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My dad died in 2018 just before it all went nuts but he always waxed lyrical about the man and said he would bring the title back. I’m absolutely gutted he is going. What an amazing human he is.

Funny as fuck that twitter is now aflame with stuff about city being cheats. Not funny now is it?

Drive. Authority. Nerve. Know-how. Erdinger. Bravery. Organisation. Skill. Style. I don't ask for much. And so to the final game of a season which looked so promising until about March, when the wheels fell off. Not the farewell tour any of us imagined or wanted, but that's where we are. The day is all about the end of one of the most successful eras in our history, under a brilliant manager whose ethos and charisma carry definite echoes of the man who himself stepped down as manager 50 years ago. Up against the infinite wealth and sheer brazenness of openly playing with a heavily stacked deck, and the tribal and controversy-seeking nature of supporters of other clubs in the modern game willing him and his team to fail despite what it meant for them in the long run, Jurgen Klopp built a side that more than went toe-to-toe with Guardiola's lot, regularly dishing out a bloody nose, twice going agonisingly close to winning the title with points totals that blitzed any winning points totals pre-Abu Dhabi, and once succeeding with a level of dominance and consistency of results never before seen in English football. That 2018 to 2020 side was something seriously special. Mentality monsters that actually won 26 out of 27 league games before Covid kicked in worldwide. Ali, Trent, Big Bird, Virg, Robbo, Fab, Hendo, Gini, Mo, Sadio, Bobby. Ably assisted by valuable contributions from the likes of Joe, Big Game James, Naby (yes really!), Ram Man and Div. What a group of players put together by the manager and the data analysts. Not all individually the best in the world in their positions, but collectively they dovetailed to amazing effect. The impact of the manager simply cannot be understated. He has shown throughout his managerial career that his has the ability to sew a silk purse from a sow's ear, and it's all down to his aura, his charisma and his ability to generate belief and create the desired motivation. He gets players to buy into the collective effort, and still allows them their individual glory. A brilliant manager, but more than that, a fantastic human being. A lot of fans of other clubs have taken the piss out of him and derided his supposed moaning about whatever they want to deem as trivial for banter's sake. But when he talks about wanting things to be better, he's talking about the game as a whole (and often about people's lives in general), not just his little corner of it. I think we might actually see a lot of people now openly comment about how much they actually liked him and wished he was at their club. He takes his teams to a new level, and wants things brough in for the betterment of the game as a whole. And he wants to help lift people's lives. Sounds exactly like some bloke who was around these parts between the 1950s and the 1970s. Last season's game against Wolves was at the beginning of March, and the result was eventually a comfortable 2-0 win for the Reds. Of course we wasted some decent opportunities. Harvey headed well wide when 8 yards out, central, and with the goalkeeper out of the picture. He scuffed another effort that Jose Sa saved when it needed a cleaner contact. We thought we had the opener in the second half when Diogo charged into the box. The ball broke to Darwin who finished the job. Then the VAR jobsworth decided to stick his oar in and get the ref to look at a foul by Diogo. A foul that was the result of a shove by a Wolves defender on Diogo, whose momentum caused him to catch the other Wolves defender. It's like a car driver taking the full insurance hit after being shunted from behind in a multi-car collision. Anyway, we finally got the breakthrough when Virg got on the end of a free kick. He didn't get a clean contact but it forced a full-stretch save from Sa that only cleared the ball to Diogo. He fired it back in and Virg, nearly on the goalline, emphatically buried his header. Minutes later it was 2, as Kostas was found maurading down the left. His ball in was met by Mo's knee and flew past Sa. Nothing much else to say really. It was one of our more comfortable evenings. Anyway, the game on Sunday. Incredibly, this is the 3rd time in 6 seasons that we face Wolves at Anfield on the final day. On the two previous occasions, we've briefly topped the table during the game, only for City's opponents to decide it's not worth the effort and just give up. No chance of anything like that this time round as we are already out of the title picture. This is the "Fucked over by PGMOL" derby, as Gary O'Neil and Wolves have been given the shitty end of the VAR stick repeatedly this season. O'Neil has had touchline bans and been forced to bite his tongue. Jurgen is apparently one game away from a PL touchline ban. Regardless of how the game is going, one kind of hopes he gives the officials a fucking headache. No idea what Wolves will be like or who is or isn't available for them. O'Neil has found a fairly effective attacking set-up with Hwang, Cunha, Sarabia and Neto offering plenty of pace and movement. Ait Nouri has looked like a very good attacking wing back. For us, I'd expect Robbo to be back for this one after his minor injury kept him out of the Villa game. The rest of the available ones should still be available for this one. Though the manager is the main focus, hopefully the players are fully motivated and show the right attitude, motivation and application from first minute to last. And don't turn to shit after the first wave of substitutions of course. Let's get the 3 points in style to see out the Jurgen Klopp era the appropriate way, with the fist pump salute at full chat. I've got a case of Erdinger to toast the big man. Get it done!

Fuck Arsenal and fuck Arteta. Arteta had no problem taking the backhanders from City when he was working for them did he. Live by the sword die by the sword you lego headed just for men cunt.

I didn't really get upset until he led Anfield in a rendition of Arne Slot la laaa lalala. That's extraordinary, a mark of the man.

Still fuming at Quansah

I’ve just re-watched Jurgen’s first presser, he looks so young! Everything he said was spot on. He’s earned his rest now, I’ll miss him so much but no one should begrudge him going.

Couldn’t be arsed doing a roast today, wanted to be able to just sit on the sofa all day watching the telly and feeling sorry for myself. So it was just a big Ploghman’s.

I'd just like to say that I was all aboard the Klopp express from day 1 due to the Bundesliga being on ITV just before he joined us. In the same way I was delighted we got King Kenny back in 77 when Keegan left. Both these men,Klopp and King Kenny, deserve to be mentioned in the same post as they are Liverpool FC royalty.

I'm not having the ox as not good enough. He was really unlucky with that injury he picked up in the semi final against Roma, and he was never the same after it. That didn't mean he wasn't good enough...

The match itself looked every bit the end-of-season affair with nothing to play for. Wolves barely did anything before the sending off, and very little afterwards. It was not an example of PGMOL fucking Wolves over yet again. We did what we do in loads of games, getting the goals but being very imprecise with our finishing. We can look so scruffy at timesWe also did what we've done in practically every game since March, contriving to make a right hash or quick counters where we have a huge advantage in numbers. The crowd went through the repertoire from the LFC songbook, and it was all about the post-match. Virg looked visibly upset in his post-match interview, and Trent looked very upset during the YNWA at the end. Jurgen held it together extremely well and, just like with the applauding the fans at the end of that West Brom game in 2015, he was quick to stress the importance of giving the new manager our support, even bursting into song. Don't know if he cribbed that one off the Feyenoord fans, but I think his point was that if the new guy has even a fraction of the love he himself has received, then we stand a great chance of building on what he has built here. Of course Arne Slot needs the results and performances to help bring that along.

And that once is only reason abu dhabi have not won 7 on the bounce is my reply....

Can't be arsed with all the cry-arses enjoying the misery. We totally dominated the game and won 2-0. I can get on board with people whingeing about the times (mainly in April) when we should have done that, but today we did, so stop being whiny bitches.

My stream just cut to a Madrid match. Talk about kicking a man when he's down.

Hearing this kit is the reason Klopp is leaving.

Got Martin Tyler on my stream. Cunt

That large lady who used to be in Emmerdale, and was on Strictly, is just down from me on a train. Opposite but on the other side of the carriage. She has a banana in front of her that she’s not yet shown any signs of eating. It’s annoying me. Not sure why, but it is.

Just win. The win of course won't be 'for Klopp' in his mind - it will be for LFC and the fans. But just this once, on this day it will be for him and he deserves nothing less. We know Anfield will give the man the send off he so richly deserves - Players....please do the same.

He needs to tell his dad to fuck off as well. Can't help having that utter gimp talk over an actual trainer every round.

So that's it, he's gone. Weird fucking feeling this.

I thought Sky's coverage of our game and the Klopp presentation afterwards was good today. I'd been expecting endless updates and talk about what was going on in the title race and our game being treated as an afterthought, but they correctly seemed to realize that anyone who actually cared about the title race would be watching the City game and kept updates brief.

I would just like to say Fuck Off Arsenal. Hope this helps.

Funny as fuck city have just won the league but everyone's attention is on this.

They couldn't have had a better set of circumstances to help them win it with fuck all injuries and injuries affecting other teams when they played them. We managed to go toe to toe with the cheats and won a CL and a Premiership title against a better city team than Arsenal have been up against while they won nothing so fuck them.

Fuck sake Mo

Maybe he’s bricking it?

Really hope there's endless shots of sad faced Arsenal supporters clutching their radios on TNT .

Yeah. Fuck anybody who isn't us.

In fairness I don’t think you recharge by getting sledgehammered to the body and nearly having your head sent into orbit. Fury had a chance to get him out of there but tried to be too much of a smartarse, it backfired massively. As Lewis said he was strutting around like he’d won the fight. Huge mistake.

I’ve been at peace this week with today, but I’ve just watched the Kelly Cates interview/montage which has been synced with “You to me are everything” and that’s just tipped me over the edge Whoever is lucky enough to be in the ground today, soak it up and enjoy every minute of it. So long Jūrgen, Danké

Abu Dhabi all set to wrap up their 4th title in a row, and the papers are replete with Klopp articles ahead of a dead rubber. Says it all really.

“We’re gonna win the league…” January 2020. Liverpool versus Man Utd. Stoppage time. A one goal lead. Mo Salah latched on to Alisson Becker’s punt up-field. A primal roar. The eyes of Anfield fixed on the Kop goal. The fervour dissipating into a split-second hush as the Egyptian stroked the ball past David De Gea. No nervousness. No hesitation. A calm five-a-side finish. And then the release. All that pent-up energy. The frustration. The tension. Every last trace of doubt and apprehension swept away in a euphoric frenzy. “We’re gonna win the league…” When everybody knew. When no-one felt ashamed to sing it loud and clear. The potential and the possibilities engendered by that season’s work made tangible with a last-minute settler. “We’re gonna win the league…” Because that was that. Every challenge overcome. Every team defeated. The one mark in the draw column set right. There was no way the Liverpool team of 2019-20 were not going to be champions. It was a case of studying the fixture list after that. Speculating when it would be sealed. Making celebratory plans with friends and family. The winning run continued and the ringed dates on the calendar were revised accordingly. A chance of clinching it at the Etihad. Goodison Park. Even a home game around Easter time to become the earliest champions in the history of English football. There were discussions about whether people would prefer to win it at Anfield or be in the away end at a rival’s ground when it was all said and done. Whether or not being crowned champions when we weren’t playing by virtue of Man City dropping points would feel anticlimactic. I simply didn’t care enough to state a preference. I only wanted to see it confirmed. That capital C beside Liverpool’s name at the top of the standings. I was thirty-two during the 19-20 season. Two years old when we had last won the title back in 1990. Part of that generation of reds stuck in limbo. When the videos of great teams and players that we grew up on didn’t often tally with what we saw on the pitch. The stories from older relatives about title wins that almost seem predestined on account of how perfectly events unfolded. Beatles songs serenading Shankly’s best. Bob Paisley’s side surging up the table following a Boxing Day defeat to Man City. Kenny Dalglish’s peach of a winner at Stamford Bridge. How could all of that have happened when outlandish flukes and weird twists of fate had become wearily familiar? Almost inevitable, in fact? Federico Macheda in the final minute and Gerrard’s nonsensical slip and Vincent Kompany’s one-in-a-million effort. The sort of crazy incidents that can tarnish even the greatest optimist with a fatalistic streak. I would argue that was Jurgen Klopp’s first great achievement as Liverpool manager: ‘delivering what he said’ in turning ‘doubters into believers’. He made going the match fun again. He tuned us all into his vision. No easy feat on the back of an almost decade-long spell marked by division and in-fighting. Hicks and Gillett’s stewardship. The Rafa wars. Kenny’s second stint souring. The 2014-15 hangover season under Rodgers. It is easy to forget that the club that Klopp arrived at was markedly different to one he will depart on Sunday. 2019-20 was shaping up to be the culmination of all his good work. Every positive step consolidated and built upon to the point where any poor performance was treated as an aberration rather than an underlying symptom of anything far more pressing. As 2019 rolled into 2020, the sense that we were watching something remarkable only increased. Notions of unbeaten seasons or record points totals did not seem fanciful in the slightest. But, of course, 2020 had no intention of developing as we anticipated. It goes without saying that Covid’s impact on society exceeded its influence on football. The loss and devastation felt by families and the deterioration to people’s mental health were compounded by a prevailing climate of uncertainty. How long it would take before things returned to normal. If they ever would. Many questions remain. Speaking as somebody who works in secondary education, the effects of the pandemic will still be with us for years to come. Young lives have been altered irrevocably and in ways that can barely be comprehended. Addressing the social and academic deficiencies caused by Covid is a struggle that seemingly has no end in sight. The pandemic has left an imprint on everything it has touched, even to an extent where certain recollections from that time now take on a more surreal quality. That title-winning season, for instance, has the complexion of a fever dream. A season in two instalments. The last quarter played in the blazing sunshine usually reserved for summer tournaments. Plans to toast the team in pubs and clubs postponed as phrases like ‘social distancing’ became embedded in our lexicon. A distinct sense of ‘pre’ and ‘post’. There was even the suggestion that the season was over at one stage. Talk the that the league would be settled on a points-per-game basis or scrapped altogether. That was one of a litany of worries during the purgatory of lockdown. No doubt it was situated at the minor end of the scale when weighed against other more pressing anxieties, but the idle hours and aimless drift of each new day had a habit of drawing each of these to the forefront of our thoughts at inopportune moments. My grandad’s well-being was a notable worry. The years before had been tough for him and our family as a whole. His mobility had become severely compromised to put an end to regular pub trips with friends and forced his retirement from work. My grandmother passed away in 2017 to leave him isolated and vulnerable. A dementia diagnosis came not long afterwards. There was at least a positive prognosis with the worst symptoms able to be delayed with a course of regular medication, but the news was heart-breaking nonetheless. His slow decline was a shock. He had always been a totemic figure. Someone who demonstrated the value of hard work and determination with an understated resilience. Those who have family members suffering from the disease can attest that there are fewer things more upsetting than watching your loved one become an unrecognisable shell of themselves over a prolonged period. Covid amplified these anxieties. In addition to wondering what being cooped up alone all day would do to his sense of self, there were questions about what sort of care he would receive. Whether visiting would be possible. What if he were to contract the disease? The first three-quarters of the season had at least given him some respite from the dementia. There were far more good days than bad. He was able to enjoy watching Liverpool win. Witness the prospect of a title win firm into a cast-iron certainty with each passing week. He was still able to talk about the performances of Van Dijk and Salah and Mane in glowing terms, though the stubborn old sod refused to bracket them with the players from the Shankly and Paisley eras. It was all a far cry from going to the match with him as a kid and hearing him swear for the first time after yet another David James flap, or the gallows humour he employed after 2013-14 when he told me, “You’re a lot younger than I am—I might not live to see us win the bloody thing again.” Although said with his tongue in his cheek, that line stayed with me throughout 2019-20. I took a lot of pleasure in reminding him of that comment. Even mentioned that his sheer belligerence would ensure that he outlived all of us to witness a couple more. Then came lockdown. The suspension of football. The absence of structure, of things to look forward to, of match dates to schedule in his diary saw his well-being plummet. The bad days started to outnumber the good. This unfortunately would have been inevitable, such is the nature of dementia, but there was nothing to punctuate the monotony or provide stimulation. Spring turned into summer and with it came the relaxation of rules. The resumption of the football season. Three months having elapsed from when Liverpool beat Bournemouth to facing Everton at Goodison. The restart brought with it some much needed order and routine to my grandad’s life. Raised the possibility of regular visits to watch the remaining games together. It would be an understatement to say that the trophy lift after beating Chelsea wasn’t how many of us pictured it. The majority confined to living rooms with only a handful of people for company. That goes for me also. But I now look upon that moment as a happy accident. Because not one scenario in my head when we were all making plans for the final home game involved being with my grandad. My uncles and I visited him for that Chelsea game. We ordered a Chinese. Drank a few beers. Watched Liverpool come out on top in a madcap game. Made our peace with the trophy lift being what it was. Raised a glass to Liverpool and Jürgen Klopp. My grandad was having a good day, thankfully. Lucid throughout. He even made a remark about how they weren’t as good as the teams from the seventies and eighties in an attempt at getting a rise. I glanced over towards him to see a slight smile form across his face as Jordan Henderson raised that trophy into the night sky. That was enough for me. An involuntary reflex as significant as being with 60,000 others inside Anfield. Klopp’s departure this Sunday is a reminder that nothing lasts. Things change. Everything moves on. The memories of the trophy wins and the wild games and the comebacks against insurmountable odds are what will stay with us when the emotions cool and we take time to reflect. When I come to do the same, that evening with my grandad will feature in my thoughts. And all I can do is offer my deepest gratitude to the man who made it happen. Danke, Jürgen Liam Randles Instagram: @lrandleswriter View full article

The league, sky and all the TV companies should be on their knees thanking Klopp for the league not being dead already.

The 8th changed it - the presssure started paying off and the nose break completely swung the momentum

My Clematis opened up !

Here's one

Will be a bigger audience and have a bigger impact than Abu Dhabi's latest hollow, tainted title win.

Had quite that last 2-3 weeks Woke up with a sore throat, the next day turned into flu like symptoms. Only had the flu couple of times in my lifetime but I realise this is not a normal cold. I have tickets to see Bruce Springsteen in Cardiff and I'm meant to fly the next day. I cancel the flight as I can't get outta bed. Luckily there is another flight two days later and lands two hours before the show. The flight is expensive but I don't wanna miss the gig. I can do this *fist pumps* Get the flight, still have a fever and feel generally grim. Make the gig, can't even face drinking a beer. Maybe Springsteen playing for over 3 hours is too long after all. I'm crashing at my sister's house for two nights. She doesn't have a proper bed for me and I'm sleeping on a camp bed from the 1930s. So no real sleep and still feeling fucking terrible. I now need to get my ass to Birmingham. I've collected a cunt load of extra baggage. Just carrying myself almost feels impossible. This is my Everest. I make it to hotel. Haven't eaten properly for 3 days (or had a beer) just go straight to bed. Take the flight. Journey from hell. Actually feel like I'm dying. I get home. My own bed, that's all I need. I'll be fine. I have absolutely no appetite and don't want a drink (can't remember going over a week without a beer, batshit) Struggle to sleep over the weekend. I then wake up with severe pain in my hands and they have completely swollen and I can feel it starting in my feet. Go to the doctor fist thing Monday morning. I can barely walk. I didn't know it was possible to feel this unwell. I get rushed to hospital and put straight into intensive care. Stay there for two nights. I have a super rare pneumonia and spend another 3 nights in hospital. Bit of a battle but get them to release me yesterday afternoon. At home now, feeling loads better. Apparently flying with pneumonia is crazy dangerous and probably why I felt like was gonna die. Fuck me I'm gasping for beer.

Guardiola will be doing his nut over this today. "This is for all our millions of fans 'all over the world!' I love them and they love me!!!"

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Made a Bee line for Linda once he got down the tunnel, he knows what he's doing.

Man City now 2-0 up and marching towards a historic 4th title in a row.

Quite fancy watching the buildup for this one but not sure if I can stand the incessant ads for bookies every 5 minutes.

I know you’re joking but people who leave dead early, like it’s a race. If you love it back at home so much fucking stay there.

"...and I'm planning to write Nunez in all three envelopes"

Thank God Klopp only has to view that monstrosity once.