Welcome back, then, Jürgen. Next time, though, maybe just let yourself in eh? So intense was the pre‑match excitement in Dortmund over the return of the prodigal Jürg – much of it media-led – that walking around this flat, functional city on the afternoon of the game you half expected to stumble across Klopp shrines, New Orleans-style Klopp jazz funerals, to look up and find his great beaming visage looming over the city like some vast alien saucer.
And yet for all the soap opera something unexpected happened at the Westfalenstadion. A football match broke out – and a gripping one, too. If there was need of a Klopp memorial it came in the best way as Liverpool and Borussia Dortmund produced a taught, high grade, claustrophobic Europa League quarter‑final first leg. Mamadou Sakho was gloriously immense at the back. Divock Origi scored a coolly taken first-half goal. Homecoming schmaltz done, a 1-1 draw leaves the tie of the round beautifully poised.
In the buildup Klopp had been quietly appalled by the sheer frothing volume of attention, from the relentless questioning to the revelation a German TV company would be following his every bark and growl via the wretchedly named Klopp-Cam. And yet for all the pre-match fever it was a rather restrained homecoming, and all the better for it. Few if any of the banners and signs carried any reference to Klopp, with none of the Thank-You-Jürgen, Klopp-Of-Our-Hearts gush a similar reunion in England would flush out. Stiff upper lip old boy, as they say in the Rhineland.
But then, we do love a manager in England. Not that we actually make our own of course. Still though, the obsession with personality, the grand gargoyles of the dugout over, say, tactics and development remains. If there is one really illuminating thing about Klopp’s return it is perhaps confirmation that for all the fondness and interest in the stadium nobody else quite shares English football’s profound managerial preoccupation, the notion that these men on the touchline really are everything after all.
As Klopp walked out before kick‑off the welcome here was warm but hardly gushing. Mention of his name from the stadium announcer brought a crisp sprinkling of applause. And for a while on a clear, chilly night in the city suburbs it must have felt like old times as the waves of noise barrelled around the vast cliff-face stands of this giant-yellow-Meccano cube of a stadium. In the Yellow Wall southern terrace the flags billowed. There was even a genuinely moving soft metal version of You’ll Never Walk Alone, sung by the entire stadium, the night transformed suddenly into a huge blissfully teary family wedding.
Some had predicted a burst of duelling electric guitars in the opening minutes, a press-fest for old times’ sake. But Dortmund play more patiently now, building slowly from the back at times. If there was any kind of Klopp angle to all this it was simply the contrast, not always obvious, between a team with almost a decade of well-grooved stability behind it and the cut-and-shut team of 50 signings in five years Klopp has so far stabilised to good effect. On this occasion, at least, you barely saw the joins.
By the end of a brilliantly absorbing game though he could be proud of both teams. Three times in the first half Sakho intervened at the last as Dortmund seemed likely to break through, prowling and lunging and lurching out with the ball like a drunken Franco Baresi. Dejan Lovren also had his moments, producing one stunning sliding blindside block on Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang just as he seemed certain to score.
It was after another decisive Sakho interception that Liverpool took the lead on 38 minutes. Origi looked to have delayed too long, but he jinked again, found some space and slotted a neat low shot across Roman Weidenfeller into the corner.
Dortmund surged after half‑time, Mats Hummels scoring a close range equaliser. Liverpool counter-thrust when they could. At one point Weidenfeller produced a scarcely credible extended triple save, all flailing arms and clawing hands, the kind of moment that might just end up keeping Dortmund in the competition.
At the end Liverpool’s manager appeared at the edge of the pitch, clapped the away fans and departed with a fond little wave to the stand by the tunnel, a nice, restrained moment of semi-goodbye. And really this was a night to look forward rather than back. No doubt part of Klopp’s annoyance at the return of the king schtick was the fact this is still only barely his Liverpool team.
For a coach who likes to bury himself in the texture of his clubs, binding himself up in the fibres of the place, this must have felt a bit like a full family reunion in borrowed shoes and shirt. At both Dortmund and Mainz there was something a little raw and tender about Klopp’s immersion in the club, the fans, the moments. Liverpool may or may not progress from here, but this was another nudge forward, whatever the stadium, whatever the background music.
