Time moved swiftly.
September 21st arrived.
At half past two in the afternoon, Anfield sat beneath a heavy blanket of gray cloud pressing low against the stadium roof.
Fine mist-like rain drifted occasionally on the wind, landing on the white "YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE" banner stretched across the main stand and spreading into small damp patches.
The weather wasn't cooperating today. Continuous drizzle had fallen over Liverpool.
The pitch had just been soaked by rain, its grass was gleaming in deep emerald tones with scattered puddles collecting along the touchlines.
The stands had already swelled into a fog-shrouded sea of red. Old supporters in vintage Liverpool kits wrapped scarves tightly around their necks, clutching steaming cups of coffee in their other hands. Most had simply pulled their coats tighter as late September could turn bitter cold once the rain started.
The away supporters' section, a small pocket of Southampton blue tucked into one corner of the stadium, tried to raise their voices, but their chants barely emerged before being swallowed by the rain and the home crowd's songs.
The melody of "You'll Never Walk Alone" rose from the Kop, spreading through the rain-soaked air like a living thing.
As the players emerged for warm-ups, the atmosphere heated up several degrees. Voices erupted from all directions.
"JULIEN!"
"STEVEN!"
"GOAL! GOAL! GOAL!"
Among them, the shouts for Julien rang loudest. His status among Liverpool supporters had risen intensely. Every time he touched the ball during warm-ups, the stands erupted in waves of applause and cheering.
Through the drizzle, the fifteen-minute warm-up passed quickly. Both sets of players retreated to the changing rooms for final preparations.
At that moment, Sky Sports commentator Martin Tyler smoothly transitioned into announcing the starting lineups.
"For Liverpool, Brendan Rodgers has gone with his preferred 4-2-3-1 formation. Daniel Sturridge leads the line, supported by Julien De Rocca, Jordan Henderson, and Victor Moses behind him.
The double pivot features Steven Gerrard and Lucas Leiva. The back four consists of Kolo Touré, Martin Škrtel, Daniel Agger, and new signing Mamadou Sakho. Goalkeeper is Simon Mignolet. On the bench, Rodgers has Raheem Sterling, Aly Cissokho, José Enrique, N'Golo Kanté, and others available.
For Southampton, young manager Mauricio Pochettino has also selected a 4-2-3-1. Pablo Osvaldo starts up front, with Jay Rodriguez, Rickie Lambert, and Adam Lallana forming the attacking midfield trio.
The double pivot features Morgan Schneiderlin and Victor Wanyama. The defensive line reads Luke Shaw, Dejan Lovren, José Fonte, and Nathaniel Clyne. Artur Boruc starts in goal.
On Southampton's bench, we've got Steven Davis, Gastón Ramírez, Calum Chambers, and others."
In the changing rooms, both managers delivered their final instructions. The messages were basically similar: tighten up defensively, increase attacking efficiency.
Soon enough, both sets of players came out of the dressing rooms.
Anfield's rain continued its fine, misty fall, turning the warm glow of lights at the tunnel entrance into hazy yellow halos.
When the match officials led the way out, stepping through puddles, the stands suddenly exploded. Red scarves lifted overhead in unison like rain-brightened ribbons connecting into swelling waves across the sections.
The melody of "You'll Never Walk Alone" rose from the stands again, mixing with the sound of rainfall and drilling into everyone's ears.
Liverpool's red-clad figures appeared next.
Gerrard, Mignolet, Julien... The players splashed through puddles as they emerged, sending up tiny spray patterns. Gerrard raised his hand toward the crowd, immediately triggering a massive roar. In the opposite stand, someone hoisted a portrait of Julien—the same image as always, the number ten in red with arms spread wide, full of confidence and determination.
Julien waved toward the stands as well, then strode onto the pitch.
In Sky Sports' broadcast booth, viewership was climbing steadily toward its peak matching the gradually boiling atmosphere inside Anfield.
Martin Tyler watched both teams go through the pre-match formalities and continued his commentary.
"The Reds drew 2-2 away at Swansea last time out. They currently sit top of the table with ten points, but Arsenal and Spurs are both just one point behind. If they don't take all three points today, that top spot could change hands at any moment.
Before the match, Rodgers was quite direct in his press conference: 'Draws shouldn't become a habit. Anfield needs victories to protect it. Our forward line knows what they need to do. Julien and Daniel's partnership is getting stronger, and they'll create problems for Southampton's defense.'
Indeed, Julien's four-match, nine-goal efficiency this season has been extraordinary. His tight-space turns and acceleration in wet conditions—no team has been able to fully contain him yet.
On the other side, Southampton manager Pochettino specifically focused on defending Julien before the match, calling it 'our biggest challenge today.' He was quite candid:
'We'll have Schneiderlin marking him throughout, not giving him space to turn. De Rocca's initial burst is so quick that relying on full-backs to recover won't be enough. The midfield must drop back early to help, cutting off his connections with teammates.
Last season we beat Liverpool at St. Mary's by staying solid defensively and hitting on the counter, but today is different. Liverpool's attacking power is a level above what it was last year, especially with De Rocca's movement. We need to be prepared to stay completely focused for ninety minutes.'
Pochettino also mentioned that Southampton's full-backs would narrow their positioning somewhat to prevent Julien from exploiting space out wide to cut inside. After all, against a world-class winger like him, the best approach is not to leave any gaps at all..."
Meanwhile, Pochettino shook hands with Rodgers and took his position on the touchline, waiting for kickoff. His thoughts wandered as he stood there.
Honestly, seeing Liverpool's squad filled him with genuine envy. He'd always loved developing young players, excelling at bringing them through. He'd done it at Espanyol, and he was doing it now at Southampton.
So, when he looked at Liverpool's lineup of De Rocca, Kanté, Sterling, all these young talents, he truly wished he could bring them to the Saints.
Actually, the players Pochettino most wanted to sign were from Bastia. There was a center-back there, Virgil van Dijk, in whom Pochettino saw the makings of a world-class defender. He'd tried to inquire about him during the summer window, but unfortunately, Van Dijk had no intention of leaving Bastia. And even if he did leave, he'd likely follow De Rocca wherever he went.
Pochettino felt rather helpless about that. He could only conclude that De Rocca's personal charisma was simply too powerful.
Beyond Van Dijk, there was also Bastia's winger Sadio Mané—another player who fit his vision perfectly. But unfortunately, Bastia wasn't selling him either.
It was genuinely frustrating. Last season's Bastia squad had left him smoking with envy. If he could, Pochettino would have emptied out the entire club without hesitation. Unfortunately, that was impossible. He couldn't pry a single player away from them.
In short time, all the pre-match ceremonies were concluded. Both sets of players took their positions around the center circle. The roar from Anfield's stands grew even more intense despite the steady drizzle.
When the clock struck three o'clock precisely:
TWEET!
The referee's sharp whistle cut through the air.
The match was officially underway.
Liverpool kicked off. Southampton immediately dropped into a solid defensive shape, denying Liverpool comfortable space to penetrate. Their three lines compressed tightly together, leaving only striker Osvaldo up front to hunt for opportunities.
Liverpool showed no urgency pushing forward. They circulated possession patiently through midfield, carefully probing for openings.
Third minute.
Anfield's rain still fell in diagonal sheets. The pitch surface was slick, with visible puddles collecting in the corners. Gerrard received a pass back from Lucas in midfield. He'd just prepared to turn and organize the attack forward when his right foot, lodged to provide torque for the turn, suddenly slipped on the wet grass.
His entire body seemed to have its support yanked away. Instinctively, he threw his hand out to break his fall, palm pressing into the turf. His red shirt was instantly smeared with mud and water, and the football had already escaped his control, rolling forward across the grass.
Gerrard tried to scramble up and recover, but Argentine forward Pablo Osvaldo, the Rock God had already burst forward like an arrow released from a bow. He didn't wait for Liverpool's captain to regain his feet before taking the ball and charging straight toward goal.
Škrtel dropped back to cover, staying tight on Osvaldo's shoulder and trying to contain him. But Osvaldo's instincts as a center-forward were the real deal, some had compared him to Gabriel Batistuta for good reason.
Škrtel spread his arms wide, using his body to hold position, shoulder pressing into Osvaldo's back as he tried to force him toward the touchline. Their bodies collided repeatedly as they raced toward Liverpool's penalty area.
Approaching the box, Osvaldo actively initiated contact, using the collision to throw Škrtel slightly off balance. Škrtel had to adjust his footing to maintain position, but in that split second, Osvaldo suddenly spun to create a shooting angle. His right foot met the ball with vicious power.
The ball seemed to accelerate instantly, trailing water droplets as it screamed toward the near post.
Mignolet had already come off his line, throwing his body desperately toward the trajectory, but the shot carried too much pace and power. Before he could fully extend, the ball had already passed him by.
Just as Mignolet feared the worst:
CLANG!
A metallic ring echoed across the stadium as the ball smashed against the post, the impact causing it to visibly shudder. A united gasp of shock swelled through the Anfield crowd.
Dangerous. It was too dangerous.
From the stands, that shot had looked certain to go in. But the fans had barely begun to breathe again when—
The ball rebounded back into play. Southampton's Lallana had already charged in from the right flank. Every Liverpool supporter's heart leaped into their throat.
WHAM!
Lallana swung his boot at the bouncing ball without hesitation, but in his eagerness to generate power, his standing foot slipped slightly on the wet surface. The contact point shifted fractionally.
The ball didn't hit its target. It skimmed over the crossbar by inches and flew into the stands.
Lallana stood frozen in place, both hands clutching his head, unable to believe he'd missed such a chance.
Gerrard stared toward the goal, chest still heaving. Škrtel glanced at the post and exhaled in relief. Every Liverpool player, every Liverpool fan felt as though those thirty-odd seconds had lasted half a century.
On the touchline, Rodgers felt like he'd just escaped death.
Pochettino, watching Lallana's shot sail over the bar, froze for half a second.
Then he exhaled heavily, dragging his palm across his face to wipe away the mixture of rain and sweat. His fingers scraped across the stubble on his chin, the frustration was all over his expression.
Behind him, Liverpool fans' cheers suddenly exploded like a wave crashing against the away technical area. Pochettino instinctively glanced toward the stands, his brow was furrowing briefly, though he didn't linger.
He quickly composed himself, and began shouting toward his players, "Get back! Watch your defensive positions!"
After their initial disappointment, Southampton's players swiftly reset. They hadn't scored, yes, but at least they'd executed the tactical plan. Liverpool's defense wasn't as solid as it appeared. Their counterattacking opportunities were real.
Out on the wing, Julien had seen the slip happen, and a disturbingly familiar image had flashed through his mind.
He knew better than anyone about the fateful slip at Anfield that would come later this season in the future—Gerrard, in the most crucial title race, losing the ball from a slip and costing Liverpool the Premier League trophy that had been within touching distance.
Watching the opposition's two golden chances fly wide, Julien saw Gerrard simply wipe the rain and sweat from his face with the back of his hand. There was no panic in those eyes at all.
Julien quietly let out a breath, the corner of his mouth were lifting in the faintest of smile.
Silently, he thought to himself: 'Maybe taking this fall now means we can avoid that regret from history. Just... don't slip again at moments like that, Captain.'
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