Thirty minutes before kickoff at the Stadium of Light, Sunderland's assistant coach handed manager Ball the team sheet. As Ball scanned down to the forward line, his pupils constricted.
The name he'd spent an entire week preparing for, the one circled in red marker across every tactical board, marked as the primary defensive focus was nowhere to be found in the starting eleven.
"You're certain this is correct?" Ball held the paper closer to his face, scrutinizing every line. He checked the substitutes bench three times before finally accepting the truth: Julien's name sat firmly among the reserves.
Just yesterday at the pre-match press conference, when pressed about potential rotation of key players, Rodgers had smiled and shaken his head dismissively.
"Julien is our decisive player," he'd said with conviction. "Against a team like Sunderland, in an away fixture where we need the points, he'll be exactly where he needs to be."
Sunderland's manager Ball felt genuinely confused. Was this disrespect? Did Liverpool view them as mere relegation fodder, suitable opposition for resting first-team regulars?
Meanwhile, in the away section of the Stadium of Light, the Liverpool supporters began to stir with agitation. Fans checking the team news on their phones couldn't believe what they were seeing or rather, what they weren't seeing.
"Wait... where's Julien?" The first voice of confusion was like a stone thrown into still water, immediately creating ripples of disbelief throughout the section.
"That can't be right! Let me check again—Suárez, Sturridge, Sterling... he's really not there! What? Julien's not starting?"
Another fan frantically refreshed his phone screen, hoping the information would somehow change.
"The official app confirms it—Julien's on the bench. He's not in the starting lineup." A third fan's voice carried genuine bewilderment.
"But Rodgers literally said yesterday that he's our decisive player! How does he go from that to the bench? Don't tell me he picked up a training injury?" The uncertainty rippled through the crowd like a wave.
One fan wearing a Liverpool scarf stood frozen, frowning deeply. "I traveled two hours specifically to watch Julien play. How has he been rotated?"
Back in Liverpool, the Boot Room pub was experiencing similar shock. Because this was an away fixture, the pub had drawn several times its usual crowd—supporters packed every available space, with overflow filling the corridors between tables.
The conversations all centered on the same bewildering question.
"Julien's not starting? We're reading this correctly, yeah?" One patron squinted at the television screen as if better focus might change the lineup.
"It's obviously rotation, nothing to worry about. Julien has an injury history—remember his adductor problem at the Euros last year? That was a serious layoff. We need to manage his minutes carefully." An older fan tried to sound reassuring, though his tone showed he was convincing himself as much as anyone else.
"But Sunderland just changed managers! This is exactly when we should exploit their disorganization and grab the three points. Without Julien, who's going to break down their defensive block?"
Another fan countered, jabbing his finger at Suárez's name on the screen. "Yeah, Suárez is brilliant, but Julien's impact—that's not something you can just replace with anyone!"
The general sentiment remained skeptical about Sterling's ability to fill the void.
Someone else chimed in, attempting a more restrained perspective. "Three matches in six days—he played the full ninety in midweek against United and scored four goals. Shouldn't he rest? If we keep running him into the ground, that adductor issue will flare up properly, and we'll lose him for months!"
The debate in the pub intensified, voices were rising as fans wrestled with competing concerns—Julien's physical wellbeing versus the tactical necessity of having him on the pitch.
But underneath all the discussion ran a common thread of unease: Liverpool's starting eleven without Julien somehow felt incomplete, lacking the bedrock assurance they'd grown accustomed to.
As Liverpool fans processed their shock and formulated theories, Julien himself went through his warm-up routine with the squad. This at least provided some relief, he wasn't injured.
Shortly after, both teams emerged from the tunnel, freshly prepared and ready for battle. The match was moments away from kickoff.
Commentator Martin Tyler's voice carried unmistakable surprise as he addressed viewers. "Julien's name does not appear in the starting eleven—this is absolutely a change nobody predicted before kickoff! Since his debut in the Premier League, his consecutive superhuman performances had everyone assuming he'd continue leading the forward line. Yet here he sits on the substitutes' bench. This will have a big impact on the match"
Tyler continued his analysis, his tone was thoughtful.
"Sunderland's preparation would have centered almost entirely on nullifying Julien—double-teaming him in midfield when he drops deep, having fullbacks tuck in to prevent his runs in behind. But now Liverpool field Sturridge, Suárez, and Sterling.
While this combination certainly carries threat, it lacks that capacity to single-handedly tear apart defensive structures that Julien provides. Over the past five league matches, Julien has been Liverpool's absolute attacking fulcrum.
With him on the bench, Sunderland's defensive responsibilities have decreased by at least thirty percent. Manager Ball's pre-match tactical setup may need immediate adjustment from the opening whistle."
Tyler then pivoted to a topic dominating recent football discourse.
"Speaking of Julien, the media has been generating considerable excitement about this year's Ballon d'Or twenty-three-man shortlist, and almost every football pundit has him listed as a certainty to make the cut. This isn't baseless speculation, either. Despite playing in Ligue 1 without Champions League football, Julien's performances last season were genuinely extraordinary."
The commentator's voice took on an almost aweing tone as he recounted the statistics.
"In Ligue 1 alone, forty-six goals breaking the league's single-season scoring record plus twenty-five assists. Add in the Europa League with twenty-seven goals and eight assists, and across all competitions, Julien directly contributed to ninety-six goals in a single campaign.
Think about that—an average of one-point-five goals created per match he played. Then consider the World Cup qualifiers, where as the absolute focal point, he featured in seven matches, scoring fourteen goals with three assists, practically carrying France single-handedly into the World Cup finals. He secured the domestic treble—Ligue 1, French Super Cup, and Europa League."
Tyler acknowledged the counter-arguments before dismissing them.
"Now, granted, the Europa League doesn't carry the prestige of the Champions League, but achieving this caliber of output at just eighteen years of age is historically unprecedented.
Many observers say that without Champions League experience, making the Ballon d'Or shortlist would be achievement enough. I completely disagree. Purely on the merit of his past twelve months, his dominance has reached elite superstar levels.
Liverpool's willingness to pay eighty million euros to secure him, offering wages of three hundred thousand pounds per week that in itself represents the most compelling validation of his value."
The camera cut to Julien sitting among the substitutes as Tyler pressed his point home.
"Just examine his Premier League introduction—five league matches, one League Cup tie, totaling six appearances with fourteen goals and four assists. That's an average of three goals created per game! Julien has evolved far beyond being merely the pure striker we saw in his early Ligue 2 days.
He's now a complete playmaker—an exceptionally rare breed of winger who can pass, shoot, and dribble at the absolute highest level. In my assessment, he's not only certain to make the Ballon d'Or's twenty-three-man list, but a top-ten finish is entirely realistic.
If the voting panel properly weights his age as a factor, even top five isn't beyond reach. Just imagine—eighteen years old and finishing in the Ballon d'Or's top five. That would represent a truly seismic achievement in football history."
The broadcast returned to a lingering shot of Julien on the bench, and Tyler's tone became more restrained.
"Of course, the immediate priority remains this fixture. Manager Rodgers' decision to rest Julien likely stems from concerns about his previous adductor injury history, combined with the enormous physical toll of midweek's derby match.
There may be other tactical considerations at play as well. Regardless of the reasoning, as long as Julien remains available on that bench, Sunderland cannot afford to completely relax. After all, nobody wants to face a player who's spent sixty minutes sitting on the cold bench, desperate to make an impact when finally unleashed."
Within moments, the referee's whistle pierced the air.
The match was underway.
Cold wind carried Sunderland's home supporters' roars across the touchline as the match progressed. From Liverpool's technical area, Brendan Rodgers surveyed the pitch with calculating eyes.
Suárez prowled across the forward line, his movement patterns were following the "wide rotation with central link-up play" system they'd rehearsed repeatedly in training.
"Three matches in six days is too compressed. Against a relegation-threatened side, you can afford proper rest. The fixtures ahead will demand far more from you." That's what Rodgers had told Julien before the match, deliberately keeping his tone gentle and paternal.
But the reality troubled at him constantly.
He understood exactly what the media stories had spun: "Liverpool's victories depend entirely on Julien De Rocca," they wrote. "Rodgers is merely a manager whose career is being sustained by a generational talent."
Then there was David Dein's pointed commentary, adding to the growing pressure on his shoulders.
Without Julien, Liverpool lacked that singular point of rupture—the player who could tear defensive structures apart through individual brilliance alone. Yet paradoxically, only without Julien could Rodgers truly assess whether his tactical system functioned as designed.
Could Kanté's ball-winning translate into effective counter-attacks? Could Suárez dropping deep properly activate the wide players?
Could Sterling and Sturridge's interchanging movements create the necessary space and opportunities? These questions mattered more to Rodgers than the result itself.
Liverpool constructed their first meaningful attack. Henderson's pass was intercepted by a Sunderland defender. Rodgers' Adam's apple bobbed as he involuntarily stepped forward half a pace.
His mind flashed back to the aftermath of the Manchester United derby, when media coverage had been saturated with Julien's four-goal masterclass. Not a single outlet had mentioned his tactical adjustment of introducing Kanté.
He remembered training ground discussions among his coaching staff about "contingency plans if Julien gets injured," unable to mask the anxiety bleeding through their words.
He couldn't afford to remain forever branded as the manager who depended on Julien, just as Liverpool couldn't afford to rely perpetually on an eighteen-year-old prodigy.
This match needed to demonstrate that the system could function. He needed to prove to everyone that Liverpool's success stemmed not merely from Julien's extraordinary talent, but from his own tactical architecture and coaching acumen.
Another roar erupted from the home section as Sunderland launched a counter-attack. Rodgers pulled his coat collar tighter, suppressing those fleeting moments of self-doubt threatening to surface.
What he didn't realize was that across town, David Dein sat watching the television broadcast with his brow deeply furrowed.
Seeing Rodgers' image on screen, a troubling thought appeared in his mind: You've taken the wrong path.
The conversation David had initiated with Rodgers wasn't meant to suggest benching Julien—far from it. His intention had been to encourage Rodgers to maximize Julien's abilities more effectively, to stimulate the entire squad, to reduce the burden on their star player by making the team less dependent on him through collective improvement, not his absence.
Instead, Rodgers had interpreted it completely backwards, simply placing Julien on the substitutes' bench.
Minutes earlier, Sheikh Abdullah had called demanding an explanation. David had covered for Rodgers, citing rotation and injury management protocols.
Now, shaking his head in frustration, David recognized the fundamental disconnect. He and the Saudi ownership group had reached clear consensus on the club's direction, yet Rodgers seemed determined to operate in opposition.
A bitter comparison formed in David's mind: They'd have been better off poaching Bastia's manager.
The thought triggered a decisive moment. David immediately messaged his assistant: "Send me Jürgen's phone number."
The time had come for substantive change.
David's education through Arsenal's brutal ownership battles had stripped away any lingering sentimentality.
Was Rodgers a good manager? Perhaps. David honestly didn't know anymore. But what he did know with certainty was that he had no time left to allow Rodgers further opportunities to prove himself.
These opening fixtures of the season had already demonstrated Rodgers' limitations. If the current manager couldn't elevate the team's performance, then David would simply recruit someone who could.
When a club possessed a player of Julien's caliber, failure to aggressively strengthen the squad and maximize that window of opportunity meant one thing: Julien would eventually leave.
Even Bastia, after discovering Julien's potential, had understood enough to take on debt to reinforce their roster. Surely David a sophisticated football executive understood this fundamental principle.
Time continued to pass.
When the Stadium of Light's scoreboard clicked over to the thirtieth minute, the vocal support from Liverpool's away section had noticeably diminished. Not from lack of passion, but from the grinding frustration of watching their team's disjointed attacking patterns thoroughly drain enthusiasm from the stands.
The Reds maneuvered between Sunderland's defensive lines like actors searching for an exit that didn't exist, unable to string together even fluid three-pass sequences.
Left-back Enrique pushed forward to support the attack, but his cross failed to account for his teammates' positioning, the ball sailed uselessly toward the advertising hoardings. Suárez stretched desperately, arms extended, before finally slapping his thigh in exasperation.
This marked Liverpool's fifth attack in thirty minutes that had broken down through poor passing. The occasional moments of genuine threat came purely from individual brilliance rather than coordinated play.
In the seventeenth minute, Sturridge collected a long ball on the left flank, using raw pace to burn past his marker before driving into the penalty area. His shot was blocked by Sunderland's goalkeeper, who threw his body in the way at the near post.
The twenty-fifth minute saw Suárez receive the ball outside the box with two defenders draped across him. He somehow spun free and unleashed a powerful strike that kissed the outside of the right post before curling wide.
Suárez crouched with his head in his hands, seemingly baffled by the marginal difference between brilliance and frustration.
Sterling managed two promising dribbles cutting inside from the right, but each time he reached the penalty area's edge, Sunderland's defenders swarmed him in numbers. His resulting passes were hurried and imprecise—either intercepted immediately or directed to spaces where no Liverpool player had moved to receive.
Sterling's performance showed for Liverpool supporters exactly why he struggled to compete with Julien for the right-wing position.
The gulf in quality and decision-making was embarrassingly apparent.
On the touchline, Rodgers stood with arms folded across his chest, eyes locked on the midfield.
His meticulously designed pre-match tactical plan of "wide-central integration with possession-based progression" had completely failed to materialize.
The team had regressed to its old, predictable pattern: relying on individual forward brilliance to gamble on creating chances.
Sunderland, for their part, weren't faring much better.
Temporary manager Ball's defensive counter-attacking setup had successfully absorbed Liverpool's pressure, but offered absolutely nothing in attack. The home supporters' celebrations were limited to applauding successful defensive interventions—nobody genuinely believed the team could produce threatening offensive sequences.
Then, five minutes later, the Stadium of Light exploded with a tsunami of sound that seemed to physically lift the roof.
Sunderland's goal arrived without warning or buildup.
Midfielder Cattermole intercepted a lateral Liverpool pass and immediately surged forward. Before Kanté could close him down, Cattermole drove a low, perfectly weighted through-ball that sliced Liverpool's defensive line apart.
South Korean international Ki Sung-yueng latched onto the pass, bursting into the right side of the penalty area. Without hesitation, he pushed a first-time shot toward the near post.
Mignolet reacted superbly, getting a strong hand to the ball to parry it away but not far enough.
Giacherini appeared like a predator sensing blood, arriving from deep to meet the loose ball just outside the six-yard box. One touch to steer it past Mignolet's despairing dive, and the ball nestled against the inside of the post before crossing the line.
"GOAL! Sunderland take the lead, one-nil!" The stadium announcer's voice was drowned by the eruption from the home sections.
Sunderland fans detonated with joy.
They leaped from their seats with scarves creating colorful arcs through the air. Strangers embraced strangers, screaming themselves to hoarse.
Arms windmilled with wildness as the reality sank in—their caretaker manager's first match in charge, and they'd taken the lead against the league leaders!
Giacherini dropped to his knees on the turf, pounding the grass with both fists, his expression showed disbelief with euphoric celebration. Ki rushed over and hauled him up, the two men were embracing fiercely as teammates piled on.
Liverpool's players reacted with resigned frustration, several raising their hands in helpless gestures of "how did that happen?"
Steven as captain clapped his hands sharply and gave encouragement, trying to refocus his teammates' minds.
But the most dramatic reaction came from the touchline. Rodgers threw both hands wide in a gesture of exasperation, shouting at the pitch with agitation. Whether he was questioning the defenders' recovery runs or cursing the midfield's sloppiness that led to the turnover remained unclear—his frustration manifested as pure, undirected emotion.
The home supporters' celebration showed no signs of dwindling, voices were united in team songs that resounded around the ground.
After broadcasting Sunderland's goal celebration three times, the television director made an inevitable editorial choice: cutting to a prolonged five-second close-up of Julien sitting on Liverpool's bench.
The implication required no explanation.
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