The Liverpool fans felt utterly vindicated. This wasn't just a victory, it was a statement. After the disappointment against Sunderland, this demolition job against fellow relegation candidates felt like exorcising demons.
The football was flowing, the goals were raining down, and suddenly all was right in their world again.
In the closing stages, Brendan Rodgers began rotating in substitutes, giving fringe players some minutes and protecting key men ahead of the international break.
When Julien's number came up on the substitution board, the entire stadium rose in appreciation. The applause was thunderous, genuine, heartfelt with a standing ovation for the architect of their afternoon's entertainment.
When the final whistle sounded, the scoreboard told the story in plain numbers: Liverpool 4, Crystal Palace 0.
This complete victory did more than just wash away the stain of the previous week's draw. It demonstrated insistently that when Julien started and Liverpool found their rhythm, they were still capable of being the kind of team that made Anfield the fortress it was meant to be.
The Liverpool Echo wasted no time in publishing their match report.
"Anfield's 4-0 Demolition: De Rocca Shatters Liverpool's Weak-Team Curse"
Rather than simply recording Liverpool's victory over Crystal Palace, this match proved that Julien De Rocca has comprehensively shattered the Reds' notorious tendency to stumble against lesser opposition.
The previous weekend's draw against Sunderland had exposed the chaos that engulfs this Liverpool side when Julien is absent from the starting eleven. The attacking patterns became disjointed, the passing sequences lost their crispness, and the team simply had no answer to Sunderland's low defensive block.
But with Julien restored to the lineup, everything transformed. He functioned simultaneously as the creative hub orchestrating attacks and the lockpick capable of opening the tightest defensive doors.
He linked seamlessly with Gerrard's deep-lying distribution, using pinpoint through balls to connect midfield with attack. But crucially, he also provided the cutting inside runs and shooting threat that turned half-chances into clear opportunities, that transformed possession into penetration.
For Liverpool, Julien's value extends far beyond the simple metrics of goals and assists, important as those contributions are. His presence provides the team with an anchor point, a creative fulcrum that gives structure and purpose to their attacking play. He is, quite simply, their attacking charm—the difference between frustrated possession and decisive action.
Other media outlets quickly followed with their own analyses, and the consensus was unanimous: Julien had been the difference-maker.
The tactical breakdowns highlighted how he amplifies the team's strengths while compensating for their weaknesses.
With Julien on the pitch, Gerrard's deep-lying playmaking becomes exponentially more dangerous because there's an intelligent runner who can exploit the captain's vision. The analysis noted how Julien's movement drags defenders out of position, creating the spaces that Suárez and Sturridge thrive in.
Moreover, Julien had solved Liverpool's most persistent problem: their inability to break down packed defenses. His combination of precise passing and direct dribbling gave the Reds multiple ways to unlock stubborn opposition, turning what had been a glaring weakness into a weapon.
Post-match, Rodgers told reporters, "Julien gives us the confidence we need to challenge for the title. With him in the team, we can win the matches we're supposed to win, and we can find solutions when things get difficult. That's what separates good teams from great ones."
The Liverpool fans certainly weren't shy about sharing their elation across social media and fan forums. For the next fortnight at least, the fanbase would be riding high on this performance.
The timing couldn't have been better as immediately after this match came the international break, meaning the league table would freeze in its current state for two weeks.
And what a state it was.
The last night, while Liverpool were dismantling Palace, Arsenal had stumbled. Playing away at the Hawthorns, they'd been held to a 1-1 draw by West Bromwich Albion, dropping two crucial points in their title challenge.
The mathematics were beautifully simple. Arsenal sat on sixteen points from five wins, one draw, and one loss. Liverpool, meanwhile, had seventeen points from five wins and two draws.
For the first time this season, Liverpool topped the Premier League table. A single point separated them from Arsenal, but they were in first place nonetheless, and that's all that mattered.
However, for Julien and his international teammates, thoughts of league positions would have to wait. There were more immediate matters to attend to.
The following morning found Julien on a flight to Paris, heading to Clairefontaine, the spiritual home of French football, where countless legends had honed their craft before him.
Julien had barely walked through the doors of the national team training facility, with N'Golo Kanté in trail, when Olivier Giroud came bounding over, waving a bottle of mineral water like a trophy and waving enthusiastically.
"Julien! Finally caught up with you!" Giroud beamed, his smile was wide and genuine.
"After our match last night, I checked my phone and every single notification was about your 4-0 thrashing! Had to find the highlights immediately. That curling shot when you cut inside, and that through ball for Suárez—absolutely filthy! Shame we couldn't get the win ourselves."
Julien grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Come on, you picked up a point away from home. That's not a disaster. We drew with Sunderland the week before, remember?"
"True enough," Giroud sighed dramatically, "but one point isn't exactly ideal, is it? Think about it—Arsenal were top of the table before last night. We draw with West Brom, you lot hammer Palace, and suddenly you've leapfrogged us by a point. It's bloody annoying!"
Raphaël Varane had arrived shortly before Julien and was already changed into his training kit. He wandered over with a knowing smile, greeting everyone with fist bumps before adding his thoughts.
"I've been following the Premier League coverage, Julien. You're something else, mate. Genuinely. Your importance to Liverpool is off the charts—when you don't start, they draw with relegation fodder. You come back in, and you absolutely dismantle them. The English media are calling you Liverpool's beating heart, and honestly, they're not wrong."
Giroud nodded insistently, his expression showed admiration with envy. "No question about it. If Arsenal had someone like you dictating play in the final third, we'd have won last night instead of drawing. Probably wouldn't have dropped below you in the table either."
Before Julien could respond with his customary modesty, Varane jumped back in with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Still worried about the league table, Olivier? If Arsenal had Julien, you wouldn't just be winning matches, you'd be walking to the title! Haha!"
Giroud threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoed through the facility's corridor. Even Kanté, usually reserved and quiet, couldn't suppress a shy smile at the banter.
Then Varane's tone shifted, becoming more playful but with an undercurrent of genuine intent. "Actually, Julien, forget about Liverpool. Come to Madrid! Next time we face Barcelona in El Clásico, you could tear them apart, and La Liga would be ours for the taking. What do you say?"
Julien shook his head with a generous smile, pointing at Varane in mock accusation. "Setting aside the small matter of my contract with Liverpool, I haven't won anything there yet. How could I just walk away? Besides, Real Madrid's attacking options are already ridiculous. I'd probably end up on the bench half the time."
"That's just modesty talking!" Varane protested. "With your ability, you'd walk straight into Madrid's starting eleven. I've spoken with Ancelotti about players like you—he loves creative forwards who can unlock defenses.
You fit that profile perfectly. And think about it: you're our captain for France. If you moved to Madrid, we could work on our national team combinations during club training. The synergy would be incredible."
Giroud interjected; he was unable to resist anymore.
"Raphaël, your poaching attempt couldn't be more obvious if you tried! Julien's the heartbeat of Liverpool's title challenge. You can't just sweet-talk him into abandoning ship. Though I'll admit," he added with a knowing look at Julien, "after last night's win, Liverpool's championship credentials look even stronger than before."
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Franck Ribéry, who spotted the gathering and made his way over with characteristic energy, greeting everyone warmly.
His interaction with Julien was particularly lively; slapping him on the back and launching into effusive praise about how he was "tearing the Premier League apart" and "showing those English defenders what real football looks like."
Giroud saw straight through his enthusiasm and called him out immediately.
"Haha! Franck, the flattery's laying on a bit thick, mate. You just want Julien's vote for the Ballon d'Or, don't you? Don't worry—he'll vote for you!"
Julien laughed and nodded. "Absolutely, Franck. As far as I'm concerned, this year's Ballon d'Or has your name written all over it."
And Julien genuinely believed it. Whatever happened with the actual voting—well, that was beyond his control.
This season, with no major international tournament to dominate the narrative, world football had belonged to Jupp Heynckes and Franck Ribéry's Bayern Munich.
They'd been an unstoppable force, their success was unprecedented.
The treble of Champions League, Bundesliga, and DFB-Pokal. Add the UEFA Super Cup and the upcoming Club World Cup, and Bayern were looking at a potential quintuple, it was a clean sweep of every possible trophy, something no German club had ever achieved.
Ribéry's personal statistics backed up the team success: twenty-three goals and twenty-three assists across all competitions.
His main competition came from the usual suspects.
Lionel Messi, going for an unprecedented fifth consecutive Ballon d'Or, had been hampered by injuries that kept him out for over two months, missing twelve matches during a crucial period.
Barcelona themselves had endured a turbulent season, with manager Tito Vilanova's cancer diagnosis throwing the club into chaos. Messi had featured in only forty-seven matches total, and his trophy cabinet for the year contained just La Liga and the Spanish Super Cup.
Still, his numbers remained phenomenal: forty-five goals and eighteen assists. Even a weakened Messi was world-class.
As for Cristiano Ronaldo, his individual statistics were typically eye-watering: sixty-nine goals and fifteen assists. But silverware? Nothing. Real Madrid had finished the season empty-handed, failing in La Liga, the Copa del Rey, the Champions League, and the Super Cup.
Portugal hadn't fared any better at international level.
Following the normal trajectory of these awards in present timeline without considering the future controversies, the Ballon d'Or surely belonged to Ribéry this year. Messi and Ronaldo might have the goals, but neither could match his combination of individual brilliance and collective achievement.
Team honours had to count for something.
That's why Julien felt confident in pledging his vote. As national team captains and managers, they all had voting rights in the process.
When Ribéry heard Julien's declaration of support, his face split into a massive grin in the kind of smile that would terrify small children but came from genuine happiness.
"Ha! Well, I appreciate the confidence, but nothing's certain until they actually announce it, you know?"
Despite his words, internally Ribéry was already imagining the weight of that golden ball in his hands, picturing himself on stage in Zürich, finally getting the individual recognition to match his team's dominance.
Giroud chimed in with enthusiasm. "With your numbers and Bayern's season? Who could possibly beat you? It's yours, Franck. No doubt about it."
Varane joined the chorus of support, though his comment took a different angle. "French football is genuinely back on top, isn't it? Franck winning the Ballon d'Or, Julien's performances guaranteeing him a spot on the shortlist—some media outlets are even suggesting Julien could crack the top ten. The future looks incredibly bright."
Julien listened to the speculation with an internal sigh, careful to keep his expression blank. Because he knew something they didn't.
He knew that FIFA would do the unthinkable: extend the voting deadline.
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