Jürgen Klopp’s farewell tour descends from heavy metal to a heavy heart | Liverpool

After the game, as he was asked to consider the imminent departure of Jürgen Klopp, David Moyes was in jovial mood: “I’ll be glad he’s gone. He’s too big. Teeth are too bright. I’ll be glad to see the back of him I’ve got to say. Hurry up and get away.”

But even for those who have been counting down the days, the rogue miserabilists, irredeemable misanthropes and rival managers, this cannot be how anybody wanted the story to end. Moyes admitted that Liverpool were the better team here and by way of bonus added they had been also in their 2-0 defeat at Everton on Wednesday. Liverpool were also better than Fulham last week, and Crystal Palace and Manchester United before that. But just one of those games has been won, and the manner of its unravelling is the final cruelty of Klopp’s final season.

The German has not yet been bled dry of magic, is not entirely drained of energy or inspiration. He proved that much at half-time here, when in the space of 10 minutes he transfused focus and vitality to a team that in the opening period had simmered occasionally but never soared. A goal down at the break, within 10 minutes of the restart they had fashioned three excellent chances and an equaliser.

There was still joy in this performance. Luis Díaz was threatening and entertaining, Trent Alexander-Arnold played a handful of fabulous passes, and Andy Robertson, despite having played all but six minutes of Liverpool’s last five league games and operating, in Klopp’s words, “on the edge”, was effervescent. There was a moment in the first half when Liverpool were playing with Cody Gakpo on the left, Díaz on the right, and Robertson and Alexis Mac Allister as a front two, demonstrating an openness to improvisation which was also and less pleasingly displayed a little later when Ryan Gravenberch decided that the best way to convert Gakpo’s centre when beautifully placed was with an off-balance reverse backheel flick (he made no contact).

In the first half Robertson’s availability as an open passing option on the left, and Harvey Elliott’s on the right, sucked the team into playing easy passes into areas which suited the West Ham defence, and part of their improvement after the break came with an increased willingness to attempt riskier but potentially more decisive passes through the middle. Still, their actual goals relied on a full-back and a triple deflection. They are a team that is straining but sagging.

The heavy metal football of Klopp’s heyday has been replaced with something that is just heavy. This manager himself is weighed down. He said little in a brief post-match press conference but there were a few phrases that revealed a dark mood: “I tried to do the right thing”; “It will be the next generation not me any more”; “I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you, or anybody else.”

It is not just Liverpool’s results that are not right at the moment. Klopp famously stands in the centre circle during the pre-match warm-ups, back to his own side, analysing the body language of their opponents. Had he spun around on this dismal, remorselessly grey April afternoon he would have noticed that the disposition of certain members of his own side was looking even less sunny than the London sky. Mohamed Salah was the most obvious example, and the Egyptian spent his final few minutes before retreating to the dressing room exchanging the most half-hearted of passes with Dominik Szoboszlai. While it might be a bit presumptuous to describe him in these moments as melancholic there was certainly no evidence of enthusiasm; it was as if his shoulders and his form had become engaged in a battle to see which could slump further.

A couple of hours later, as the final whistle blew on this game and, to all intents and purposes, on Liverpool’s season, the first player on either side to retreat down the tunnel was Salah. He played only the final 12 minutes, and if for much of the match his side was evidently desperate for a player with precisely his skillset – lightning pace and an eye for goal – he did little once introduced to suggest he still possessed it, or to replace in anyone’s memory that argument with Klopp on the touchline that immediately preceded his introduction. There was one run, with a minute of normal time to play, that evoked distant and splendid memories, but the pass at the end of it was appalling.

When Klopp announced in January his intention to leave the club at the end of the season talk was of a glorious, title-winning send-off. The issue now is not trophies but atrophy. Salah left the ground muttering angrily about “fire”; in truth we can barely see the embers.