章 451: A Masterclass in Counterattacks
"Hello everyone! The spotlight match of Premier League Round 13, Leeds United vs. Millwall, is about to kick off. This game promises to be a showcase of youth—both teams' starting lineups feature only one player over 30, with the oldest being 30-year-old Radebe. Leeds United sits third in the league, trailing the reigning Premier League champions Millwall by ten points. They're eager to close that gap and reclaim second place in the standings with a win at home. No doubt, this is exactly the outcome that Manchester United, their fierce rivals, are hoping for as well. Both Manchester United and Arsenal will be following this match closely. Arsenal, after suffering a severe defeat to Millwall in the first half of the season, surely wouldn't mind seeing their rival face a similar fate. Manchester United, meanwhile, would prefer the gap with Millwall to remain within single digits as they await their own showdown..."
Today's "blue versus white" clash on the field brings a refreshing vibe. The players look confident and energetic; it feels like a storm of youth is brewing on the pitch.
Leeds United lines up in a 4-5-1 formation, or perhaps more accurately, a 4-3-3.
Goalkeeper: Martin.
Defenders: Kelly, Ferdinand, Radebe, and Harte.
Midfielders: Bowyer, Bresciano, Cahill, Duff, and Kewell.
Forward: Smith.
Standing on the sideline, Aldrich's gaze sweeps over the Leeds players, and his confidence in his team's chances grows.
Why?
Because, to Aldrich, the lineup Leeds has put out signals one thing: arrogance.
The backline features two fullbacks—Harte and Kelly—known for their attacking prowess. Both were forwards early in their careers and have even played as wingers. While they bring strong offensive abilities, the question remains: who will defend?
In the midfield, there's Bresciano, Bowyer, and Cahill. Cahill will likely play as an attacking midfielder, filling in as a shadow striker to support Smith. But there isn't a single defensive midfielder to shield the backline!
In the first 12 rounds of the season, Leeds United has been tearing through opponents with an unstoppable offensive streak, leaving many stunned. Perhaps their high league position and unexpected success have gone to manager O'Leary's head.
He seems to have forgotten how last season's win and draw against Millwall were achieved—not through aggressive offense, but with rock-solid counterattacks.
As the game begins, Leeds charges forward, pressing Millwall hard and maintaining the momentum for the first five minutes. In those five minutes alone, they fire off six shots!
The Leeds fans in the stands cheer excitedly, thrilled to see the game flow exactly as they'd hoped.
"Go, Leeds United! Show them what our beloved White Rose can do!"
O'Leary feels a bit frustrated that none of the six shots even hit the target, but he's reassured by the fact that they're creating chances, confident that his team holds the upper hand. He glances over to where Aldrich stands nearby, noticing the Millwall manager's calm demeanor and hands clasped behind his back, showing no sign of concern.
Should Aldrich be worried?
Of course not. Playing away means giving his team time to settle into the match. Besides, starting cautiously was their pre-game strategy—the exact opposite of the early blitz they used against AC Milan.
Aldrich was actually quite pleased.
Without giving Leeds a few nibbles, how else would they reveal their weaknesses?
In the 7th minute, Kelly, Leeds' forward-turned-defender, pushes up the field and tries to dribble past Zambrotta, only to be cleanly dispossessed.
With the Leeds defense stretched thin, only three players remain in their own half: two center-backs and the goalkeeper.
Zambrotta wastes no time, sending a direct pass upfield to Ronaldinho.
As soon as Ronaldinho gets the ball, the dynamics on the field change completely.
Gronkjaer's speed is electrifying when he runs with the ball, almost as if the whole stadium is shifting backward. But when Ronaldinho takes control, it feels like the game has turned into a track meet.
Millwall's blue-clad players are visibly faster than the white-clad Leeds players.
Nedved, Henry, Larsson, and Ronaldinho surge forward like a lightning bolt. The Leeds fans grow tense as they see the full scope of Millwall's counterattack. With Ronaldinho sprinting down the wing, Millwall's central and right players are accelerating at an astonishing pace. The Leeds defenders, struggling to catch up, look hopelessly slow in comparison.
Aldrich flashed a toothy grin on the sidelines, as if baring a set of bloodthirsty fangs.
So, Leeds United has dropped the defensive play?
A footrace to the goal—do any of you even match the speed of my players?
Millwall's counterattack pounced forward, swift and fierce, like a lion charging across the open savanna.
Ferdinand and Radebe backpedal furiously, yet they can barely keep up with Ronaldinho's dribbling speed.
From the flank, just ten yards outside the penalty box, Ronaldinho threaded a precise ball behind Ferdinand. Ferdinand pivoted but only saw Henry's back moving away from him. He reached out, but Henry's shirt was out of reach, so he raised his hand, signaling for an offside.
Henry's first touch set up a pass—a cutback to the top of the box. Nedvěd charged in to meet it, and just as Radebe lunged forward, Nedvěd sent it through to the right side. Larsson arrived at full speed—one-on-one with the keeper!
Facing the keeper, Larsson quickly glances at Ferdinand's position before passing the ball out to the left, then moves back to avoid the offside trap.
Martin, who had shifted to cover Larsson, is now out of position. With a quick tap, Ronaldinho takes the shot from the edge of the box, curling the ball into the near side of the net. Martin doesn't even move—he's too far to make a save unless he can fly.
"Millwall tears through with a crushing counterattack! Ronaldinho opens the scoring, and Leeds United's aggressive play has cost them dearly!"
Elland Road falls into silence.
And Leeds' official ticket policy today has been shameless. They allocated fewer than two thousand seats to Millwall fans!
They've grown cocky. Back in the day, they couldn't even sell out home games, so they'd allocate as many tickets as the away fans needed. But now, to create the ideal home atmosphere, they're stingy with tickets for strong opponents.
The diehard Lions fans who've made it to the stadium hardly celebrate. To them, this is just business as usual.
Brady stood in the stands, proudly wearing his Millwall jersey, arms crossed and smiling. Beside him was Sol, a photojournalist, holding a high-powered camera. Brady noticed Sol pointing the lens towards the stands and asked curiously, "What are you up to?"
Sol lowered the camera with a grin. "Capturing the Leeds fans' reactions. It's quite amusing."
"Haha, yes, definitely get that on film. Make sure to show me when they're developed!"
"Of course."
The Lions fans held Leeds United in complete disregard.
Challenge us?
Are you even worthy?
Despite the media hyping up this clash as monumental, Millwall fans couldn't care less. If Leeds United could rattle them, the championships Millwall had claimed over the years would be all the more nerve-wracking!
O'Leary was visibly dissatisfied with his team conceding first and urged them to settle down.
After the restart, Leeds played more conservatively, while Millwall's players stayed calm, well-accustomed to leading and knowing precisely how to maintain it.
Ten minutes later, Leeds began to push forward again. Just past midfield, Makelele intercepted Cahill's pass. Glancing around, he saw that Pirlo was being tightly marked by Bresciano, the wide players were covered, Nedvěd was dropping back, closely followed by Bowyer.
Seeing the setup, Makelele felt a surge of adrenaline.
I can carry the ball too, can't I?
And so, a bizarre sight unfolded.
Makelele charged forward with the ball from his own half all the way to the attacking third, bypassing Leeds' midfield defense without a single challenge!
O'Leary glared furiously from the sidelines.
For fuck's sake!
The defensive instructions had emphasized tightly marking Pirlo, Nedvěd, and the forward trio.
But Makelele? Breaking convention? What the hell was he thinking, charging forward as a pure defensive midfielder? Was he not afraid of a turnover and counterattack?
It seemed a perfect corridor had opened for Makelele, as Millwall's players used the field's width to maximum effect.
Ronaldinho and Larsson stretched the flanks, with the fullbacks following suit, Nedvěd pulled defenders outward to create space, and Pirlo's run drew two midfielders away. Cahill and Kewell noticed Makelele's advance too late to catch up!
Makelele carried the ball unchallenged to the edge of the box. And now? What to do?
The Leeds players still hadn't adjusted, leaving Makelele unchecked.
Makelele didn't hesitate. Forget threading a perfect pass or dribbling forward—he made up his mind to take a chance himself.
"Trust yourself! Power over precision!"
With no defender in his way, he had time and space to adjust his shot. From outside the box, he launched a low, driven strike that looked promising.
Martin dived to his right, getting just enough of a touch to deflect it, but the ball bounced straight to Larsson, cutting in from the left. Larsson chested it down and, without waiting for the drop, swung his leg for a volley!
Martin was still down. As long as Larsson didn't miss wildly, this one was as good as in.
Clang!
The ball smacked the underside of the crossbar and bounced back. Radebe, with the ball heading toward him, nearly scored an own goal but instinctively headed it clear, only to redirect it back.
Nedved was ready, and before the ball could hit the ground, he unleashed a powerful volley!
But as soon as he struck it, he knew it was wrong—he grimaced, unwilling to look as it flew off his shin and shot awkwardly left.
Seeing his first shot miss, Makelele had already retreated in case of a counter. But after Nedved's shanked shot, he couldn't help but wonder—
Big man, Nedved, buddy—how does a shot from your angle fly back right to me?
Makelele instinctively trapped the ball, and this time, unlike Larsson or Nedved, he waited until it settled, then took a shot.
By now, Martin had regained his footing. Makelele's shot headed straight down the middle, appearing harmless, and Martin set himself, ready to catch it.
But halfway through, Ferdinand's foot clipped it, deflecting it right into the bottom left corner!
Martin threw his arms up, yelling furiously at his teammates.
"Are you guys sleepwalking out there?!"
He roared, "You let a holding mid walk right in for a shot without a challenge, then let him try shot after shot!"
"Finally, you even help them get it in!"
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