The Rise of Millwal

Chapter 98: The True Soul

Cup matches or league games during the week are always held in the evening because fans work during the day. When Aldrich arrived at Grimsby Club, the night was already dark, and the lively Brendel Park stadium was buzzing with excitement.

Aldrich could feel the electric atmosphere even outside the club.

This isn't a good sign!

The home team's fans are so enthusiastic, which clearly indicates that the home side is performing well.

Without a ticket, Aldrich couldn't enter through the stadium gates. He approached the entrance of the club and argued with the guard for a while.

"I'm the head coach of Millwall. I'm late, and I need to get in now!"

"Sir, could you show me some identification?"

The guard was a young rookie who probably didn't keep up with the news and didn't recognize Aldrich.

"Hey, Jerry, let him in. He really is the head coach of Millwall; he was here last season."

Some of the club staff recognized Aldrich, but their attitude wasn't very welcoming. After all, last season in League One, Millwall had beaten Grimsby 3-0 away.

Aldrich was allowed in, and the staff member who spoke up said blandly, "Mr. Hall, I'm afraid Millwall won't be leaving here happy today."

Aldrich ignored him and, having been here before, walked straight down the player's tunnel, glancing at the scoreboard when he reached the pitch.

2:0

International convention has the home team first and the away team second.

The clock showed the first half: 44:12, 44:13...

What the hell is going on?

Millwall is two goals down?

Aldrich scanned the field, counting the players. There were 22 on the pitch, but Grimsby was missing 12 players; Millwall hadn't lost any. Moreover, besides Solskj?r and Richards, all the Millwall players were starters. How could they be behind?

He looked over at the away team's bench, where Jensen stood with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. He appeared calm, but there was a look of helplessness on his face.

The whistle signaling the end of the first half blew, and Aldrich vanished from sight.

As the players left the field, Grimsby's players appeared jubilant, while Millwall's players trudged off with their heads down, as if they'd lost their souls.

They had a nagging feeling that something wasn't right about the game today, sensing they were missing something essential.

Once the players were in the dressing room, Jensen was the last to enter, pondering how to adjust at halftime. Tactics? The tactics were fine—Millwall was pressing, Grimsby was playing counter-attack. For most of the first half, Millwall had stifled their opponents. But what went wrong to leave them two goals behind?

He wanted to replicate Aldrich's method of inspiring the players with passion, but had already tried it before the match. The players just stared blankly, more like an audience watching a show.

Just then, he heard someone calling him.

"Jensen, Jensen!"

He turned to see Aldrich waving to him from around the corner, looking rather sneakily, almost like a thief.

Jensen hurried up and said breathlessly, "What brings you here? Since you're here, move quickly to the dressing room! The situation isn't good at all!"

Aldrich pulled him aside, and as they turned the corner, he took out a cigarette. They both lit up, and after Aldrich exhaled some smoke, he quietly asked, "So, how was the first half?"

"We had the upper hand. Grimsby was determined to defend and counter. They took the lead with a corner, and we had a penalty that Larson missed, hitting the post. We kept pressing, but they caught us on the break again. Many League One teams are mimicking our strategy from last season, playing solid defense against stronger teams and leaving one or two fast players up front for quick breaks."

"That's not copying us; that's just the trend. Our counters rely on collective speed, not individual prowess."

"Come on, it's not the time for detached commentary. What are we going to do about being two goals down?"

Aldrich checked his watch. Once he finished the cigarette, he straightened his somewhat rumpled suit and calmly walked toward the dressing room.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense and oppressive. No one spoke; after cleaning their kits and shoes, they sat with their eyes closed, as if no one cared about Jensen's absence.

Today's captain was Nedved, who rarely spoke in the dressing room. He preferred to motivate his teammates with actions on the pitch, but he was quiet when it came to rallying words. That's why Aldrich entrusted the first captaincy to Southgate.

When Aldrich entered, the players still had their heads down.

"Hey, long time no see. I've been dealing with personal matters, so I haven't been around. For that, I apologize to all of you."

As Aldrich spoke, all the players looked up at him with looks of disbelief, their dull eyes gradually lighting up.

Aldrich ignored their expressions and continued, "I watched the first half from the stands. You performed decently. But I understand you might be fatigued, especially after our match against Liverpool four days ago, and the upcoming challenge against the defending champions, Blackburn. Let's put it this way: this weekend I'll give you a break. But it seems you're eager to end the match early. That's fine; I understand. It's just a League Cup match after all—don't stress, losing is losing."

The players stared blankly at Aldrich, bewildered by his words.

The boss is surrendering?

And he's telling us it's okay to give up?

Aldrich shrugged and said, "I went to talk to the referee earlier. I asked him to allow Millwall to substitute all 11 players at halftime. Of course, we don't have enough substitutes, but adding the coaching staff makes it work. Unfortunately, the referee wouldn't allow it. So, I need to consider substituting three of you. Is anyone willing to voluntarily sit out the second half?"

Silence filled the dressing room.

The players were all extremely nervous.

"Alright, since none of you stepped up to volunteer, I'll make the decision. I need some time to think it over. Once I've made my choice from the stands, Jensen will substitute three of you. Don't worry, this isn't aimed at anyone. I'm satisfied with your performances; it's just that the opponent is Grimsby, and none of you seem too enthusiastic about it, right?"

Aldrich opened the dressing room door and walked out.

The players exchanged nervous glances, swallowing hard. They all understood that Aldrich was already angry.

Currently, Millwall's first team had over half its players who once went unnoticed. Aldrich had given them opportunities and high salaries, lifting them into the public eye in England. In their eyes, Aldrich was undoubtedly a mentor.

Somehow, his praises or criticisms directly influenced the players' moods and mental state.

But without him directing the match, the players felt an entirely different energy.

Now that Aldrich was back, their hearts settled.

In the second half, as the players returned to the field, Aldrich appeared again at the tunnel exit, casually leaning against the wall, watching the game with a relaxed demeanor.

Cameras quickly caught his presence, and commentators began to tease Aldrich.

To Aldrich's surprise, one of the Grimsby staff members, a slightly chubby young man, approached him excitedly, asking, "You're Mr. Hall, right? Can I have your autograph? You're incredible! Becoming head coach before turning twenty and doing so well! I've watched all the matches against Manchester United, Arsenal, and Liverpool. They were breathtaking, the best matches I've seen!"

He rambled on, and Aldrich patiently listened to his admiration, eventually signing for him and taking a photo. He also asked the young man to bring him a glass of water, having gone hours from the plane to here without a drop.

As he held the cup to drink, Brendel Park Stadium suddenly sank into a moment of quiet.

Aldrich looked up to see Solskj?r running to the center circle with the ball—he had just scored.

"Hey, Millwall is amazing; they scored!"

The staff member beside Aldrich watched the goal, looking even more excited than Aldrich.

It wasn't surprising; people working at football clubs weren't always fans of those clubs. Liverpool had loyal staff for over twenty years who supported Everton.

Millwall's second-half tactics didn't change; they played similarly to the first half, but now they were more dominant. Grimsby sat back, but their individual abilities couldn't withstand Millwall's relentless assault.

In just twenty minutes into the second half, Millwall equalized. Schneider's free-kick deflected off a defender and slipped into the net— some luck, but luck is also part of skill.

By the 87th minute, Grimsby, still clinging to a defensive stance, faced a heavy blow.

Stam headed in from a corner—Millwall had turned the tables to lead 3:2 against Grimsby, scoring just one more than their opponents.

Aldrich had lied; he hadn't substituted anyone.

After the match, Jensen pondered Aldrich's figure as he turned toward the dressing room exit, smiling ruefully to himself. You always say the team's spirit lies with Nedved, but you are the true soul of this team!

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