When Julien once again collected possession on the right flank and performed a sequence of feints that left Garrido stumbling, then suddenly cut inside to deliver a horizontal pass that Suárez converted into a turning shot, only for Ruddy to make a desperate save and Sturridge's follow-up rebound to be blocked by Bennett sliding across, Anfield released another sigh of frustration mixed with appreciation.
Norwich players were shouting constantly at each other to prevent defensive lapses, desperately trying to hold their increasingly leaky backline together through sheer willpower and organization.
High in Anfield's executive seating, Marc Kosicke was visibly delighted despite Liverpool's failure to convert their dominance into goals. The match's scoreline remained locked at 0-0, but what he was witnessing could ignore results.
He leaned toward David, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "My God, David, just watch Julien! That sequence where he left Garrido completely stranded—the way he linked those feints together, the perfect timing on that cross delivery, this is exactly why he deserves his Ballon d'Or nomination! The kid's special, genuinely world-class."
Dein nodded with protective satisfaction. "He hasn't disappointed once since arriving. Not a single match where he's failed to deliver. The speed with which he's adapted to Premier League intensity has exceeded even our optimistic projections. We knew he was good, but seeing it week after week still feels almost surreal."
"Good?" Kosicke laughed, gesturing energetically toward the pitch.
"David, we're well past 'good' at this point. His talent is practically bursting through whatever tactical constraints get placed on him. Did you catch that moment when he deliberately slowed his cut-inside? He was waiting, intentionally waiting for Suárez to exploit the gap between Norwich's center-backs before releasing the pass.
That spatial awareness, that understanding of timing and positioning, most players don't develop that until they've accumulated three or four years of elite-level experience."
He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Wait, remind me, he's eighteen years old, correct?"
"Actually turns nineteen next month," Dein corrected with a smile.
"Nineteen!" Kosicke shook his head in wonder. "Nineteen years old and he's already a guaranteed starter for Liverpool, carrying the primary creative burden on the right flank, dictating attacking patterns.
If Jürgen could see this performance, his eyes would be lighting up like Christmas morning. This Liverpool squad already possesses remarkable attacking talent with Julien, Luis Suárez, Sturridge up front, Steven controlling tempo from deep, Kanté providing that relentless ball-winning energy, and defensive stability when organized properly.
Once Jürgen arrives and implements his tactical refinements, integrating that gegenpressing intensity and rapid transition philosophy, this team will produce genuinely thrilling football. I'm absolutely convinced of that."
Dein regarded him with amusement. "You sound remarkably confident for someone whose client hasn't even signed the contract yet."
"I'm not confident because of wishful thinking," Kosicke responded seriously.
"I'm confident because of Jürgen's proven track record. Look at what's happening on that pitch right now—Liverpool are dominating Norwich completely, the players' commitment and combination play are evident, the raw materials are clearly present.
What's missing is someone capable of channeling all that energy into a clear, sustainable system. That's precisely Jürgen's greatest strength. Trust me, David, when he arrives, you won't just beat teams like Norwich more convincingly.
You'll be competing for league titles, challenging in the Champions League. That's not exaggeration, that's what he does to clubs willing to commit to his vision."
Twenty-third minute. Liverpool's relentless pressure finally produced the breakthrough their performance had deserved.
Kanté intercepted Leroy Fer's attempted through ball in midfield, immediately distributing to Gerrard who instantly switched play toward the right channel where space had opened up.
Julien received possession in stride.
Chris Hughton lurched forward on the touchline, his voice was cracking with urgency: "Close him down! Double up on him immediately!"
Garrido rushed to establish tight marking, extending his arms to block Julien's dribbling lanes while Howson tracked back from the side to create a pincer movement.
The two defenders formed what should have been an effective trap, cutting off options and forcing a backward pass or long clearance.
But Julien gently nudged the ball toward the outside, selling the feint of a touchline sprint that made Garrido instinctively extend his leg to block that route.
In that split-second of defensive commitment, Julien's boot flicked back inside, dragging the ball across his body while simultaneously dropping his center of gravity and dipping his shoulder.
He squeezed through the narrowing gap between both defenders like threading a needle, his body control and timing were absolutely perfect.
Like a butterfly weaving through flowers, graceful, effortless, almost insulting in how simple he made it appear.
Howson's desperate grab at Julien's shirt caught only cloth edge, insufficient grip to actually impede the dribble. The contact threw Howson off-balance instead, sending him stumbling sideways while Julien accelerated clear.
Garrido attempted to recover, spinning to give chase, but his reaction came too late. Julien's pace had already carried him beyond reach.
"Ryan! Cover! Get back and cover!" Hughton screamed toward his center-backs, pointing frantically at the danger developing.
Bennett sprinted desperately toward his defensive responsibilities, but Julien had no intention of allowing Norwich to reorganize. He took one more touch to stabilize the ball, shifted it slightly leftward, then unleashed a fierce left-footed strike with minimal backlift.
The ball rocketed from his boot like artillery fire, curving viciously away from Ruddy's diving reach before smashing into the top-right corner of the goal. The net bulged out from the impact before snapping back into position.
Ruddy remained on his knees, hands planted against the turf, staring at the spot where the ball had entered his goal. His expression showed pure resignation.
GOAL!
Liverpool 1-0 Norwich City
Anfield detonated.
The roar that erupted was reverberating through the stadium's steel framework and concrete structure. It was the sound of fifty thousand voices releasing accumulated tension simultaneously, transforming their nervous energy into ecstatic celebration.
"JULIEN!"
"JULIEN!!"
The chant originated from multiple sections simultaneously before uniting into unified chorus, names were shouted until throats went raw and voices cracked from the strain. The noise achieved such volume that the stadium's barriers and railings vibrated noticeably.
On the pitch, Julien had already evaded Suárez's attempted embrace who tried to ruffle his hair in celebration, but Julien ducked away laughing, sprinting instead toward the touchline where fanns pressed against the advertising boards, stretching toward him.
Afternoon sunlight caught the number "10" on his back, making the digits glow bright white against Liverpool red. He stopped running just meters from the crowd, then slowly raised both arms in his signature celebration.
This was his trademark response to goals, the pose he'd adopted since his earliest professional matches.
The supporters closest to him surged forward, hands were reaching desperately to make physical contact, to bridge the gap between terraces and pitch. Some waved banners featuring his image, others screamed requests for additional goals.
Julien maintained the pose for several seconds, sunlight was pouring down to cast his shadow long across the grass. From certain angles, that shadow resembled wings spreading behind him, an optical illusion that photographers would later capture in images that would circulate across social media.
High in the stands, Kosicke grabbed Dein's arm excitedly, pointing toward the celebrating figure.
"Look at him! Just look at that confidence, that presence! Oh my God, David, I'm falling in love with this kid's game! I think I need to move to Liverpool permanently. I need to witness every single match he plays!"
Dein laughed heartily while keeping his gaze fixed on Julien, sharing in the joy of watching exceptional talent flourish.
The cheering intensified as Sturridge and Henderson crashed into Julien from both sides, trying to drag him back toward the center circle for restart. But Julien turned once more toward the stands, raising his hand in final acknowledgment before finally allowing teammates to steer him away.
As he walked back, he could still hear voices cutting through the ambient roar: "Julien! Keep it going!" and "We believe in you!"
The goal injected Liverpool with confidence while simultaneously fracturing Norwich's already fragile mental state. For the visitors struggling near the relegation zone, conceding to individual brilliance after defending desperately felt like cruel punishment for their organizational efforts.
Whistle.
Play resumed, but Norwich's body language revealed their deteriorating morale. Players tramped back to positions with noticeably heavier steps, their passing was becoming tentative and error-prone almost immediately.
Leroy Fer tried to organize progression through midfield but under Kanté's persistent harassment, his pass toward Howson went astray within seconds of restart. Liverpool regained possession effortlessly.
Julien's red-shirted figure reappeared in Garrido's defensive zone like a recurring nightmare, a shadow the Norwich left-back couldn't shake no matter how he positioned himself.
Even without the ball, Julien's mere presence generated anxiety.
Twenty-ninth minute.
Gerrard sprayed a diagonal pass from deep, the ball was arcing beautifully through air before dropping precisely onto Julien's right foot.
This time Garrido refused to engage aggressively, instead retreated toward the touchline to prevent being beaten on the outside.
But Julien simply nudged the ball inside with his right boot, selling the feint of a cutting movement that forced Garrido to shift his weight accordingly, then knocked the ball forward and smoothly past him down the line.
As Norwich's defense rotated toward Julien's driving run, he whipped a low cross toward the penalty spot without breaking run.
The ball skimmed across the grass, evading Ruddy's desperate dive and bypassing Bassong's stretching leg, arrowing perfectly into the corridor of uncertainty between goalkeeper and defender.
Suárez had been anticipating exactly this delivery. While Garrido's attention remained locked on Julien, he had peeled away from Bassong's marking to attack the space. His body leaned forward as the ball approached, right boot extended, and with a skillful touch redirected it past Ruddy's despairing reach.
GOAL!
Liverpool 2-0 Norwich City
"It's in! Suárez! 2-0!" The commentator's voice cracked with excitement.
Anfield's celebration somehow exceeded the volume achieved for the first goal, the decibel level was climbing toward pain threshold as supporters released weeks of frustration and anxiety through pure vocal catharsis.
Julien didn't wait for Suárez to turn around—he sprinted directly toward him and wrapped both arms around his shoulders. The two forwards pressed foreheads together, laughing with shared joy while Sturridge arrived to envelope both in a three-way embrace.
Gerrard pumped his fist from midfield, his grin was visible from the stands.
Norwich's players looked utterly deflated. Bennett stood doubled over inside the penalty area, hands braced on knees while gulping air desperately. Bassong kicked at the turf in frustration, his expression showed pure helplessness.
Throughout the visiting side, body language screamed defeat.
Even Hughton had abandoned his touchline theatrics. He now stood with hands on hips, staring toward his goal with the thousand-yard stare of someone watching their worst fears materialize in real-time. The tension had drained from his face, replaced by despair.
That second goal was the straw breaking Norwich's back, shattering whatever resilience their fragile mental state had been clinging to.
On Liverpool's bench, Colin was celebrating with wanton joy alongside his coaching staff, jumping and shouting like a fan rather than a manager.
He understood well that no matter how many goals Liverpool scored today, his caretaker status wouldn't transform into permanent appointment. Management had already decided on Klopp.
But that knowledge didn't diminish his happiness even slightly.
Pascoe was celebrating as a lifelong Liverpool fam, someone who'd dedicated his entire professional existence to the club in various capacities.
He wanted victories for their own sake, wanted to see Liverpool reclaim the glory that had been away from them throughout the entire Premier League era.
The lack of a league title since the competition's 1992 start remained a wound that wouldn't heal until finally addressed through championship success.
The broadcast commentator captured the broader significance of what was unfolding: "Two-nil! Good heavens, Anfield is preparing to lock this tie down early!
Five minutes! Just five minutes separated those goals! Julien opened the scoring with that spectacular long-range strike, and now he's provided the assist for Liverpool's second with a perfect cross from the right flank. Norwich simply have no answer for him!
Today Julien has been a complete dictator down that right channel. The opening goal came from his individual quality—receiving, dribbling, shooting with precision. The second goal showcased his creative vision and technical execution on that low driven cross.
Garrido hasn't been able to match Julien's rhythm from the opening whistle. Whether it's being beaten on the cut-inside or getting torched down the line, even with Howson providing covering support, they're being thoroughly dismantled.
Liverpool are demonstrating a clear class difference over Norwich today. From opening whistle possession dominance through to these two ruthlessly efficient goals, every phase of play shows superior organization, technique, and attacking threat.
As for Norwich? Nine league matches with just two wins, two draws, and five losses, currently languishing in the relegation battle—today's performance illustrates exactly why they're struggling.
Their defensive structure collapses under sustained pressure, midfield provides insufficient screening, and they can't even organize counter-attacks with any unity. In this condition, extracting victory from Anfield was always going to be nearly impossible.
I'll say something controversial but honest:
Norwich should genuinely consider abandoning this cup competition completely. League survival represents their sole priority, and dual-competition participation creates unsustainable strain on their limited squad depth.
Look at their players now—positioning is becoming increasingly disorganized, passes are going astray with rising frequency, they are clearly suffering physical and psychological exhaustion. If they continue burning energy in cup matches, their league survival campaign will only become more difficult.
Better to focus exclusively on Premier League survival than risk failure across both competitions."
That assessment resonated with many Liverpool fans following the match remotely.
Online forums and social media platforms were filled with similar observations: "Norwich's defense is tissue-paper thin, their midfield barely exists, and Julien's running riot down the right against helpless opposition. Nine league matches with only two wins says they should be prioritizing survival over cup glory. Might as well forfeit now and dedicate everything to staying up."
But most Liverpool discussion centered on praising their own attacking performance, particularly the devastating effectiveness of the forward line.
"Is Julien actually playing with cheat codes active? Garrido's being walked like a dog on a leash, getting embarrassed repeatedly. First that top-corner thunderbolt, now the assist for Suárez and remember, he doesn't turn nineteen until next month!
That Ballon d'Or nomination isn't reputation-based hype, it's earned through performances exactly like this. And Suárez's poacher instincts remain world-class. Progression to the next round is guaranteed at this point. How about we aim for the League Cup trophy this season? Give us something to celebrate!"
One match had completely restored Liverpool fans' confidence and optimism after weeks of uncertainty. That's the nature of football fandom, intensely reactive, living continuously in the present moment. Recent struggles will vanish from memory the instant results turned positive again.
And tonight, Liverpool were undeniably dominant, playing football that justified new belief in their capabilities.
Dortmund outskirts, Brackel Training Center.
Jürgen Klopp's mood was unusually floating—last weekend's 3-1 away victory over bitter rivals Schalke 04 had sent Dortmund supporters into ecstasy while providing Klopp himself with deep satisfaction.
Defeating your fiercest local enemy in the Revierderby (Ruhr Derby) was always special, but doing so while preparing to depart the club made the triumph particularly sweet. He'd given the Yellow Wall fans one final derby victory to remember him by.
This afternoon found Klopp in his office following training's conclusion, his laptop was displaying live coverage of Liverpool's EFL Cup fixture against Norwich. He watched evaluating strengths and identifying weaknesses with professional detachment.
The longer he observed, the more his head shook in frustration.
"Attacking efficiency is terrible," he muttered toward the screen, speaking to himself in German. "Liverpool's approach completely wastes the talent available in that squad. This shouldn't be so difficult, not with these players."
However, Julien's individual performance continually caught his attention, repeatedly drawing his focus away from systemic critiques toward appreciation of pure ability.
Every touch, every movement, every decision Julien made aligned perfectly with Klopp's idealized vision of modern forward play.
The versatility was extraordinary—capable of beating defenders through dribbling, delivering dangerous service from wide positions, or suddenly unleashing finishing quality from distance.
He represented every coach's fantasy: the complete attacker who could impact matches through multiple mechanisms rather than relying on single-dimension excellence.
The realization that Rodgers had been deploying Julien primarily as a fixed right-winger struck Klopp as almost criminal negligence.
This was talent being squandered! Thoroughly underutilized through tactical inflexibility that couldn't possibly extract maximum value from such exceptional ability!
Julien's capabilities shouldn't be limited to any specific area of the pitch. His talent demanded complete liberation, freedom to roam and influence across the entire attacking third rather than being anchored to one touchline.
Klopp's tactical imagination was already constructing alternatives, envisioning fluid systems where forward players rotated positions constantly, where no one remained static, where Julien's versatility became systematic advantage rather than being suppressed by positional discipline.
Thinking specifically about Julien, Klopp smiled unconsciously. The potential was absolutely extraordinary.
He would transform Julien into an elite free-roaming forward, a player capable of terrorizing defenses from any position across the attacking line.
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