Capítulo 445: Chasing Dreams, Finding Reality
Aldrich sat through the press conference, growing weary of the Fleet Street reporters showering him with praise. Some even compared Millwall's dominant victory over Galatasaray to Manchester United's loss on the same ground years ago.
Aldrich wasn't one to fall for such flattery. The Manchester United of six years ago couldn't be compared to today's team, and though he was confident Millwall could beat Galatasaray again, a four-goal margin was never guaranteed.
He believed Galatasaray's draw with AC Milan at San Siro had given their coach Terim false confidence. The second-half lineup shift was a crucial mistake, but Aldrich saw no reason to debate this with the reporters—it was pointless.
With two Champions League group-stage wins under their belt, Millwall was being touted as having already qualified, a notion Aldrich quickly dismissed with a stern rebuttal. True, if they kept up their form, qualification was likely, but Aldrich wanted his team to remain humble and focused. He emphasized that the upcoming third and fourth rounds—back-to-back clashes with AC Milan—would be the real deciders.
To drive this point home, he pointed out that AC Milan, having only one point from two games, would be desperate for a win. Millwall might be aiming for an easy qualification, but Milan certainly wouldn't make it easy.
In the same round, AC Milan had faced an unexpected defeat against Hertha Berlin in Germany.
As Aldrich boarded the team bus, he found himself confronted by an enthusiastic Henry, clutching the match ball. Having scored a hat-trick, he was elated, asking his teammates to sign the ball, complete with the match date, venue, and opponent.
Aldrich accepted the pen Henry handed him with a grin and signed the ball, adding "Head Coach" before his name.
After their victory, the players were in high spirits, though they quickly shifted away from discussing the match to more lighthearted topics. Once on the plane, most of them, drained from the day, chose to get some rest. Henry, still holding onto the soccer ball, drifted off to sleep with it in his arms.
He looked forward to the new season with hope and ambition. The first half of last season had been marred by injury, and while the second half was a solid start, it had been a transition—a time to adapt to Millwall's playing style and find his rhythm as a central striker. Now, with the season underway and the team's attack coming together beautifully, he knew it was time. He needed the mindset of a forward who would chase the accolades reserved for the very best.
But his ambition wouldn't turn him selfish on the field.
Millwall's football philosophy placed the team above all else. Every player, from defenders to strikers, was expected to create for the team, not just rely on midfielders to set up chances and forwards to finish. Creating chances was a collective effort. Larsson's unselfishness in passing up a clear shot to set up Henry was proof of their shared mentality. When it was Henry's turn to reciprocate, he would, without worrying about his own stats. And if his numbers fell short, he'd know it was a personal shortcoming, not a team failure.
Back in London, with October's chill settling in, Aldrich's days were tightly scheduled. He often spent three nights a week in Liverpool, where he rarely got a full night's rest—thanks to his two lively sons waking him at all hours. He didn't mind. Melanie had moved to London in late September to work on a new album with her bandmates, adding some stability to their family life.
Millwall's October schedule was relatively light, with the FIFA international break reducing the number of matches. The real challenge lay outside the league. They would face Galatasaray in Turkey's hostile stadium and then, later in the month, meet AC Milan. Aldrich had used the league matches to give his reserves a chance and allowed his starters some much-needed rest.
Millwall defeated Middlesbrough 3-1 and then Sunderland 3-0.
After twelve rounds, Millwall boasted an impressive new-season winning streak in the Premier League, with twelve consecutive wins. Including the four victories at the end of last season, they had achieved a remarkable 16-game winning streak in the league.
The Sunderland match offered little suspense. Millwall wrapped things up by the 70th minute, conserving their energy for the Champions League.
However, the headlines weren't just about the result. A photo of Aldrich chatting with Sunderland's star striker, Kevin Phillips, arm in arm after the game, took center stage.
Phillips, who had once played under Aldrich at Millwall, was now Sunderland's key to their Premier League return. Under Peter Reid's leadership, Phillips had risen to prominence. Though Sunderland had a slow start to the season, they'd recently hit their stride, with Phillips responsible for over half of the team's goals.
Aldrich's chat with Phillips had merely been a friendly reunion, a conversation between former mentor and pupil. Phillips occasionally reached out to Aldrich for career advice, a legacy of the solid foundation Aldrich had given him at Millwall. Phillips's position just behind Larsson and Henry on the scoring leaderboard spoke for itself.
Fleet Street, however, hinted that Aldrich was scheming to bring Phillips back to Millwall, a notion Aldrich promptly dismissed.
The chilly winds of October seemed to bring a nostalgic air, a time for looking back and reconnecting.
As Millwall's high-stakes match with AC Milan approached, Aldrich faced more questions about past players during the pre-match press conference.
"Do you regret selling Shevchenko?"
"Not at all. His dream was Milan. He's there now, living it. I wish him the best and hope he's happy. That's the whole story."
"If given the chance, would you bring Shevchenko back?"
"In any world, 'what if' doesn't exist."
"Who's stronger, Henry or Shevchenko?"
"I never compare players like that—it's pointless. A successful team has successful players, but a successful player isn't always right for every successful team."
"So you're implying Shevchenko no longer fits Millwall?"
"I didn't say that. But if you've followed Millwall, you'll see the difference between the team two years ago and now. Shevchenko was vital back then, just as Henry is now. Their skills are different, but both are important in their time. Shevchenko is doing well at Milan—I'm not sure why you're so keen on him leaving."
Aldrich was getting visibly irritated by the relentless questioning.
The reporters looked at each other, sharing a silent understanding.
Stirring up trouble was what they lived for, naturally.
How else would they find a story to write about?
"If Millwall wins this match, they would essentially be guaranteed a spot in the Round of 16, right?"
"I've said it before, there are no 'ifs.' Winning this match gives us nine points, and theoretically, we still might not qualify. Plus, I don't believe Millwall can take this match lightly; after all, we're up against AC Milan."
Aldrich was deeply troubled by the journalists' inquiries.
He couldn't appear to underestimate the opposition, but he also couldn't overstate AC Milan's strength. Striking a balance was proving to be quite the challenge.
The following evening, Aldrich spotted Shevchenko in the players' tunnel, and the two shared a friendly conversation.
Last season, Shevchenko helped AC Milan secure the league title, becoming a beloved figure at San Siro. However, the new season hadn't been stellar for AC Milan.
The Serie A season wouldn't start until late August, and with just 18 teams and 34 rounds, the schedule was more forgiving. While the Premier League had already played 12 matches, Serie A had only completed 6. AC Milan remained unbeaten in those six games, though they'd only managed two wins. Several high-scoring draws thrilled fans, but they also exposed AC Milan's defensive vulnerabilities.
After wrapping up his chat with Shevchenko, Aldrich gave him a friendly pat on the arm and walked away, leaving Shevchenko watching his back with a pang of melancholy.
In Shevchenko's memory, Aldrich had never shown any signs of disappointment or regret. Even when someone like him—a player who'd helped bring Millwall a Champions League title—decided to leave, Aldrich didn't repeatedly plead with him to stay. Their talks had been straightforward: Aldrich wanted him to stay; Shevchenko said no; end of story. And so Aldrich let him go.
It wasn't that Shevchenko was being discarded; it was the opposite—he was leaving Millwall, and leaving Aldrich, to chase a boyhood dream.
Yet neither Millwall nor Aldrich would ever take on the role of the abandoned. Shevchenko, once one of the team's brightest stars, realized that, in Aldrich's eyes now, he was just a friend, nothing more.
The past drifted away like smoke; Aldrich was never one to linger on it.
As Shevchenko stepped onto the pitch at Wembley clad in his AC Milan jersey, his heart skipped a beat.
It wasn't because the fans were welcoming him back; in fact, he received the same treatment as any other AC Milan player.
Gazing out at the stands, he saw no signs welcoming him, nor any expressing hatred; he felt like an unnoticeable presence, a stranger wandering into an unfamiliar space.
Perhaps he had forgotten what kind of people made up the crowd.
They were the sort who sang, "Nobody likes us, we don't care!"
Shevchenko, like many who had left before him, might have once stirred emotions among the fans—regret or resentment—but soon enough, they had moved on.
"If you're off to chase your dreams and wear that 'noble' jersey, then go!"
Their survival had never depended on others; those who stayed were brothers and family, while those who left became strangers, or even enemies.
This reflected the mindset of the Lions' supporters.
Should they feel grateful to Shevchenko?
Why should they?
To them, it wasn't Shevchenko who brought glory to Millwall; it was Millwall that made him!
Their gratitude lay with Aldrich and the players who stayed loyal, crafting the club's legacy. Even Butt, the goalkeeper, was held in higher esteem than Shevchenko, deserving their full-throated cheers!
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