Inside Liverpool's dressing room, Rodgers carefully dissected the first half's failures with his players arranged in a semicircle before him.
The problems were obvious: Liverpool's attack had been completely neutered. Yet as he outlined each tactical breakdown, he offered no solutions, only observations. The players listened with the passive attention of students enduring a lecture they'd heard before.
The air hung heavy with the smell of ointment and frustrated sweat, interrupted only by strained breathing and the distant murmur of the crowd above.
Rodgers flipped through statistical printouts, papers rustling in the oppressive silence.
"Boss, let me try the left side."
Julien's voice cut through the dressing room like a blade through fog, sounding clear and certain.
Rodgers' head snapped up, his gaze was locking onto the young Frenchman. He paused, wheels were turning behind his eyes as he evaluated the proposal.
He knew Julien possessed the technical capacity to operate from the left but Julien had been a right-winger from the moment he'd arrived.
Could he genuinely be effective inverted?
"And the right flank—" Rodgers began automatically.
Julien didn't interrupt, understanding intuitively that silence would serve him better than advocacy.
The manager's thoughts went around a name that had been gathering dust in his consciousness: Raheem Sterling. The youngster had been frozen out this season, Julien's arrival was casting a shadow over his opportunities.
Yet last season Sterling had shown genuine promise, flashes of the electric pace and directness Liverpool desperately needed.
Rodgers had simply forgotten about him, his tactical thinking was set around Julien's dominance on the right.
He nodded slowly; a decision was forming on his mind. "We'll make a change. Raheem takes the right, you shift left. But this is an experiment, if it doesn't work, we revert immediately."
Sterling's face transformed into an excitement unable to be contained. He nodded vigorously, like a dog finally released from its leash.
He needed this. His season had been catastrophic, his confidence was being eroded by inactivity and off-field chaos. Just days ago, he'd barely avoided joining Julien's history in imprisonment.
The case had dominated tabloid headlines for weeks:
Sterling arrested for allegedly assaulting his girlfriend Shana, taken into custody and held overnight, charged with common assault. At Liverpool Magistrates' Court, he'd pled not guilty.
When the hearing started, Shana's testimony had contradicted her initial police statement so drastically that the Crown Prosecution Service withdrew the charges, evidence was deemed insufficient.
The incident had originated in August, before the season began, in Page Moss on Liverpool's outskirts. According to media reports, Sterling and Shana had fought over a suspicious text message on his phone. She'd demanded to know the sender's identity and attempted to seize the device.
The confrontation escalated physically, Sterling's anger apparently overwhelmed his judgment.
The press had obviously added their own embellishment: "Sterling's violent outburst potentially linked to frustration over losing his starting position to Julien."
Shana had reported him to police and ended the relationship. Sterling spent a night in a cell facing possible prison time.
The case had hung over him like a guillotine blade until evidence fell apart under courtroom scrutiny. But this wasn't Sterling's first brush with criminal charges, in May, he'd faced similar accusations of assault against another woman in Toxteth, and was released only when witnesses failed to appear.
A pattern was emerging which was ugly and undeniable.
Rodgers gave Sterling specific instructions, emphasizing defensive responsibilities alongside attacking freedom. As the tactical adjustments took shape, another realization struck him, there was another young talent he'd been neglecting.
N'Golo Kanté.
When Rodgers' gaze found the short shy Frenchman tucked into the corner, hesitation flickered across his face. The pause stretched for several seconds before his resolve was hardened.
"Jordan, you need rest. N'Golo, you're on. Keep it simple: intercept and distribute, nothing fancy!" He emphasized the word "simple" with chopping hand gestures, demonstrating short passes.
Kanté hadn't expected opportunity to arrive so suddenly. His head bobbed in firm acknowledgment; determination was radiating from his body.
Finally, Rodgers addressed Gerrard, his captain who wore the armband like both crown and burden. "Steven, we're taking risks now. Push higher. Let N'Golo and Lucas handle the defensive midfield."
"No problem," Gerrard affirmed without hesitation.
The other players leaned forward with anticipation, hunger was replacing resignation now. They wanted this victory at Anfield, needed it with an almost physical desperation.
Only Henderson's expression remained complicated, emotions were warring behind his eyes. He'd known his performance had been inadequate, yet hearing "substituted" spoken aloud still felt like fingers closing around his throat. He'd been running himself into the ground out there, giving everything his body had to offer.
But it wasn't enough. He couldn't become what people needed him to be.
He remembered his arrival at Liverpool, Kenny Dalglish's reassuring hand on his shoulder: "You'll be the heartbeat of this midfield."
Now he couldn't even complete ninety minutes. This substitution wasn't just tactical adjustment for him, it was another step toward the margins, toward irrelevance, toward the exit door that seemed to yawn wider with each disappointing performance.
Lost in these dark reflections, Henderson almost missed the gentle voice beside him.
"Don't overthink it. This is tactical adjustment, nothing more. Everyone sees how hard you work."
Henderson's head jerked up to find Julien's face, younger than his own yet somehow scorching a wisdom that contradicted his eighteen years. The cognitive dissonance was jarring, this was just a kid, four years his junior.
So why did gratitude and something like relief surge through Henderson's chest, heat was prickling behind his eyes?
"I—" Henderson's voice emerged rough, words were caught before they could form.
Julien smiled, the expression was warm and uncomplicated, his hand landed on Henderson's shoulder with reassuring pressure. "Sometimes the rhythm just isn't there. It happens to everyone."
Henderson inhaled deeply, finding something solid to grip in Julien's simple kindness. He nodded with brand new determination.
Across the dressing room, Kanté prepared for his opportunity, his eyes caught the interaction between Julien and Henderson. A small smile touched his lips. In Kanté's view, Julien was genuinely a good person, how else could everyone gravitate toward him so naturally?
The second half whistle approached. Players filed back toward the tunnel, the roar of Anfield growing was louder with each step toward daylight.
Southampton made no changes, Pochettino's confidence in his system was apparently unshaken.
Martin Tyler immediately spotted Liverpool's alterations, his commentary was sharpening with interest,
"Liverpool have made two substitutions—this looks like Rodgers is going for broke here. Moses and Henderson make way for two young prospects: Raheem Sterling and N'Golo Kanté. Both players have shown quality despite their youth, particularly Kanté, who won the French treble alongside Julien last season with Bastia—"
Pochettino noticed the changes, tactical alarm bells were beginning to chime in his head. He was still processing the consequences, trying to anticipate Rodgers' adjustments.
The answer revealed itself as soon as Liverpool kicked off.
Pochettino's expression darkened.
This changed everything.
Julien had moved to the left wing.
Of course, Pochettino knew Julien could operate from that flank, his scouting reports had been thorough. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Rodgers had finally shown some tactical imagination, deploying Kanté as the midfield shield while pushing Gerrard into a more creative role.
And then there was Sterling, another explosive dribbler who could terrorize defenders in one-on-one situations.
With Gerrard positioned higher, he could link play between both flanks more effectively. Julien and Sterling on the wings created two genuine breakout threats forcing Southampton to defend width more honestly.
As for the space Gerrard's advancement would leave in central midfield—Pochettino had tried to sign Kanté himself. He knew exactly what the short Frenchman could do, the ground he could cover, the attacks he could suffocate before they appeared.
Pochettino's jaw tightened with frustration.
Martin Tyler's analysis matched his concerns,
"We can see Liverpool's revised structure immediately, and compared to the first half, this represents significant tactical change. Most obviously, Julien has switched from right to left wing. Now, we know he's capable there but the key isn't the position change itself, it's how this disrupts Southampton's defensive preparation.
Southampton built their entire first-half strategy around containing Julien on Liverpool's right. Their defensive positioning, their covering patterns, their pressing triggers, all were attuned for that specific threat. Moving Julien to the opposite flank forces Southampton's right-side defenders to cope with challenges they haven't been facing. It breaks their defensive rhythm and spatial recognition.
More significantly, look at Liverpool's personnel changes and how they interlock. Kanté's role is straightforward: fill the defensive void left by Gerrard's higher positioning. Where Gerrard spent the first half as a defensive pivot, now he's pushed into the attacking midfield zone.
The purpose is also clear: use his passing range and vision to connect Liverpool's wingers more effectively, especially servicing Julien and Sterling with more direct forward balls.
Kanté's defensive coverage and intercepting instincts are crucial here. His ability to read danger and cover ground horizontally will be key in limiting Southampton's counterattacking routes through central areas.
Sterling's arrival further amplifies Liverpool's wing threat. Combined with Julien's left-sided penetration and Sterling's pace on the right, Liverpool now possess explosive one-on-one capability on both flanks.
This is also Rodgers' answer to his fullbacks' offensive limitations: if Touré and Sakho can't provide width, the wingers will have to create it themselves."
Tweet!
The referee's whistle launched the second half.
Southampton kicked off, but Pochettino's adjustments would take time to implement. For now, he'd have to react rather than command.
When Southampton had possession, they showed no urgency to advance, instead were inviting Liverpool's pressure and probing for space to exploit. Liverpool accepted, pressing higher and more aggressively.
But this time, the pressing trigger wasn't Gerrard.
It was Kanté.
Southampton found their moment, launching a long diagonal toward Osvaldo, who attacked the dropping ball with his usual physicality. No one challenged him in the air but the instant his first touch brought the ball to ground, it vanished.
Osvaldo's eyes widened in confusion. A red-and-black blur had appeared beside him.
Kanté had approached from the blind side, his tackle was perfectly timed to nick the ball away before Osvaldo could even register the threat.
Osvaldo's recovery challenge came too late as Kanté, remembering Rodgers' instructions, immediately played a simple pass rather than trying anything ambitious. Osvaldo lunged desperately but met only air.
Pochettino watched that single challenge with the expression of a man realizing he'd let something precious slip through his fingers.
There was no time for regret now, though, only damage control.
"Get back! Everyone back!" he roared from the touchline, his hands were windmilling with urgent instruction.
Liverpool regained possession through Gerrard, but their captain showed patience. Southampton's defensive shape had reformed quickly, and breaking down a settled block required more than intensity, it needed precision and timing.
Sturridge remained invisible, overwhelmed by Lovren and Fonte's attentive marking. Gerrard's only outlet was wide.
Sterling showed positive intent on the right, but Luke Shaw's recovery pace prevented him from establishing clear superiority. Southampton's defensive structure remained intact.
Time ticked forward. Five minutes into the second half, Sterling tried to take Shaw on the outside but was dispossessed. Shaw, sensing opportunity, drove forward with the ball himself.
Sterling scrambled back in pursuit as Southampton's attack emerged. Shaw's diagonal ball searched for Rickie Lambert, but the wet conditions betrayed him—his first touch skidded off his boot.
Agger pounced on the loose ball and immediately looked to transition, finding Kanté in space.
This was the moment, a perfect opportunity for a rapid counterattack.
Julien exploded forward down the left channel; hand raised demanding the ball. Kanté delivered, though the pass wasn't perfectly weighted. Julien had to accelerate harder than anticipated, finally collecting possession near the halfway line with Adam Lallana already closing him down.
Lallana pressed immediately, trying to muscle Julien off balance. But Julien's composure under pressure was almost supernatural.
His right foot gently nudged the ball left. As Lallana's weight shifted to track the movement, Julien's left foot snapped back, flicking the ball right. Then, in one explosive burst, he pushed the ball forward and accelerated past Lallana's hip.
The execution was effortless, the classic elastico performed at match speed.
The crowd erupted: "JULIEN!!"
The volume surged as if someone had turned a dial, fifty thousand voices were unified in recognition of quality. Lallana's knee visibly buckled as he tried to change direction, his body was frozen for a crucial second while his brain processed what had just happened.
By the time his legs responded, Julien was already three yards clear and accelerating.
"Go on, Julien! Beat them all!" the Liverpool fans screamed, sensing something building, magic was forming in real-time.
Right-back Nathaniel Clyne dropped into position, lowering his center of gravity and spreading his arms to block passing lanes. Julien feinted in with his right foot, just a subtle touch against the ball's side.
Clyne bit, shifting left half a step, exactly as designed.
Julien's right sole dragged the ball back; his body was rotating around his left leg as the axis point in a textbook Marseille turn.
By the time Clyne realized he'd been sold completely, his ankle alignment was all wrong, balance was compromised. He stumbled slightly, fighting not to fall as Julien's acceleration took him past on the opposite side.
Center-back José Fonte had tracked back to the penalty area's edge, preparing to make his stand.
As Julien approached at pace, his left shoulder dipped sharply. Fonte's hips rotated right instinctively, preparing to cut off the outside lane.
But Julien's right foot flashed across his body, the outside of his boot was clipping the ball toward the center.
Fonte's commitment to the wrong direction left him rooted, his large body was unable to reverse momentum. He looked ponderous, almost comedic in the eternal weakness of tall central defenders against players with Julien's close control and change of direction.
Gerrard had already begun his run, arriving at the penalty arc precisely as planned. Wanyama closed him down, but his first touch was a through ball without breaking stride, sending the pass between Lovren and Fonte's meeting positions.
Julien hadn't stopped after his lay-off to Gerrard, he'd maintained his diagonal run immediately, timing it perfectly to stay onside as Gerrard's pass split the defense.
His explosive acceleration made the two center-backs look jogging, their reactions were too slow.
Goalkeeper Artur Boruc read the situation immediately and charged off his line, trying to narrow the angle before Julien could shoot.
But Julien had already processed the scenario during his run. As Boruc committed, Julien's right foot scooped under the ball with his outside boot, lifting it in a arc.
The chip floated past Boruc's desperately stretched fingertips by inches, curling toward the far post with precision.
The goalkeeper could only watch, body fully extended in mid-air, as the ball kissed the inside of the post and rippled the net.
Goal.
Fifty-first minute.
Liverpool 1, Southampton 0.
Julien had done it again.
Despite Southampton's firm defensive organization, a single moment of transition and individual excellence had broken the deadlock. Julien had seized the opportunity and executed with devastating efficiency.
"JULIEN!!"
"JULIEN!! JULIEN!! JULIEN!!"
Anfield exploded. The Kop Stand initiated the avalanche, then the entire stadium transformed into a red tsunami, fifty thousand voices were merging into a single deafening roar that shook the steel and concrete foundations.
Someone yanked off their rain-soaked jacket and hurled it toward sky, hoarse screams were lost in the collective mayhem: "Fucking beautiful! This is how it's done!"
Accumulated rainwater on the roof structures trembled from the vibrations, droplets were falling through intermittent breaks in the clouds. The rare sunlight caught them mid-descent, creating momentary rainbows that seemed to herald a divine blessing.
Julien dropped to his knees immediately after the ball crossed the line, sliding toward the corner flag with arms spread wide.
Water sprayed up around him from the saturated turf, his jersey was plastered to his skin, looking every inch the warrior-hero in that moment.
Gerrard arrived first, leaping onto Julien's back and hammering his chest with both fists: "Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!"
Sturridge, Sterling, and the others piled on within seconds, then Kanté and the defenders sprinted from deeper positions to join the celebration. Every player needed to touch him, to share in the moment of release.
This goal had shattered the first half's suffocating tension completely.
The broadcast cameras panned across the stands, capturing rain-soaked red scarves waving in the emerging sunlight like a crimson sea under wind. The Kop improvised new lyrics to existing chants:
"The rain's gone out,
The sun's come out,
Southampton's going home with nowt!
With nowt!
With nowt!
Southampton's going home with nowt!"
When the entire stadium again united in "You'll Never Walk Alone," the anthem seemed to physically push back the remaining clouds.
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