May really is the cruellest month. For Liverpool Football Club and Jürgen Klopp there is something brutal, and even darkly comic, in the current run of finals and final days, those razor-thin margins at the end of a glorious, gruelling year.
Liverpool have played 62 games this season and lost only three. They have one left now, a bravura Champions League final against Real Madrid in Saint-Denis on Saturday night, a fixture that has already been relocated twice, shunted around on a kind of Bourne-franchise tour of Uefa-zone glamour spots, through Munich, St Petersburg and finally on to Paris.
