It was hard not to read Jürgen Klopp’s dismay at the sight of Liverpool fans heading early for the exits as something of a culture shock. His bewilderment was understandable having worked all of his managerial life until joining Liverpool at Mainz and Borussia Dortmund, clubs whose fans have a reputation for sticking around until the bitter end whatever the circumstances.

The situation was especially weird for Klopp on two fronts. First of all early leaver syndrome, when it does occasionally crop up in Germany, takes place only in the luxury, expensive seats, whereas at Anfield the departees took part in a more general trudge. Second, with the game still close and the result in the balance, walking out just felt unexplainable. Anything could still happen. So what were they thinking?

Jürgen Klopp: ‘I felt pretty alone when Liverpool fans were leaving’ Read more

Perhaps they were thinking what some people have been thinking for years. Mike Selvey, the former cricketer and esteemed correspondent of this newspaper, tells a tale about how his father missed the defining moments of the 1966 World Cup final. He was, as Selvey tells it, “a very straight bloke, liked everything orderly. He didn’t like the hassle of queues and things.” And so with five minutes to go of the World Cup final at Wembley, he left, with England 2-1 up, so as to avoid the commotion as he loathed the wayward rush of a crowd. He missed West Germany’s equaliser, extra time, Geoff Hurst’s think-it’s-all-over-it-is-now goal, and the award of the Jules Rimet trophy. But he did well in the getting home stakes.

Early-leaver syndrome tends, historically, to afflict those who are either seriously peeved about an inept performance or those who spent quite a lot of any second half worrying about masses of people, claustrophobic transport, endless traffic jams. I recall as a child being taken to matches and feeling an overwhelming sense of hot shame at not being able to stand my ground until the end, when the adult who had taken me wanted out before the crowds. It felt both unfathomable and disloyal. The early sneak out. What a nightmare. Why would anybody want to go when it meant such a lot to come in the first place?

A small percentage of any crowd will always have a perfectly sensible reason to leave – sometimes you take your chances to watch most of a game knowing you have to get to an unmissable event elsewhere and figure watching 80 minutes or so is better than none at all. I once took the dreaded head-down “scuse me” scurry along my row towards the exit as I had a young baby and it was approaching feeding time. I thought I might give myself a break to come to a bit of a game. But no excuses! Somebody in the row barked with such disgust and suspicion they apparently wanted to dunk me in a pond to see if I was an actual witch for committing such a cardinal sin.

The trend for a mini-exodus towards the latter stages of a game, rather than the odd soul, has become more prominent in recent years in the Premier League.

At the same time as Klopp was surveying the early leavers at Liverpool, the empty seats began to show at the Emirates at the climax of a close derby. It is the oddest phenomenon. In both matches the games were on an edge that could have gone either way. Surely the whole point of going to watch sport is the uncertainty, the possibility of unlikely twists and late stings. The unscripted drama is sport’s essential appeal.

Would you leave a play during the final soliloquy? Would you leave a meal after two mouthfuls of dessert? So why leave a tight game unfinished?

It has become a characteristic that is more prominent in English football – and let’s not kid anyone, this doesn’t only happen at Anfield and the Emirates, it happens at every Premier League ground – than the majority of big European leagues. In Germany the fan’s condition has become a model for the rest of us to look at admiringly. The tickets are cheap, the choreography is impressive, the noise is excellent, the transport options well organised.

All in all it lends itself to a sense of belonging, of somehow being able to take part in the spectacle. In England it seems like a greater percentage of the crowd feel more like observers rather than participants in the event. Paradoxically, the more expensive the ticket, the likelier the early leaver.

Expensive tickets, thoughtless kick-off times, and commonplace transport difficulties have made the fan’s condition that much trickier.

A quick enquiry to some football correspondents abroad suggests this problem is not so common elsewhere. Although La Liga also has its share of late arrivals and speedy exiters, and Ajax and Bayern have a portion who head off for a quick escape, generally in Germany, Italy, the Netherlands and France the overwhelming view is that supporting the players no matter what – particularly when there is something at stake – and being there to either protest or applaud those on the field at the end, still retains a sort of sacred value.

Klopp should not be the only one to lament that.