Danke, Jürgen
To the German who changed my life.
It’s September 2015, the final year of high school, and I was not in a great place. I’d just experienced a serious motor accident followed by a painful breakup. My parents had spent a lot of money (and hopes) in tuitions to prepare me for India’s premier engineering exams. I stopped attending. I couldn’t. I was bandaged, overweight, broken, and depressed.
My condition mirrored that of Liverpool FC, the football club I’ve supported all my life. We’d spent years in mediocrity, becoming the butt of jokes to which we had grown immune. Our two best players had left in the preceding months, and our current star player was constantly injured. Defeats and disappointments had become routine for Liverpool supporters. It was a hopeless situation with no way out in sight.
Then, on October 8, 2015, Jürgen Norbert Klopp became manager of Liverpool Football Club.
Ever experienced the feeling of going out with a girl who you thought was out of your league? Or landing a job or getting into a school you never thought you could? Or having someone believe in you, take a chance in you, when even you wouldn’t take a chance on yourself? It’s hard describe, but few feelings compare.
That’s what it felt like when a world-class manager, coveted by the biggest clubs, chose to manage a football club whose own fans never thought they could attract someone of his caliber. Jürgen chose us and promised to turn us from doubters into believers. Today, nine years on, as he prepares to manage Liverpool for the last time, he can look back with the satisfaction of having fulfilled his promise.
He made us all believers.
So, what happened in those nine years?
Let me start with the not-so-important bits. We won it all. Of course, we fucking won it all—the Champions League, the Club World Cub, the Premier League (after 30 years), and everything in between. Jürgen took a squad mired in mediocrity and turned it into the best, most feared team in world football. He managed Liverpool for almost 500 games. If you’d change just four results out of those 500, he’d have won even more. But, today, that doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter because Jürgen is about more than football.
As kids, we’re often asked who our role models are. For some, it’s an actor or a sportsman. For others, it’s an astronaut or scientist. For the longest time, I struggled to answer this question because I never had a role model. Until Jürgen, that is.
Yes, Klopp is a world-class manager, but he is also a world-class leader, comedian, philosopher, and human being. He is the kind of leader people would run through brick walls for. In a parallel universe, he could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, or the general of an army in a war, and still excel as he did as a football manager. Jürgen is truly one of a kind.
Jürgen taught me how to stay strong in the face of defeat. The Champions League is the biggest club competition in the world. Against all odds, Liverpool reached the final in 2018, only to lose in unfortunate circumstances: our best player got injured, our goalkeeper was concussed, and Gareth Bale scored one of the greatest goals in Champions League history. It was a heartbreak and felt like the end of the world. But not for Klopp. This was him the night of the final, after the defeat:
Yes, he brought the cup back to Liverpool.
Jürgen taught me the importance of thinking long-term. In his first press conference, he said he would win a title in four years—not one or two, but four. In a sport where demands are high and managers are always on thin ice, Jürgen stands out as a patient, long-term planner who believes in the process. He is the embodiment of "good things take time." And yes, he did win his first title in his fourth season in charge.
Jürgen taught me how to build a team. He has a strict “no assholes” policy. You could be the greatest footballer in the world, but if you weren’t a good person at heart, you had no place on the team. Footballers are known for having big egos, throwing petty tantrums, and doing dumb things in general. Not footballers at Liverpool, though. Not under Jürgen’s watch.
Jürgen taught me that relationships in life are everything. “I’m not here to collect trophies; I’m here to collect relationships.” He genuinely cares about the people he works with. He genuinely cares about the fans and the city of Liverpool. He’s a friend first, a boss second. He makes people feel on top of the world because when they have his attention, they are on top of his world.
Jürgen taught me that the only thing we can do in life, the only thing in our control, is give our best. Liverpool were down 3-0 against a Barcelona team with the best player in the world. A comeback seemed impossible. Before the second leg, he told his players, “It’s impossible. But because it’s you boys, it’s possible. And if we fail, let’s fail in the most beautiful way.” Liverpool won the second leg 4-0.
For someone who doesn’t support Liverpool or follow football, all of this might sound absurd. Here I am waxing lyrical about a man whose literal job is to coach 11 players on how to kick a ball for 90 minutes. What can he teach you about life? A lot, apparently. And I know for a fact that he’s taught these lessons not only to me but to millions of Liverpool fans around the world.
So, danke, Jürgen.
Danke for the laughs.
Danke for the cries.
Danke for the songs.
Danke for the best days of our lives.
Danke for the Premier League.
Danke for that night in Madrid.
Danke for building the best team in the world.
And, danke for giving a broken 16-year-old hope.
You will be missed.
You’ll never walk alone.
