Jurgen Klopp is currently standing outside Old Trafford holding a sign saying “Free Hugs”. We asked the enigmatic manager if he had a death wish:
No, no, bring it in, come on, there you go.
We are wrapped in a bone liquefying embrace while having our upper vertebrae realigned by forceful blows to the back.
See it’s good isn’t it, all you need is love yes? I’ve taken a couple of yokes but I’m getting nothing off them. This just seemed like a good idea. I mean it isn’t the best moment for Manchester United in this moment but there will be other moments that will be good moments and maybe some other not so good moments but it’s all about the moment. In this moment it’s a good moment. I feel good and I wanted Manchester United to feel good. I know how it feels, yes, I manage Liverpool!!
Klopp takes off his tracksuits top to reveal the Liverpool third away kit. He slips on a pair of white gloves and produces a set of glow sticks and a whistle.
Hey, you like techno? I like techno! Lets play some techno!!
Klopp, now attempting to wrap his bottom lip around his eyebrows breaks out the tunes.
Hey, you remember the techno Viking? What is it you say, oh, oh? Yes?
Klopp breaks into a terrifying multi-limbed attack on the four to the floor bass drum beat. It’s like watching a very efficient hurricane.
This is gegenpress yeah? Oh, oh! Untz, untz, untz, untz!
At this point Sir Alex Ferguson passes:
Oi, Fergie, get over here….
Ferguson is embraced in a sweaty bone crusher.
Ay, ge’yer fucking..
Klopp responds:
Alex, relax, your cheeks are stressing me out. Have a yoke!
Ferguson stares for a moment:
Ay, alree ta fuck, break ’em out
Shortly afterwards both Klopp and Ferguson are unified in a techno trance, jaws working as hard as limbs to keep up with the beats. A car slows and a window rolls down. Pep Guardiola leans out of the window:
Jurgen? Alex? What are you doing?
Klopp lunges forward:
Come in Pep ya boring grey fabulous bastard! Have some bangers and show us that cock of yours. We hear its impressive!
Pep barely has time to react before a battery of pills, thrills and bellyaches is forced down his throat.
Shortly after a small crowd has gathered around Klopp, Ferguson and a pants-less Pep. Someone, that bares a remarkable resemblance to Bez from the Happy Monday’s, has taken charge of logistics and distribution. Suddenly the music cuts. The undulating crowd slowly comes to a halt and stare towards the centre where Klopp stands with his arms raised:
Everyone wait! I think we have to do something. I think on this night, in this moment, something has to end. On this night, in this moment, something has to begin again. There is a time for change and that time is now. Pep Guardiola, of the mega cock and tactics, must ring Jose Mourinho!!
A cheer goes up from the crowd.
He must bring the angry little man to us and we must show him that there is love in this world. We must show him that it’s not everyone else’s fault. We must show him that we are all in this together not against each other. We must show him that’s it’s all going to be ok.
Klopp reaches a trembling hand to Pep and, impressively, keeps his eyes focused on Pep’s dilated eyes with not a flicker to his nethers:
Pep, brother, will you do this with us? Will you leave the past behind you? Will you pave the road to the future with forgiveness and positivity? Will you embrace Jose as your friend and brother?
Pep stares from Klopp to the anticipating crowd and back again. He raises his phone on the third attempt and while swaying, essays a number in a series of jabs. He raises the phone to his mouth, looks at it through disbelieving eyes, turns it the right way around and holds an open palm up in the air. The crowd falls silent. Pep spake thusly:
‘S ringin’!
A cheer goes up and Pep shakes his open palm for silence.
Joze. Josie. ‘Hat Eu? It Mep, I mean, Dep. No, no wait.
Pep whispers to Klopp:
Is Pep! I knew ‘hat ree? Ha, aha, ha! Lisen’. No, lisen’ shu’ up a minut’. LISEN’! Shhhhhhhh. I’m allree’. Shu’up. Ah ha ha! I’m here with Kloooooopy and tha’ ‘ther fella. Ye ‘no’ angr’ red cheek smells like a sweaty pair a bollix? Fergie, ‘hat’s ‘im alree. I jus’ called ta say ‘hat I ‘hink eu ‘r’ the greatest…..
Another cheer goes up from the crowd, Pep takes a stagger and waves the crowd into silence:
….the greatest……BOLLIX ON THE PLANET YA CUNTY ARSEGRAPE!!!
Pep hangs up the phone triumphantly. The crowd erupt into cheers. The techno restarts. Pep passes out gracefully and in a tactically precise manner. The night continues and over Manchester a new day dawns. Fragments of sunlight break through the ever present cloud cover and embrace a single remaining figure dancing in defiance to a bitter cold world without hope. A world that has lost it’s way to hatred and cynicism. A crooked smile and a pair of broken glasses.
Klopp is love!
