Martin Tyler exclaimed the instant Sturridge ballooned it: "Oh no! Over the bar! Into the stands! Unbelievable!
Julien produced a piece of absolute magic there—at full speed, accurately reading defensive positioning, surrounded by multiple markers, he used a dribbling feint to seamlessly transition into an outside-of-the-foot pass of remarkable imagination and disguise. That pass demonstrated extraordinary ball control, spatial awareness, and composure.
No wonder Deschamps appointed him as France's youngest-ever captain! This talent is blindingly obvious. At such a young age, displaying this masterful, composed execution in the Premier League is simply breathtaking.
Unfortunately, Sturridge's finish looked amateurish, completely wasting Julien's brilliance. Had that gone in, it would've been the Premier League's best team goal of the weekend!"
McGrath grunted dismissively, his voice was tinged with sourness: "That's football—you create the chance but don't take it, it counts for nothing."
Anfield Road: The Boot Room Pub
When Julien danced past multiple Villa players like a magician and sent that pass through four defenders, the entire pub exploded!
"Brilliant pass!"
"Sturridge! It's on! SHOOT!!!"
Every fan sprang from their seats, arms raised, ready to celebrate. Sean had already lifted his pint glass high, preparing to toast.
Then the ball soared over the bar and disappeared behind the stand.
Time seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.
"OH NO!!!"
The pub erupted in a noise mixed of disappointment and disbelief.
Sean slammed his still-full glass down on the table, golden beer splashing everywhere. "Daniel Sturridge! What the hell are you doing?!" he roared at the screen, face crimson. "My grandmother could've scored that! You're hitting it into mars from an open net?!"
"God almighty, how do you miss that!" Another fan collapsed back into his chair, hands on his head, looking shell-shocked.
The entire pub simmered with frustration.
Old George's voice boomed above the ruckus: "Calm down, lads, calm down! Julien's pass was pure genius—he did everything possible. Daniel just forgot his shooting boots tonight. But we created that chance, we'll create more and eventually bury one."
The fans reluctantly accepted this consolation. Another supporter added, hope rekindling in his tone: "That's what eighty million and thirty grand a week delivers! If he can create one chance like that, he'll create a second, a third! We only need to convert once and we've won!"
But that chance never arrived in the first half. In the remaining minutes, Villa players seemed to suffer from constant "physical exhaustion," repeatedly going down for treatment.
The three minutes of added time vanished quickly.
WHISTLE!
The half-time whistle blew. The scoreboard glared: 0-0.
Villa Park erupted, the claret-colored stands were transforming into a sea of celebration. Home supporters greeted their players with thunderous applause and chants—their team had successfully defused mighty Liverpool, keeping that eighty-million-pound superstar quiet in the first half.
"See that? That's Villa football!"
"They've got nothing! Liverpool's overrated!"
Cheers rippled through the stadium, pride and relief at resisting the powerhouse was obvious in every voice.
Martin Tyler summarized: "Half-time, and honors even at nil-nil. Rodgers needs to figure out his second-half approach, while Lambert must decide whether Villa can sustain this defensive intensity for ninety minutes or if adjustments are needed. Don't go anywhere, folks, we'll be right back for the second half."
Away Dressing Room
The atmosphere wasn't particularly positive. Players looked tense—these frustrating matches drain you mentally.
Rodgers entered last. His expression remained calm, eyes scanning each player. He walked to the tactics board, tapping it firmly. No motivational speeches—just tactical instructions.
"Listen up. They're sitting extremely deep, almost no space between their lines. We're trying to force penetration through the middle—playing right into their hands."
His gaze shifted to Julien. "Julien, you're doing well, drawing massive defensive attention. But second half, we need to be smarter. When you're surrounded by two or three men, don't force it—move the ball quicker. Shift it to the weak side, exploit their defensive imbalance when they overload to your flank."
He praised Julien's earlier pass. "That ball to Daniel around the 38th minute, it's the perfect example of what we need."
Then addressing the whole squad, he said: "Second half, we need faster circulation, more lateral switches. Steven, distribute wider more often. Jordan, increase your runs in behind—attack the space they're protecting.
Remember: patience beats force. Their defensive system can't maintain perfection for ninety minutes. We need better passing accuracy and quicker tempo variations to tear their shape apart—not get dragged into individual battles."
Liverpool's players listened intently. They'd created chances in that half, just failed to convert. Every face showed new determination.
Home Dressing Room
Meanwhile, Paul Lambert addressed his troops: "First half, we completely contained them. They had possession but couldn't score—exactly what we wanted!"
Lambert approached the tactics board, emphatically tapping the magnet representing Julien.
"But listen! The real test comes in the second half. This French kid won't stop—he'll try different ways to attack us. We must be even more focused, even more ruthless!"
He paused, eyes sweeping across each defensive player, a glint of reminiscence was in his gaze as his voice grew more powerful.
"I know what it feels like marking this level of genius. 1997 in Munich, Champions League final—who was I facing? Zinedine Zidane!"
The dressing room went silent. All players, especially the younger ones, looked up, hanging on every word. This was their manager's glorious history.
"Nobody gave us a chance at Dortmund. Juventus had Zidane, Deschamps, Del Piero! They controlled possession, pressed us—just like Liverpool today. My job was marking Zidane out of the game, preventing him orchestrating comfortably."
Lambert mimicked defensive positioning, looking seemingly transported back in time.
"I did one thing: deny him space and time to think. Wherever he went, I followed. Constant physical contact was disrupting his rhythm.
The result was 3-1.
We won!
I didn't just limit him though; I also assisted the opening goal!"
His voice rose sharply, filled with warrior spirit: "So I'm telling you now—genius isn't unstoppable! De Rocca's excellent, but he's not a god! He makes mistakes, gets frustrated!"
He pointed at the board again, issuing clear orders: "Second half, defensive strategy remains unchanged, but press harder and faster!
Luna, you're still the first barrier—don't dive in, block the inside channel!
Delph, Westwood—your cover must be more instant. The instant he receives and turns, hit him with body contact!
Make every touch uncomfortable. Compress his space, force him outside, force crosses, we can defend crosses!
Remember! We're a unit! When he draws two or three of us, teammates must rotate quickly to protect the danger zones around the box. Maintain discipline and focus, they'll get desperate and make mistakes, not us!"
Lambert specifically addressed their striker Benteke: "All our counter-attacking opportunities depend on you. If you get a chance, don't hesitate—shoot early. Understood?"
"Yes, boss!"
Benteke, not yet afflicted by his future problems, nodded firmly.
The break ended quickly. Both teams returned to the pitch.
Villa Park roared approval!
Facing rampant Liverpool, especially the exceptional Julien from the opening weekend, the home fans were quite satisfied with a draw.
WHISTLE!
Second half underway.
Liverpool noticeably increased their attacking tempo, seeking an early breakthrough. Villa's tactics became even more resolute and slightly dirtier.
Every time Julien touched the ball, Villa players delivered stronger physical challenges and verbal harassment.
As Julien shielded possession near the touchline, Delph delivered a subtle push from behind while hissing in his ear: "Hey, eighty-million man, is this all you've got?"
"Premier League grass harder than Ligue 1, isn't it? Why do you go down from every touch?"
The provocation had clear intent: rile Julien into losing composure, ideally provoke a retaliatory foul, earn him a yellow or red card.
However, Julien's response surprised them. He simply glanced at the culprit expressionlessly, quickly got up, brushed grass off his kit, and immediately rejoined play.
More frustrating for Liverpool was Villa's time-wasting. Whenever Liverpool's attack gained momentum, Villa players went down clutching various body parts. Corners, throw-ins—every dead-ball situation became an opportunity to burn seconds.
The match rhythm fragmented completely; Liverpool's attacking continuity severely disrupted. Home fans amplified every decision with massive boos, attempting to influence the referee's judgment.
In the commentary box, Martin Tyler observed: "Villa's tactics are very clear—even somewhat ugly but you must admit, away from home it's highly effective. Now we're testing Liverpool's patience."
McGrath defended: "It's part of the game, Martin! Using the laws, wearing down opponents' sharpness—that's intelligent play. Though I must say, De Rocca's handling it impressively. He's not taking the bait."
Time relentlessly advanced. Neither Liverpool nor Villa had broken through.
70th minute: Rodgers made the first substitution, replacing the ineffective Coutinho with Aspas.
75th minute: Lambert responded, withdrawing the yellow-carded Westwood for midfielder Elmohamady.
Villa remained solid, still using gamesmanship. Rodgers exploded on the touchline, unleashing fury at the fourth official. The referee didn't indulge him—while a Villa player received "treatment," he showed Rodgers a yellow card.
Liverpool fans' rage boiled over:
"Get up! You bunch of actors!"
"Pathetic! This isn't football!"
"Referee, are you blind?!"
"I swear, Villa's physio bag must contain Oscar nomination letters! Every time someone goes down, they need five minutes of treatment? The ref's clearly got an agenda—Rodgers expresses mild dissatisfaction and gets booked; Villa's entire squad acts all match without consequence? Could the double standard be any more blatant?"
"Look at this ugly football! Paul Lambert's turned Villa Park into a wrestling ring! They don't want to play—just waste time until the end! Disgusting! Now I understand Ferguson's time theory—at Villa Park, the clock runs backward!"
"It's so frustrating! We're playing against eleven players PLUS the referee! This 'can't win so just go down' mentality—no wonder you lot are eternally mid-table!"
But these complaints couldn't change reality. Liverpool's players grew increasingly agitated. Henderson even tried to physically lift the prone Benteke, who melodramatically collapsed again.
Villa players swarmed. Henderson argued with them, resulting in yellow cards for both him and Agbonlahor. Several more minutes were wasted.
Villa Park's boos intensified!
Soon the match reached the 90th minute. The fourth official raised his board: 4 minutes added time.
Villa Park's noise reached deafening levels—home fans prepared to celebrate. Liverpool, now thoroughly riled by Villa's provocations and unwilling to settle for a draw, pushed everyone forward.
All-out attack!
After several passes, the ball reached Julien in deep right-channel space. He received with his back to the touchline. Left-back Luna blocked the inside completely, Delph closing fast. Space compressed to near-nothing.
In that split-second, Julien exploded into action!
He didn't stop the ball—instead, on first touch, his right foot's outside flicked it diagonally forward-right. The touch was exquisite—perfect to evade defenders while staying within his recovery range. And crucially, keeping it in play!
Nearby Villa fans, regardless of their match opinion, couldn't deny Julien's individual quality. This kid was world-class!
As Julien accelerated, he unleashed frightening pace, blitzing past Luna's outside like lightning! The explosive burst was terrifying, instantly creating half a body-length advantage.
And he kept extending the gap—Luna couldn't catch him!
ROAR!
The Villa fans gasped as Julien, even at this last desperate stage, surged forward with such devastating speed. Anxiety crept in as they watched him drive toward their penalty area.
Villa's defense scrambled, multiple players were joining on Julien's flank. From above, it looked like Julien, alone, faced a swarm of claret shirts!
Rodgers screamed from the touchline: "PASS IT! PASS! DON'T DRIBBLE!"
But Julien couldn't hear him at all...
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