And across England, Liverpool supporters heard Martin Tyler's signature excited commentary:
"GOAL! It's in! The 92nd minute! A winner! Julien! Julien DE Rocca again! He's done it! He's done it again!
This is why genius is genius—because they create miracles at moments when ordinary mortals would surrender!
When the entire team was stuck in stalemate, when opponents had locked down every passing lane with their defensive shell, when time was nearly exhausted, this 18-year-old French prodigy produced a goal for the history books, securing all three points for Liverpool!
Let's savor this goal again: he waltzed through a three-man press as if dancing, every feint dripping with deception, every touch millimeter-perfect. The ball looked like an extension of his body!
And that worldie he struck—the quality was sublime! From four or five meters outside the box, he could have kept driving forward, but he chose to shoot! What confidence!
But then again, this is Julien De Rocca we're talking about. The absolute legend of Bastia. The captain of the French national team.
Think about it, just one week ago at Anfield, he scored four goals, sending shockwaves through English football. Some questioned whether it was a flash in the pan.
But now, in this cauldron of Villa Park, with opponents throwing everything at him to shut him down, he's proven his worth once more!
Two matches, six direct goal contributions!
What kind of start is this? This is an EPIC start!
Liverpool's €80 million investment looks like highway robbery!
When our grandchildren ask about the most stunning Premier League debut in history, the answer will be: Summer 2013, when a French teenager wearing Liverpool's number 10 conquered all of England in just two matches!"
Beside Martin Tyler, McGrath found himself speechless. His mind was still caught on the words Martin had interrupted earlier: "I admire that courage, though tactically it's not the most rational choice. But football needs these moments of passion. I remember when I was young, I'd do stupid things like this all the time. Sometimes, though, it's precisely that stupidity that creates the most spectacular goals."
A self-fulfilling prophecy.
McGrath suddenly smiled in acceptance. As Martin's excitement subsided slightly, he began applauding. "That really was an exceptional goal. Honestly, I'm won over by Julien."
In the executive box at Villa Park's main stand, CEO Paul Faulkner sat in shadow, his gaze was locked on the young figure wearing Liverpool's red number 10.
This late winner left his expression complex, tinged with bitterness.
The events of this past summer replayed in his mind like a film reel. Perhaps they'd once had a chance to sign Julien.
Back then, Saudi capital had indeed contacted club owner Randy Lerner through intermediaries, inquiring about a full takeover. It would have been a massive investment capable of transforming the club's fortunes.
Faulkner himself had pushed hard for it, seeing a golden opportunity to revitalize a historic club. However, Randy had hesitated at the final moment whether from emotional attachment to club traditions or other considerations and ultimately rejected the offer.
According to what Faulkner knew, the French prodigy now sending Villa Park into despair had a gentleman's agreement with the Saudi investors: whichever Premier League club they purchased, he would join.
What did that mean?
It meant that if the owner had simply nodded his head, the super-talent who'd just scored four at Anfield and shocked all of England—this Liverpool superhero who'd just broken Villa hearts would have been wearing Villa's claret and blue, standing at the center circle of Villa Park, receiving worship from these very stands.
Instead of standing as an opponent, hated and feared in equal amount.
Julien's effortless brilliance, his visible world-class talent, it should have been the foundation of Villa's renaissance. With him, backed by Saudi capital, this sleeping giant could have truly set sail again, returning to the pinnacle of English football.
But history has no "what ifs."
The opportunity for a historic club's revival sometimes hangs on a single decision. And they had let their chance slip through their fingers.
A sigh was swallowed by Villa Park's noise.
On the touchline, Liverpool's celebration didn't last long. Soon the match restarted with a kick-off at the center circle.
Then Villa Park witnessed a bizarre spectacle.
The Villa players who'd been sprawled on the turf in agony moments earlier suddenly seemed to have miraculous recoveries, as if magic had been worked upon them.
Their fitness was restored. No more time-wasting. No more lying down.
Left-back Luna, who at the 80th minute had received three full minutes of treatment for cramps, was now sprinting forward at 100-meter-dash pace to receive passes.
Midfielder Delph, who'd been rolling in the penalty area clutching his calf earlier, had pushed up the pitch, running without the slightest problem.
Villa launched a final, almost frenzied assault. Goalkeeper Guzan charged up to near the center circle, roaring instructions for the attack—a far cry from his earlier tendency to lie on the ground for two minutes after every save.
After a simple restart, Villa abandoned complex passing and resorted to the most direct route: long balls and aerial bombardment. Every player charged toward Liverpool's penalty area like a kamikaze squad.
But it was all in vain.
Two minutes later:
TWEET!
When the referee finally blew the full-time whistle, Villa's players instantly relapsed into their previous "injuries." Multiple players collapsed on the turf, faces engraved with exhaustion and despair.
This dramatic scene put the final punctuation mark on the evening.
Liverpool's players erupted in celebration once more. Two matches into the new season, and both had left them breathless—one demolition, one dramatic winner. And the absolute protagonist of both had been Julien.
Teammates surrounded him in the center circle, chanting his name wildly before breaking into a rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone."
Anfield Road, Liverpool
When the final whistle sounded, The Boot Room pub exploded as if a bomb had detonated. The red sea that had already been boiling over the winner now unleashed an even more ferocious tsunami.
"It's over! We won! WE WON!"
Sean grabbed his beer glass from the table—not to drink, but to hoist it overhead like champagne, letting the golden liquid spray over himself and everyone around him.
His face was flushed crimson, veins bulging, as he screamed with every fiber of his being: "The Conqueror! Julien the Conqueror! Did you see that?! DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT?!"
The entire pub floor vibrated. People jumped, stomped, embraced, and pounded each other's backs.
All the frustration from Sturridge's missed sitter, all the anger at Villa's time-wasting tactics—everything converted into the most intense euphoria and exploded out.
"Come on Birmingham lads, keep acting! Why aren't you cramping up now?!"
"Last thirty seconds they ran faster than rabbits! Where was that energy earlier?!"
"JULIEN! THE CONQUEROR JULIEN!!"
Beer glasses clinked and collided, foam spraying to the ceiling. People belted out "You'll Never Walk Alone" at the top of their lungs, the singing was so loud the windows buzzed.
On the TV screens, footage of Villa players collapsed on the pitch drew another round of victorious laughter tinged with superiority.
This wasn't just a celebration of victory, it was a complete emotional purification. From the frustration of opponents' cynical time-wasting, to the ecstasy of the late winner, to the final relief of securing three points—all those emotions stacked and detonated the instant the final whistle blew.
The TV replayed Julien's earth-shattering winner over and over with each repetition drawing fresh cheers and whistles from the pub.
When the broadcast cut to a close-up of Julien surrounded by celebrating teammates, Sean pounded the table and shouted to the entire room. "Raise your glasses! To Julien the Conqueror! To Liverpool!"
"CHEERS!!"
Every glass in the pub lifted as one, golden beer shimmering under the lights.
On this ordinary Liverpool evening, The Boot Room had become the epicenter of red celebration.
Online
Across the internet, fans from every Premier League club were stunned by this dramatic night.
Liverpool fan: "From this day forward, my religion is Julien! What a load of time-wasting rubbish—absolute talent destroys it all! €80 million? That's robbery of Bastia! Two games, six goals—is there a more perfect start than this?"
Neutral fan: "Villa's players in the last thirty seconds ran faster than Usain Bolt, I'm dying laughing!"
Liverpool fan: "Seeing Stevie sprint over to embrace Julien first—I cried! That's what legacy looks like! The Reds have a new core! Think about it calmly: the scariest part is Julien's only 18. Can we start dreaming about something bigger now?"
Villa fan: "Honestly, no complaints. You can't defend that goal. That's what superstar ability looks like. We lost, but I have to admit—De Rocca is a monster. Hope he stays injury-free. The Premier League needs talents like this."
Villa fan: "The 'medical miracles' at the end were absolutely shameful! Better to die standing than live on your knees like that!"
Villa fan: "We fought for 90 minutes and lost to a worldie. But Liverpool fans shouldn't celebrate too early...…the season's long!"
Neutral fan: "As someone with no stake in this, that match was worth every second! De Rocca's goal was pure art!"
Chelsea fan: "Silence is tonight's Stamford Bridge."
Tactical analyst: "From a technical perspective, Julien's shot combined power, curve, and precision while in a state of extreme fatigue. His mental fortitude is abnormal. Premier League Golden Boot odds need updating."
But this night's impact extended far beyond the fans. Julien was like a boulder hurled into a calm lake, sending ripples that would spread far across English football.
For title contenders, Liverpool was no longer just a top-four rival—with one unstoppable weapon, they'd officially entered the championship conversation.
For mid-table and lower teams, Villa had deployed near-perfect defensive tactics and held firm for 92 minutes, yet still fell short.
This sent a contradictory message: on one hand, Aston Villa's template of compact defense plus physicality plus time-wasting showed how to contend with Liverpool. On the other hand, Julien's winner instilled deep fear—even if you execute everything perfectly, he can still destroy you with individual brilliance.
When facing Liverpool in future, would they commit even more stubbornly to defending, or take a gamble on something else?
Meanwhile, media narratives about the "overpriced flop" completely crumbled overnight. Every outlet that had questioned Liverpool's transfer strategy and mocked the €80 million fee now ate crow.
The Premier League brass were delighted. With Cristiano Ronaldo long departed, the league desperately needed new superstars and legendary stories. An 18-year-old genius arriving in such dominant fashion, putting on consecutive superhuman performances—this was perfect material for global promotion.
Julien appeared ready to become the Premier League's new-era poster boy.
A torrent of visible and invisible effects began fermenting.
But for Julien personally, the most tangible result was simple: this match had earned him 30 victory points.
Massive windfall.
That brought his remaining total to 53. Three or four more matches like this and he'd be back over 100.
Beautiful.
He walked into the dressing room to find most of his teammates immediately collapsing onto benches, chests still heaving. But every face wore a stupid, indelible grin.
Gerrard approached and said nothing, simply handing Julien a sports drink and giving his shoulder a heavy pat.
Jordan Henderson, sprawled in a nearby chair and still gasping for air, turned his head to give Julien two enthusiastic thumbs up, grinning from ear to ear.
Coutinho pressed an ice pack against his knee, while Sturridge received a massage from the physio, his face was wearing an expression of complete relief.
The dressing room filled with overlapping voices, exhausted but excited conversation.
"My legs were about to cramp..."
"They threw everything at us in those final moments."
"But we're the winners! Fuck it, we won!"
Post-Match Press Conference
Rodgers maintained his usual composure, addressing the match and Julien's winner:
"This was a very, very hard-fought victory. We gave everything for it. Regarding Julien's goal—I can only say it was a pure display of individual ability, talent shining at the crucial moment.
Julien is an extremely powerful player, both physically and mentally. He'll get used to this kind of targeted defending because that's the reality of top-level football. Great players always attract more defensive attention.
I trust the referees will do their jobs and protect all players. Our responsibility is to continue supporting Julien, allowing him to express his talent freely. As he proved tonight, he was born for stages like this."
Regarding Villa's controversial time-wasting tactics, Rodgers only said:
"I won't comment on specific opponent behaviors. As for certain match incidents, I believe they're part of football itself. Every team adopts different strategies to manage games based on circumstances.
My job is to focus on my own team. I'm immensely proud of the maturity, discipline, and never-give-up spirit our players showed. Under all those challenges, we didn't lose our composure or complain—we simply focused on solving problems. That mental growth is as valuable to me as the three points."
On the other side, Lambert was brief: "When you lose, there's not much to say. No matter how well you play, the result is we lost."
This night belonged to Liverpool. They were the undisputed center of the Premier League universe.
But other stories were unfolding elsewhere like Mourinho's Chelsea and Manchester United...
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