Sunday, 25 October 2015 | Anfield, Liverpool | Premier League
By 3.30pm, Anfield was filling beneath a heavy autumn sky, the red stands gradually disappearing behind thousands of supporters.
Abdul Azim jogged along the touchline with his Liverpool teammates, his breath rising faintly in the cold air. Around him, the familiar sounds of matchday blended together: boots striking the grass, coaches calling instructions, balls travelling between players, and the steady roar of supporters finding their seats.
It was his 2nd Premier League appearance.
More importantly, it would be his first Premier League match at Anfield.
A week earlier, he had made his debut against Tottenham Hotspur, helping Liverpool win 3–0 at White Hart Lane and earning Man of the Match. On Thursday night, he had scored a hat-trick against Rubin Kazan in a 5–0 Europa League victory.
The attention had come quickly, but Azim was learning not to let it follow him onto the pitch.
He increased his pace as the warm-up moved into a series of running drills. James Milner jogged beside him, occasionally glancing toward the coaching staff, while Adam Lallana and Philippe Coutinho followed behind them.
"Feeling good today?" Milner asked.
"Very good."
"Still got enough energy after Thursday?"
Azim glanced at him.
"I scored 3 goals. I didn't run a marathon."
Milner laughed.
"Tell that to your legs when we're finished."
They completed another lap before joining the stretching exercises. Azim bent forward to loosen his hamstrings, rotated his ankles, and worked through the movements carefully, paying attention to the small areas of tension that could become troublesome once the match intensified.
He had learned that professional football demanded more than natural ability. A player could feel physically ready and still make careless decisions if he rushed his preparation.
When Klopp's staff instructed the players to begin passing drills, Azim collected a ball and moved into a group with Milner, Coutinho, and Lucas Leiva.
The exercise began simply.
A pass into the feet, a controlled first touch, a return ball, and a movement into the next space. The tempo gradually increased as the players shortened their touches and changed angles, forcing one another to react without allowing the ball to settle unnecessarily.
Azim barely needed to adjust his stride.
When Milner passed toward his right foot, Azim opened his body and redirected the ball with a single touch. When Coutinho sent it firmly toward his weaker side, Azim cushioned it and returned the pass before moving into space.
The ball stayed close to him without his movements appearing rushed.
Milner noticed.
"Your first touch is ridiculous."
Azim received the next pass and sent it back.
"That's a compliment, right?"
"At the moment."
"What happens later?"
"Depends what you do with it."
Coutinho laughed as he moved into position.
"Keep passing. Before he finds something else to criticise."
The drill continued, and Azim concentrated on the rhythm of the exercise. He watched the movements of the players around him, anticipated where the next pass would arrive, and adjusted his body before the ball reached him.
The difference between reacting and preparing was often only a fraction of a second.
He wanted that fraction.
After several minutes, the group dispersed for individual work.
Azim remained near the edge of the training area, where a few spare footballs had been left beside the equipment bags. He placed one beneath his foot and looked toward the open stretch of grass.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Then he flicked the ball upward.
It rose above his head, climbing higher until it seemed almost lost against the grey sky. Azim watched its rotation, shifted his position, and waited for its descent.
As it came down, he lifted his right foot.
The ball settled against his instep with barely a sound.
He sent it upward again.
This time, he let it travel considerably higher before bringing it under control. His body adjusted beneath its descent, but there was something unusually precise about the way the ball returned to him, as though its path had been calculated before it began to fall.
Azim continued juggling.
Right foot. Left foot. Knee. Instep.
Each touch carried the ball back into a comfortable position, allowing him to move without chasing it. He struck it higher once more, stepped underneath its trajectory, and controlled it before it could reach the grass.
A few meters away, Coutinho had stopped to watch.
"How long can you keep doing that?"
Azim caught the ball against his thigh.
"Until I get bored."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
Coutinho shook his head with a smile before returning to his own preparation.
Azim lowered the ball to the grass.
His control had improved beyond what ordinary practice could explain, but he had no intention of demonstrating the full extent of his abilities. His Tere Tere no Mi allowed him to influence the ball within its effective range, and the distinction between a perfect touch and a subtle adjustment could be difficult for another person to identify.
That was precisely why he valued the ability.
He did not need to make a football behave unnaturally in front of thousands of people. He needed to give himself better control of ordinary situations, especially when a defender was close enough to turn a loose touch into a lost possession.
The advantage mattered most when nobody realised he had gained one.
Azim sent the ball back toward the equipment area and followed his teammates toward the final part of the warm-up.
His thoughts, however, had begun drifting toward something unrelated to football.
Money.
More specifically, what he would do when the financial arrangements surrounding his Liverpool career were properly settled.
He had spent enough time imagining a successful future to understand the difference between earning money and knowing how to use it. The figures attached to a professional football contract could look enormous to someone who had never dealt with them, but wages, bonuses, deductions, and future expenses all needed to be considered carefully.
His first priority remained unchanged.
A house for his parents.
They had spent years living in rented accommodation, working around the limitations of a home that was never entirely theirs. Azim wanted to give them somewhere permanent, a place where they could settle without worrying about rent increases or the possibility that circumstances might force them to move again.
He did not need an extravagant property.
A comfortable house with enough space for the family would be more than sufficient.
His father would probably object to the price before he had even finished looking around.
Azim could picture him standing in the living room, examining the condition of the windows, asking about the roof, and checking whether the neighbourhood was worth the money.
Then would come the inevitable lecture.
Buying a house is one thing. Paying for it and maintaining it are another.
Azim smiled faintly.
His father was right to be cautious. A promising start to a football career did not guarantee that every season would be successful, and he had no intention of building his family's future around money he had not yet received.
He would save, seek proper advice, and make the purchase when the numbers made sense.
After the house, he wanted to buy his father a car.
Perhaps an MPV.
His father had always appreciated practical vehicles, particularly those with enough room for the family and their belongings. Azim suspected that a larger vehicle would appeal to him far more than some expensive sports car.
He could almost imagine his father's reaction when the keys were handed over.
He would inspect the seats, check the storage space, and ask whether the engine was reliable.
Only after examining everything would he ask how much it cost.
And when Azim told him, the lecture would begin.
The thought warmed him more than the autumn sunshine could have.
There was another possibility he had been considering.
His father worked in security, a job that demanded time and energy without offering the kind of financial freedom Azim hoped to provide for the family. Perhaps, when his career became more established, his father could leave that work and help manage his affairs.
Not necessarily as a replacement for a professional football agent, at least not immediately. Contract negotiations and the commercial side of football required experience, and Azim would need people who understood those responsibilities.
Still, his father knew him better than almost anyone.
Having him nearby, helping to make decisions and ensuring that the people around Azim acted in his best interests, would mean a great deal.
But that decision could wait.
His father would not want to abandon a steady job merely because his son had enjoyed a remarkable week.
Azim understood him well enough to know that much.
"Azim!"
Milner called from near the touchline.
"You planning to buy the stadium, too?"
Azim looked up, realising that he had been standing with the ball beneath his foot.
"Not today."
"Good. We've got a match to play first."
Azim rolled the ball toward him.
"Then let's play."
Milner returned the pass, and Azim moved away from his thoughts.
There would be time for the rest later.
For now, Liverpool needed another performance.
By the time the players returned to the dressing room, the warm-up had done its work.
The atmosphere became quieter as the Liverpool players removed their training tops and prepared to change into their match kits. Tape was adjusted around ankles and wrists, boots were checked, and bottles of water were placed beside the benches.
Azim sat before his locker and pulled his red shirt over his head.
The number #36 rested against his back.
Across the room, Jürgen Klopp stood near a tactics board with his assistants. He had spent the past few days studying Southampton, looking for the details that might decide a game in which both teams possessed enough quality to punish careless mistakes.
This would be Klopp's first Premier League match at Anfield as Liverpool manager.
For Azim, it was the same occasion from another perspective: his first opportunity to make an impression on the home crowd in the league.
Klopp clapped his hands.
"Come on, boys. Gather around."
The players moved closer.
A formation appeared on the board, arranged into 4-2-3-1.
Klopp pointed toward the defensive line first.
"Mignolet in goal. Clyne on the right, Škrtel and Sakho in the middle, Moreno on the left. Stay connected. Southampton have players who can make dangerous runs into the channels, and we cannot give them space because we're too eager to attack."
He moved his hand toward midfield.
"Lucas and Emre Can. You protect the centre, but don't stand so deep that the opposition can play comfortably in front of you. When we lose the ball, react immediately. If we cannot recover it, get back into shape. No chasing blindly."
Lucas nodded.
Can watched the board, his expression focused.
Klopp turned toward the attacking line.
"Milner on the right. Lallana through the middle, Coutinho from the left, and Azim leading the attack."
Azim straightened slightly.
Hearing his name announced among the starting players still carried a peculiar weight. He had dreamed of opportunities like this for years, but the reality was more demanding than the fantasy because a place in the team also meant responsibility for what happened after the first whistle.
Klopp looked directly at him.
"Azim, you give us a central target, but don't stand between the centre-backs all afternoon. They are strong, especially Van Dijk. Move across the line, find the space beside them, and make them decide whether to follow you or protect the middle."
Azim nodded.
"Understood, gaffer."
"When the ball goes wide, attack the box with purpose. Don't make your run too early and allow them to settle. And when you don't have the ball, you work for the team. You are the first defender when we press."
Klopp tapped the tactics board.
"Southampton use a similar shape. Wanyama and Clasie will try to protect the centre, while Davis works behind Pellè. Tadić and Mané can make things difficult if we allow them to receive the ball facing our goal."
He paused long enough for the players to absorb the information.
"We press together. If Azim goes, Lallana supports him. The nearest wide player closes the passing option outside, while the midfielders block the easy pass into the middle. We force them toward the touchline, where they have fewer options."
Klopp moved a marker across the board.
"But listen carefully. Pressing is not running until you're tired. It is making the opponent play the pass we want him to play, then having someone ready to win it. If the first press is beaten, we recover immediately. Do not leave Lucas and Can defending the entire pitch by themselves."
Several players nodded.
It was a straightforward instruction, but the distinction mattered. A disorganised press could create more danger for Liverpool than it prevented, particularly against Southampton's technically capable midfielders.
Klopp turned his attention back toward the front line.
"With the ball, we need movement. If Azim comes short, someone must threaten the space behind. If Coutinho moves inside, Moreno has to recognise when the outside lane is available. Milner, be ready to cross, but do not force it if the box is crowded."
Milner nodded.
"And when the opportunity is there, attack it," Klopp continued. "We are playing at Anfield. We want the supporters to see a team that takes responsibility, that works for each other, and that does not become afraid when something goes wrong."
His voice grew firmer.
"But we do not win because we are at home. We win because we do the work."
The words settled over the room.
Klopp did not promise an easy afternoon or tell them Southampton would fold under pressure. He had already seen enough of the opposition to understand that Ronald Koeman's team would be organised, physically strong, and dangerous when given room to counterattack.
Liverpool would have to earn everything.
Klopp looked around the group.
"Trust each other. Make the right decisions. When a teammate makes a mistake, help him recover instead of standing there complaining. We have quality, but quality alone is not enough."
He clapped his hands again.
"Let's go."
The players began moving toward the tunnel.
Azim checked his laces once more before standing. As he followed Milner toward the exit, the tactical instructions remained in his mind: move the centre-backs, create space, press with purpose, and make decisions that helped Liverpool rather than himself.
It was a simpler objective than the financial plans that had occupied him earlier.
It was also the one he could act upon immediately.
The tunnel was cooler than the dressing room, and the noise from the stadium grew louder as the players approached its entrance.
Liverpool's red kits stood out against the concrete walls. On the opposite side, Southampton waited in their green away shirts, their players speaking quietly among themselves as they prepared to walk out.
Azim recognised Sadio Mané almost immediately.
Virgil van Dijk stood nearby, talking with José Fonte.
For a moment, Azim simply watched them.
He had followed Mané's career since his time at Red Bull Salzburg, paying attention to the forward's pace, direct running, and ability to turn a seemingly harmless pass into a dangerous attack. Van Dijk had caught his attention during his time at Celtic, where his composure and physical presence had made him stand out among defenders.
Their development had never surprised him.
What surprised him was the opportunity to stand here and speak to them as an equal, wearing a Liverpool shirt while they prepared to defend Southampton.
Azim approached Mané first.
"Mané?"
The Senegalese forward turned.
"Yes?"
"Abdul Azim. Liverpool."
Mané glanced at the shirt and smiled.
"I know who you are."
"Good. Saves me introducing myself properly."
Van Dijk looked over, amused by the exchange.
Azim offered him a hand.
"Virgil. Good to meet you."
"Likewise."
They shook hands.
"How are you settling in?" Van Dijk asked.
"Pretty well. Still learning."
"You looked comfortable against Tottenham."
"Thank you."
Mané joined the conversation.
"And Rubin Kazan? That was some performance."
Azim shrugged.
"The team played well."
"You're allowed to admit you played well, too," Van Dijk said.
"All right. I played well."
"Better."
The 3 shared a brief laugh.
Azim liked the ease of the conversation. Neither player treated him like a child, nor did they exaggerate his achievements. They spoke to him as another professional, which was precisely how he wanted to be treated.
He glanced toward the pitch entrance.
"Different feeling before a league game, isn't it?"
Mané followed his gaze.
"It is. Especially away at Anfield."
"You'll get used to it," Azim said. "Though I suppose you'll be on the other side if you come here."
Van Dijk narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Come here?"
Azim looked at him, then at Mané.
"Have either of you thought about joining Liverpool next season?"
For a second, both men stared at him.
Then Mané burst out laughing.
Van Dijk followed, shaking his head.
"You're recruiting players now?"
"Someone has to."
"Does Klopp know about your new job?"
"Not officially."
Mané laughed again.
"We play for Southampton, my friend."
"I know. That's why I'm asking."
Van Dijk folded his arms, still smiling.
"You've scored a few goals and decided you're the sporting director?"
"That's unfair. I've only spoken to 2 people."
"How many more are you planning to approach?"
"Depends how the season goes."
Their laughter drew a glance from a Southampton staff member farther down the tunnel.
Azim waited until the humour had settled before continuing.
"Seriously, though. I think you would both improve Liverpool."
Mané's smile softened into an expression of curiosity.
"You really believe that?"
"Yes. I've followed your careers for a long time. I watched you at Salzburg, and I followed Virgil when he was at Celtic. You're good players, and I think your qualities would suit the way Liverpool want to play."
Van Dijk regarded him thoughtfully.
"That's quite a pitch."
"It's not a pitch. I'm not offering you a contract."
"Good," Van Dijk replied. "I was about to ask where the paperwork was."
Azim laughed.
"I'm just asking you to imagine it. Next season, Liverpool red. Anfield. Playing with us instead of against us."
Mané exchanged a glance with Van Dijk.
"And what makes you think we would want to leave Southampton?"
"Nothing guarantees you will. That's your decision, not mine. But if Liverpool keep progressing, and we build something worth being part of, perhaps you'll consider it."
The answer appeared to interest Van Dijk more than the original question.
"You're thinking about next season already?"
"Of course. The best teams don't wait until the summer to think about how they want to improve."
Van Dijk smiled.
"You've got ambition."
"I think you'll find that most people here do."
"Then show us today," Mané said.
Azim met his eyes.
"That's the plan."
Van Dijk held out his hand again.
"First, you have to get past me."
Azim shook it firmly.
"That's why I'm looking forward to playing against you."
"And I won't make it easy."
"I'd be disappointed if you did."
Mané patted him on the shoulder.
"All right, Liverpool boy. We'll watch."
"Good."
"But don't expect us to help you score."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
A voice called from the Southampton side, reminding the players that the teams would be walking out shortly.
Van Dijk turned toward Fonte, while Mané gave Azim a final nod.
The conversation was over.
Azim returned to his teammates with a small smile. He had not convinced either man to consider leaving Southampton, but that was never a realistic expectation from a brief conversation before kickoff.
He wanted them to recognise that Liverpool had ambition beyond the next ninety minutes.
If they eventually considered joining, he wanted the club's progress to make the decision appealing. That meant winning matches, improving the team, and proving that Liverpool could offer a future worth choosing.
For now, the only way to advance that future was to play well.
The teams began lining up.
Azim took his place beside Milner as the officials prepared to lead the players onto the pitch. The noise beyond the tunnel had become a continuous roar, rising whenever the crowd sensed that the teams were about to emerge.
He flexed his fingers and drew a measured breath.
Across the tunnel, Mané stood beside his Southampton teammates. Van Dijk adjusted his sleeves and exchanged a final word with Fonte.
They were opponents now.
Whatever they had discussed would have no bearing on the challenges waiting for them once the match began.
Azim would have to find a way past Van Dijk, while Mané would be looking for any space Liverpool left behind. If Azim wanted them to imagine playing alongside him next season, he first needed to show them what it meant to face him today.
The tunnel doors opened.
Liverpool walked onto the pitch, and Anfield answered with an enormous roar.
The stands were almost full, with 44,171 supporters gathered beneath the autumn sky. Red flags waved across the Kop, scarves rose above the crowd, and the sound of applause followed the players as they moved toward their positions.
Azim looked toward the stands, searching for his parents.
He found them after a few seconds.
His mother was standing, smiling despite the cold. His father stood beside her, his hands held together in front of him, trying to maintain his usual composure.
Azim raised a hand.
His father responded with a brief nod.
It was a small gesture, but Azim understood it.
His father would never ask him to become a star. He would simply want him to work hard, remain sensible, and remember where he had come from.
Azim turned back toward the pitch.
Then the opening notes of You'll Never Walk Alone began to ring around Anfield.
The supporters lifted their scarves, and thousands of voices joined together. The sound spread through the stadium until the song seemed to surround the players completely.
Azim had heard it many times before. He had listened to recordings, watched supporters sing it on television, and experienced the atmosphere at Anfield during the Europa League match against Rubin Kazan.
But standing on the pitch during a Premier League fixture was different.
The music rose around him, carrying the hopes of people who had followed Liverpool through victories, disappointments, and years of waiting for the club to return to the highest level.
For a moment, Azim thought about the life he had left behind.
He had once dreamed of reaching this stage and failed to achieve everything he believed he could. Now he had another chance, and the badge on his chest represented more than professional success.
His parents were here.
Klopp had trusted him.
His teammates had welcomed him into the squad, and the supporters were beginning to recognise his name.
He could not repay any of them with promises about what he might become.
He could only work.
The song reached its final notes, and Anfield erupted into chants of "Liverpool! Liverpool!"
Azim felt the sound travel through him as he took his position for the formalities before kickoff.
At the centre circle, Andre Marriner called the captains forward. Milner approached alongside Fonte, and the referee greeted them before tossing the coin into the air.
It flashed briefly beneath the daylight before Marriner caught it.
The captains settled the choice of ends and possession, exchanged a few words, and returned to their teammates.
Milner clapped his hands.
"Come on, boys. Let's get started."
Azim moved into position at the front of Liverpool's formation.
Behind him, Coutinho and Lallana settled into their attacking roles, while Lucas and Can prepared to protect the midfield. Southampton arranged themselves across the opposite half, with Pellè occupying the central channel and Mané waiting on the left.
Van Dijk checked his position beside Fonte.
Mané glanced across at Azim.
Their eyes met briefly.
Azim smiled.
Mané returned the gesture before turning toward the ball.
There would be time to talk after the match.
Azim lowered his stance, balanced his weight over his feet, and fixed his attention on the space ahead. The tactical instructions were clear: move the defenders, press with purpose, and make every decision count.
He thought once more of his parents, the house he hoped to buy, and the future he wanted to build at Liverpool.
Then he let those thoughts go.
For the next ninety minutes, there was only football.
Marriner checked that both teams were ready.
Milner looked toward the centre circle, Van Dijk settled into his defensive stance, and Mané adjusted his position on the left.
Azim took one final breath.
The whistle sounded.
Liverpool against Southampton had begun.