The historical record between these two sides told a familiar story: thirty-two meetings, Liverpool claiming sixteen victories against Swansea's seven, with nine draws scattered between.
In league play specifically, the Reds held an eleven-six-seven advantage. Since Swansea's promotion to the Premier League, however, the account had shifted—four encounters yielding one Liverpool win, two draws, and one loss. More telling still, Liverpool had yet to taste victory at the Liberty Stadium, managing only a draw and a defeat on their travels to South Wales.
Last season's fixtures captured that contrast perfectly. The sides had battled to a goalless stalemate at the Liberty, before Liverpool unleashed their fury at Anfield in the return leg, dismantling Swansea five-nil in a ruthless demonstration of attacking football.
Today marked Brendan Rodgers' fourth return to face his former employers. In his pre-match interview, he had kept his cards close to his chest.
"Away matches in this league are always difficult," he'd said, his expression was restrained and professional. "But like all my players, I'm prepared and ready for whatever comes."
The Liberty Stadium still hummed with pre-match anticipation when, in the second minute, that anticipation exploded into deafening celebration.
Swansea had scored.
Jonjo Shelvey, the former Liverpool midfielder who'd left Anfield only that summer, found himself on the edge of the box with the ball at his feet. His first attempt cannoned off Martin Skrtel's desperately lunging body, but Shelvey's voracious instincts kicked in immediately—he pounced on the rebound and lashed it home.
It was a dream start for the Swans.
Liverpool's first league goal conceded all season.
Swansea one, Liverpool nil.
From the very first whistle, this away assignment had announced itself as anything but straightforward.
The commentator's voice shot up an octave, unable to mask his astonishment as his words tumbled out faster than usual.
"Good grief! It's in! Shelvey! The former Red! Just two minutes gone and he's punctured Liverpool's perfect defensive record this season—this is the Reds' first league goal conceded!
Skrtel threw everything at blocking that initial shot, flying completely in the air trying to deny him, but Shelvey's reaction to the rebound was lightning quick. The ball scraped the inside of the post on its way in! Conceding this early away from home, Liverpool are in trouble now!"
After finding the net, Shelvey didn't sprint toward the corner flag in wild celebration. Instead, he turned and offered simple handshakes to the teammates rushing toward him, his arms were barely rising above shoulder height.
His eyes flickered toward the Liverpool bench, something complex was passing through his gaze before he quickly looked away, tugging at his white shirt to straighten it.
Against his old club, this early goal needed a more restrained celebration.
The home end of the Liberty Stadium, however, had no such reservations. White scarves fluttered through the air like a blizzard.
Chants of "Shelvey! Shelvey!" echoed in waves around the ground.
Meanwhile, in the Liverpool away section, silence fell like a curtain. Supporters exchanged glances, brows furrowed, eyes wide with surprise. Nobody had anticipated that their team's first goal conceded of the season would arrive in the second minute of an away match against Swansea.
When play resumed, what happened next caught everyone even more off guard.
Just two minutes later, Shelvey was involved again, this time creating the second goal of the match.
After conceding, Liverpool showed no signs of panic. On the touchline, Rogers waved his arms urgently, shouting, "Push up! Press them until they can't breathe!"
The words had barely left his mouth when Shelvey collected the ball in his own half and immediately found himself suffocated by Liverpool's converging press.
Sturridge's aggressive closing gave him no room to turn. Henderson's positioning cut off the central passing lane. Trapped, Shelvey could only lift his head hurriedly and look for Ben Davies on his left flank.
But the pass came out rushed.
Under Liverpool's relentless pressure, Shelvey hadn't properly set himself, and Davies was actually making a forward run when the ball came back toward him, he was completely wrong-footed.
Julien had been reading Shelvey's body language the entire time. The moment he saw the ball bend off its intended path, he exploded into motion with devastating speed, leaving Davies in his trail.
He darted diagonally across the pitch and collected the loose ball with ease. From an overhead view, it looked almost like a pre-planned one-two between Shelvey and Julien, a perfect assist from the Swansea midfielder to the Liverpool forward.
The instant Julien won possession; he didn't glance back. His instep nudged the ball forward across the turf, and he burst toward the Swansea penalty area. This was exactly the kind of lethal counter-attack Rodgers craved, the killer blow immediately following a high press.
Defensive midfielder Leon Britton scrambled back in desperate pursuit, stretching out a leg for a sliding challenge, but Julien had already anticipated it. He decelerated suddenly then shifted direction, rolling the ball through Britton's legs before nimbly stepping around the other side, leaving the midfielder grasping at air.
Inside the box, Ashley Williams rushed across to block the shooting lane.
Julien gave him no time to set himself. His right foot swung high as if preparing to drive the ball toward the far post, selling the dummy completely.
Williams' weight shifted, his balance was compromised for that critical split-second. Julien instantly checked his motion, dragging the ball laterally with the outside of his boot, then planted his right foot and whipped his left instep through the ball with venomous power.
CRACK!
The ball exploded toward goal like a cannonball, kissing the inside of the near post before smashing into the net. Goalkeeper Gerhard Vorm launched himself desperately, but his fingertips caught only the wind left in the ball's wake.
One-one!
The scoreboard had barely displayed 1-0 for two minutes before Liverpool's response rewrote the story completely. Four minutes played, and both teams were back on level terms.
Julien sprinted toward the away section; arms spread wide in celebration. Sturridge reached him first, wrapping him in a bear hug, his voice was hoarse but forceful, "That press was worth it!"
Henderson clapped his back, laughing as he shouted, "Knew you'd win that ball!"
On the touchline, Rodgers clenched both fists and pumped them twice, hard. His tactical instruction, the aggressive high press had produced immediate dividends, converting directly into a goal.
On the other side of the pitch, Shelvey stood with hands on hips, his expression showed conflicted emotions. Within two minutes, he'd scored for Swansea then effectively assisted Liverpool's equalizer.
The blow of that reversal left him obviously dazed.
Watching the broadcast feed, football fans everywhere couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The drama was almost theatrical.
"Bloody hell! Is Shelvey trying to give his old club's supporters heart shudders? Two minutes ago he sucker-punched Liverpool with that rebound finish, and now he's been bullied into complete chaos by their press!
That pass wasn't meant for Ben Davies—that was a perfectly weighted through ball for Julien! Look at that 'assist'—the weight, the line, it's absurdly precise.
Has he forgotten he's wearing white now? Are his eyes still seeing Liverpool red? One minute he's Swansea's hero, the next he's basically an undercover Liverpool midfielder. This script is more theatrical than any screenwriter could invent!"
"Liverpool's press is absolutely ruthless, they've literally broken Shelvey's brain! One second, he's the former player coming back to haunt them, the next he's delivering gift-wrapped presents to his old mates. This two-minute personality crisis must have him wondering: whose side am I actually on?"
"Fair play to De Rocca for reacting so quickly, otherwise he'd have wasted Shelvey's perfect 'connection play!' Seriously though, you can't even call it a mistake: Liverpool's pressing completely scrambled his rhythm.
Still, you've got to admit it's entertaining as hell. Just broke his old club's goal virginity, then immediately sent them an equalizer as a makeup gift. Shelvey's playing out a full romantic drama today—love, betrayal, redemption, the whole arc!"
Even the commentator couldn't resist a gentle jab at Shelvey, though being a professional broadcaster, he kept it brief before pivoting to praise.
"Julien has played just four Premier League matches and already has nine goals! Think about that for a moment. In the entire history of the English top flight including the old First Division days, no player has ever scored nine goals in their first four matches of a debut season. Right now, on the scoring charts, he's sitting alone at the top with nine, while second place has just four. The gap is as wide as the Mersey River itself!
Four matches, nine goals—that's an average of 2.25 per game! At that rate, if Julien played all thirty-eight matches... well, the season is long and form fluctuates, of course. But given his current touch, who's brave enough to say he won't break records? That finish just now was textbook elite striker play—the composure inside the box, the power in the strike, everything screams world-class forward.
And don't forget, this isn't some kid appearing from nowhere. Last season in Ligue 1, he shattered a goal-scoring record that had stood for decades!
What does a super finisher look like? This is it.
Julien brought his goal-scoring prowess straight from France to England, and it doesn't matter whether it's tight-angle power shots, long-range curlers, or poaching at the near post—there's nothing he can't do! Premier League defenders must be getting headaches just seeing his name on the team sheet."
However, just as fans settled in expecting a goal-fest after two strikes in four minutes, the match hit a stalemate.
The 1-1 scoreline held like a stiff wire for the next twenty-plus minutes, neither side was able to make the breakthrough.
Liverpool's high press continued—Henderson was prowling the midfield like a persistent terrier, Sturridge was making intelligent runs through the channels but the attacking efficiency from the opening minutes had vanished.
In the eighth minute, Sturridge latched onto a through ball from Coutinho inside the penalty area, spun away from Chico Flores, and pushed a shot toward the near post. But Vorm read it as if he'd seen the future, getting a strong hand to it and palming the ball behind for a corner.
The away section groaned in united frustration.
The fifteenth minute brought another chance. Coutinho unleashed one of his trademark thunderbolts from outside the box, the ball was spinning viciously toward goal, but it grazed the outside of the right post and flew wide. He slammed his fist into the turf in frustration while Liverpool supporters in the stands let out a series of disappointed sighs.
Gradually, Swansea found their rhythm again.
Shelvey attempted to restore his reputation in central midfield, trying repeatedly to link play and thread passes forward, but Lucas Leiva stuck to him like a shadow, making even a simple turn feel like hard labor.
The twenty-third minute saw Swansea threaten. Wayne Routledge broke down the left wing and delivered a cross into the danger area. Michu attacked it at the near post with a powerful header, but Simon Mignolet flung himself upward and tipped the ball over the crossbar with his fingertips.
The match had settled into a grinding tactical battle. Liverpool's attacking edge had dulled from its opening sharpness, while Swansea's defensive shape grew increasingly compact.
Then, in the thirty-sixth minute, Julien tore through the deadlock.
Receiving a long diagonal ball from Gerrard on the right flank, he deliberately slowed his initial movement. The moment Swansea's left-back Ben Davies closed him down, Julien's left toe flicked out in the smallest of touches, the ball seeming to stick to his foot as it changed direction.
Simultaneously, his right leg drove into the turf for acceleration, and he squeezed through the narrowing gap between Davies and the recovering Routledge with pure strength and agility.
Leon Britton rushed across to cover, but Julien executed another sudden deceleration and direction change, sending Britton's center of gravity completely off-balance.
Britton could only grab a fistful of shirt, but that half-second delay was all Julien needed. He'd already reached the right side of the penalty area, head up, scanning for options.
Daniel Sturridge had shaken his marker in the center, arm raised, calling for the ball.
THUMP!
Julien didn't hesitate, he drilled a low cross toward the middle.
But just as the ball left his boot, a white-shirted figure threw himself into its path. Shelvey! Desperately trying to block the cross with his outstretched leg.
However, his foot didn't get the elevation quite right. The ball clipped the upper part of his shin and deflected sharply.
The trajectory changed completely!
Vorm had been focused on Sturridge's run in the center and had no time to react to the sudden deflection. He threw himself sideways in a panic but caught only empty air.
The ball rocketed past him, clipping the underside of the crossbar before slamming into the roof of the net.
Two-one!
Liverpool had the lead!
The away section erupted in a sea of red scarves, Liverpool supporters' roars was echoing around the Liberty Stadium.
Julien stood frozen for two seconds, processing that it was an own goal, then broke into a grin as Sturridge crashed into his shoulder in celebration.
Sturridge clapped his back: "Your dribble was so terrifying, he had no choice but to deflect it!"
Meanwhile, Shelvey stood rooted to the spot with both hands covering his face.
An own-goal assist in the opening minutes, now a proper own goal. In barely half an hour, he'd twice played the unlikely role of Liverpool's benefactor, nailing himself to that awkward position painfully.
The commentary box erupted again: "My word! Shelvey is committed to the charity work today! Still, you have to credit Julien—his dribbling created all that chaos. Liverpool's lead feels somewhat fortunate, but it's also completely deserved, built entirely on Julien's direct running and technical brilliance!"
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