"We were sitting pretty at the top of the table, and what do we do? Hand over a draw to a relegation-battling side! Arsenal have strung together five straight wins and they're breathing down our necks, and we go and bottle it against the weak teams. Same old story, same old fragility!
You can't expect an 18-year-old kid to bail us out every single time, can you?
Julien is being run into the ground! He's becoming an iron man out there!
He'd just played the full ninety in the Merseyside derby three days ago, barely got a breather, and today he comes off the bench to score and drag the team to a point. Without him, we'd have taken nothing at all.
Can't Rodgers figure out a way to get the other players stepping up?
Keep grinding Julien down like this and he'll break eventually!"
The frustration in the forums and on social media was obvious. Some fans were already calling for Rodgers' head.
"Rodgers needs to get out! If you can't handle the job, have the dignity to resign instead of squatting in that position and wasting everyone's time!
What was that shambles of a tactical setup against Sunderland?
Stop destroying Liverpool!
You call that manager quality?
Steven's got how many years left? His last few seasons and he wants to win something, but instead he's stuck with you, burning through what little he has left in the tank!
And Julien is eighteen nearly nineteen! This is supposed to be his golden development period, but under you he's just a firefighter, constantly putting out your tactical disasters. Keep this up and you'll ruin the kid's career!"
The underlying current in all the rage was the same bitter realization. This season, Liverpool clearly had better quality across the squad. The team had improved, genuinely improved. But without Julien on the pitch, they still looked completely toothless. That reality troubled at the fanbase.
They wanted the league title. God, how they wanted it.
In the entire Premier League era, Liverpool had never won the championship. No matter how many times they'd beaten United, the United fans always had that one devastating comeback ready: "How many Premier League titles have you won?"
Could they stomach that anymore? Of course they couldn't.
And here was the deeper issue, the structural problem that really ate at them. Genuine title contenders don't fall apart when one player sits out. That's not how it works at the top level.
Elite players should raise the ceiling, push the boundaries of what a team can achieve. They shouldn't be desperately needed just to maintain the floor, to prevent collapse against relegation fodder.
Needing one player to prevent the bottom falling out? That wasn't the profile of a championship side. How could the fans not be furious?
At the post-match press conference, Rodgers' brow remained furrowed as he fetched questions from the gathered journalists. His answers came meticulously, one after another.
Regarding Sunderland as opponents, he answered, "They defended with tremendous resolve tonight. Their defensive shape was extremely solid, leaving us very little space to work with. That made the first half particularly difficult for us."
Asked about the attacking struggles before the break, he didn't dodge: "We definitely couldn't find our rhythm in the first half. The connections in the final third weren't smooth enough. Suárez and Sterling's movements didn't manage to unpick their defensive line, and our crossing lacked precision. These are areas we need to review. Against massed defenses, we need more variety in our attacking approach. We can't rely solely on central penetration."
When a reporter pressed him on why he'd waited until the second half to bring Julien on, Rodgers paused briefly before responding.
"I know everyone is eager to see Julien on the pitch, but we have to acknowledge something. Asking an 18-year-old to play two matches in the space of three days that would be criminal. He needs rest.
Julien is an exceptional talent. His ability is there for everyone to see. But the team can't simply dump all the pressure on an 18-year-old from the opening whistle.
I wanted to give the other players a chance to find their combinations, to build their rhythm together. Unfortunately, we weren't able to achieve that in the first half."
Speaking about Julien's late equalizer, Rodgers' tone warmed slightly. "Julien's performance was magnificent. The composure and technique he shows on the pitch far exceeds his age. That's his value to us. He always manages to bring change when the team needs it most."
On the subject of surrendering top spot, Rodgers appeared remarkably calm, "We're only six rounds into the season. It's far too early to be obsessing over league position. Arsenal played very well this weekend. They deserve to be where they are. We need to learn from this draw.
We had the capability to win this match, but we didn't execute the details well enough. Our attacking efficiency in the first half, our containment of their counter-attacks—these are the things we need to improve going forward."
One journalist raised the issue of over-reliance on Julien. Rodgers immediately pushed back. "I don't deny Julien's importance to the squad, but 'reliance' isn't the right word. It's 'need.' We need Julien the same way Arsenal need Ramsey or United need Rooney.
We'll work hard to change this, to make our attacking system more balanced, to get other players carrying more responsibility. We need everyone involved, not just one individual."
When Rodgers' comments swept through to the supporters, the reaction was scathing. They weren't buying a word of it.
Rodgers was deflecting, sidestepping his own responsibility. Reading between the lines, he didn't even seem to think drawing with a relegation-threatened side was particularly problematic.
"Still banging on about Sunderland's resolute defense? They're fighting relegation!
We were dreadful, and you're blaming the opposition?
If Julien hadn't scored that free-kick, we'd have lost 1-0 today!
Absolutely shameless!
We've just dropped points against a relegation side, lost top spot, and you won't even admit your tactics were wrong. The whole press conference was empty platitudes. 'Need to review,' 'details weren't good enough'—so basically Rodgers bears zero responsibility, is that it?"
"Six rounds in is too early to talk about the title race?
Absolute bollocks!
We drew against bloody Sunderland!
Not Manchester City or Chelsea!
Without Julien, we'd have lost today!
That point?
Julien earned it, it has nothing to do with you!
And you just dance around the issue, won't even say 'this was my fault.' How's a manager like that supposed to lead a title challenge?"
The media, never ones to miss an opportunity, gleefully piled on.
In England, nobody applies pressure quite like the press and the supporters. It doesn't matter if it's the clubs or even the national team, the scrutiny is relentless and unforgiving.
Just look at what happened to Beckham years ago. The abuse, the venom. If it hadn't been for that redemptive free-kick curling into the top corner, who knows how his story might have ended.
The Daily Mail waded in with bluntness, "For a Liverpool side with title ambitions, drawing against relegation-threatened Sunderland is tantamount to a defeat.
Rodgers insisted after the match that the season is still young, but he dodged the central question: why does this team have absolutely no solutions against compressed defenses unless Julien comes on?
With Arsenal on a five-match winning streak, the Reds have surrendered top spot. More worryingly, they've yet to find any attacking coherence when Julien isn't on the pitch. That is categorically not the profile of a championship contender."
Sky Sports were equally unimpressed, "Liverpool didn't just look like a mid-table side tonight—they've looked that way for several weeks now. It's simply that Julien's excellence has papered over most of the cracks.
In this match, crossing accuracy sat below thirty percent. Central penetration was repeatedly shut down. The forward players showed almost no understanding of each other's movement.
Once Julien came on, the team finally had a point of breakthrough. He basically willed Liverpool to a point through individual quality alone.
Rodgers' tactical adjustments were painfully slow. His conservative use of Julien bordered on negligent. This draw sits directly on the manager's decision-making."
Even some Liverpool legends weighed in with their assessments, though mercifully, the club's former players hadn't quite reached the levels of absurd commentary that would later define certain Manchester United pundits in the years to come.
Most of the old guard simply wanted stability. The past few years had been brutal for Liverpool. Four consecutive seasons hovering between sixth and eighth in the Premier League. They couldn't even qualify for European competition anymore.
This season, finally, there was hope. As club legends, the last thing they wanted was chaos, particularly with new ownership still finding its feet.
Stability trumped everything. Everyone understood that. But sometimes, stability was just another word for slow decline.
As for the fans, the debate raged on deep into the night. Fans, after all, are the most emotionally volatile group in football's ecosystem.
The next day, Liverpool's players reported for training as usual.
The morning dew at Melwood hadn't fully evaporated yet. The sky hung grey and heavy overhead, it was hardly ideal weather, but this was England. Proper sunshine was the rarity here, not the gloom.
Training had just wrapped up when Gerrard tugged at his sweat-soaked training top and walked toward the sideline. He spotted Julien sitting on a bench, twisting the cap off a water bottle.
Gerrard dropped down beside him and tossed over his towel. "I just saw you going toe-to-toe with Henderson on those shuttle runs. Not knackered?"
Julien caught the towel, wiped his forehead, and smiled as he passed back half a bottle of water. "I'm alright. Good to push the fitness a bit. The intensity in the Premier League is way higher than Ligue 2."
Gerrard took a swig, went quiet for a moment, then got to the point. "You didn't start last night. Did that bother you?"
He studied Julien's profile, watching for any hidden frustration. Gerrard had been that age once. He understood the fire, the hunger. When he was young and in form, he'd wanted to start every single match, wanted to show everyone what he could do, every chance he got.
And Julien had been explosive this season. It would be perfectly natural for him to resent being dropped.
But Julien genuinely seemed unbothered. "Nah, I'm good. The manager sets the team, I play when he puts me on. When I get my chance, I do my job. Nothing to be upset about."
He glanced up at Gerrard, saw the captain still frowning, and added, "Besides, we got the equalizer in the end, didn't we? Result wasn't terrible."
Gerrard's face softened into a slight smile. He nodded. "True enough. We're only one point behind Arsenal at the top. People have been saying for years that we're bottlers, but if the main competition is Arsenal, well... maybe we don't need to worry too much."
Julien grinned knowingly.
Gerrard's eyes drifted toward the coaching staff in the distance. He lowered his voice a fraction. "Still, no matter how much the opposition slip up, we've got to take care of our own business. Sometimes a team needs a bit of change to keep moving forward. Getting stuck on the same old path... that's not going to work."
Julien caught the implication in those words but didn't take the bait on "change." Some things didn't need him to say or do anything. Others would handle it when the time came.
Instead, Julien suddenly pointed at Gerrard's boots and laughed. "Captain, what's going on with your laces? During that shuttle run earlier, one came completely undone and you nearly stacked it. Henderson was behind you trying so hard not to laugh he was almost in tears!"
He wobbled his body slightly, mimicking Gerrard's near-stumble.
Gerrard blinked, looked down at the laces hanging loose around his ankle, and started laughing too. "The pitch was soaking this morning, wasn't it? Didn't notice when I arrived. Hit that sharp turn and my boot just slid straight out."
He circled back to the topic. "But seriously, back when I was your age, if I'd been left out of the starting eleven, I'd have spent all morning trying to read the manager's mind."
Julien tossed the towel back at Gerrard. "And would all that thinking have stopped the grass from being slippery?"
He looked up and winked.
"Oi, cheeky little sod!" Gerrard laughed, his tone was considerably lighter now. "That's good, though. Taking the piss out of me means you're not wound up about it. You've got better composure than I did at eighteen, I'll give you that."
The coaching staff were already waving everyone back, signaling the next training session was about to begin.
Julien stood up and deliberately stepped on a patch of wet grass near Gerrard, splashing up a few droplets. "Tell you what, Captain—next time you slip in a match, I'm saving the footage. When you retire, I'll make a compilation. 'Steven Gerrard's Greatest Slips.' Bet the fans would love it."
"You wouldn't dare!" Gerrard made a playful swipe at the back of Julien's head, but pulled it into a shoulder pat at the last second. "Alright, come on then. Back to work. Haha."
On the damp grass, their shadows stretched out together.
The laughter mixed with distant shouts from their teammates, and whatever lingering tension from yesterday's match dissolved into the Melwood breeze, scattered by Julien's teasing about slipping.
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