But on this occasion it wasnt the Divine I was pondering. My thoughts were more earthbound, temporal, absorbed in the wonders being wrought by a certain German maestro. And I dont mean Handel.

I was still thinking of the previous night when Liverpool FC had beaten Red Bull Salzburg 20 and thus qualified for the knockout stages of the 201920 Champions League. A victory masterminded by their inimitable manager Jrgen Klopp. Is he My Redeemer? No. Is he the Messiah? Hes not even a very naughty boy. Is he the remarkable life-force driving a football club whose glory days looked to be a thing of the past? Most definitely. And the gratifying aspect of this union between club and manager is that it felt destined. A match that was meant to be. There is literally no one else you can imagine doing the job that Jrgen Klopp has done at Liverpool.

And yet ten years ago I had never heard of him. Not many had. Now, in 2020, he is probably the most famous and admired football manager in the world. How did this happen? Not being a passionate devotee of the German Bundesliga I was slow to catch on to the rise of a young coach who had made a name for himself at Mainz 05 and was resuscitating the fortunes of sleeping giant Borussia Dortmund. I think it was in 2011 when I heard his name for the first time. Liverpool were enduring an unhappy period in the doldrums, traduced by the financial mismanagement of HicksGillett and, on the pitch, stuck in reverse under Roy Hodgson, a good manager in the wrong job. Names of his potential successors were being bandied around, as names will be, including that of Kenny Dalglish. But an LFC friend, one of a handful among our Friday five-a-side game in Clerkenwell, told me they ought to look at Jrgen Klopp. Who? He gave me a thumbnail sketch, which I promptly forgot, diverted by the false dawn of Dalglishs second term and then the brittle magnificence of Brendan Rodgerss tilt at the Premier League title in 201314.

Ah, that was the season that was. Liverpool playing football at 150mph, spearheaded by an attacking trident that tore apart opponents at will, top at Christmas, five points ahead in March, surfing on a wild surmise that were gonna win the league. However many the opposition scored we would contrive to score one more. Until we couldnt. On 27 April 2014, following Chelseas 20 win at Anfield, aka The Day They Parked the Bus, I noted mournfully in my diary:

Glad it was Gerrards mistake hes the easiest of all to forgive. If Kolo Tour had done it, for instance, Id have cursed Rodgers ever after for selecting him.

Meanwhile, over in Germany, Dortmund were beginning to make a noise with back-to-back Bundesliga titles, the Double in 2012, a Champions League final in 2013. Klopp was now on the radar. Following Liverpools sob-story implosion under Rodgers and the disastrous endgame of his final months in 2015 (Stoke beating us 61 in May was the low point) rumours of a replacement were twanging on the grapevine. Carlo Ancelotti was mooted. But the name that kept echoing back was Klopp. He had already decided to quit Dortmund and take a year off. Klopp: it had a ring to it, like a famous stand. Klopp: would the prospect of Anfield lure him out of his sabbatical? Klopp! Klopp! Klopp! The hoofbeats of destiny were picking up speed, coming closer. Some fans were now so enamoured of the possibility that they petitioned Klopps wife on Twitter.

Rodgers, having overseen a 11 draw in the Merseyside derby on 4 October, was sacked the same day. By the end of that week Klopp had signed a three-year contract at Anfield and was doing a walkabout on the pitch. Let it be noted that he looked great imposingly tall, relaxed, dressed in jeans, black shirt, black blazer, his hair neatly trimmed. The famous smile was shyly in evidence. Then he did his first press conference.

After the mutual adoration and moist-eyed emoting that characterised his relationship with the Dortmund fans, Klopp dialled it down for his Anfield inauguration. He presented himself at the microphone in a thoughtful, quietly spoken manner. He was fully aware of the significance of his appointment (Its the biggest honour I can imagine to be here) yet he didnt want to bang the war drum too early. The power chords of Heavy Metal Football were kept in check. He was there to try to help a club that, while underperforming, could hardly be considered in trouble. He couched his programme for renewal as a double appeal to the players and to the fans. If someone wanted to help the club they had to change from doubter to believer. That was his second great soundbite. His first seemed to come by accident, though knowing his love of preparation he may just have made it look that way. Does anyone in this room think that I can do wonders? he asked, immediately insisting that he was just a guy from the Black Forest whose mother was proud and probably watching him now on TV. So I am a totally normal guy Im the normal one. Bullseye. His self-deprecation not only got a laugh, it placed him in pertinent contrast to the kind of football manager who might proclaim himself, say, The Special One. Arrogance would not be the Klopp way. The only special thing in his eyes was the club he hoped to serve. He understood Liverpool. He understood us.

He then pulled another masterstroke. I hope to enjoy my work, he said, earnestly, looking directly at his inquisitors. All the people told me so much about the British press. So its up to you to show me they are all liars. Another big laugh. He had disarmed the press by teasing them, and they loved it. What wonderful nerve to include them in his project: I propose to you football that everyone can enjoy, players, fans, managers, and yes, even you, the nasty, snarky hounds of the back pages. When someone asked him about the Anfield pantheon i.e. the weight of history he deflected the question by observing that no Liverpool manager had ever taken up the post already believing himself to be a legend. That sort of esteem had to be earned. He repeated something he had once said at Dortmund: Its not so important what people think of you when you come in. Its much more important what people think when you leave. Again the humility, the sense of perspective, resonates. The person blessed with true confidence has no need to swagger or to showboat; and his self-awareness allows him to understand others. You could build a career on it.

A wise man once said, People dont believe in ideas: they believe in people who believe in ideas. This is what Klopp got so right in his introduction that day. Conducting himself in a humble, humorous way, he set out key ideas turning doubters to believers, the necessity of keeping your feet on the ground (normal one), the honour of serving a storied institution which with patience and togetherness he believed had a good chance of being fulfilled. Whats more, in pursuing these goals (and here is a crucial Klopp component) they would have