章 156: Thank you, Liverpool
May 10th.
Millwall faced Liverpool at Wembley, aiming for the FA Cup championship.
Once again, Millwall's fans surged into Wembley Stadium like a tidal wave, while Liverpool's supporters, who had traveled from afar, were not willing to be outdone and did their best to amplify the atmosphere within the stadium.
The preparations for this final were calm for Millwall. Aldrich declined all interviews, and the usual training intensity was eased, with sessions adjusted based on the players' physical conditions. At this point, the coach understood that he couldn't expect miraculous improvements from training; it was more about ensuring that the entire team was in the right state of mind.
When they arrived at Wembley, Liverpool had already gotten there ahead of them.
As the players took the field for warm-ups, they were unexpectedly distracted by a rather striking sight on the pitch.
Key Liverpool players, including McManaman, Redknapp, James, McAteer, Kvarme, and Fowler, were gathered together, dressed in elegant cream-colored Armani suits, chatting and laughing.
They looked incredibly refined and exuded a clear air of celebrity.
This left the Millwall players stunned.
What were they doing?
Aren't they here to play football?
Or are they not planning to take the field at all?
Jensen scolded his players a few times, urging them to hurry up and warm up, which finally snapped them out of their daze. However, on their way to warm up, they couldn't help but steal glances at the impeccably dressed Liverpool players.
Indeed, they were shining like stars.
Jensen looked at the group of Liverpool players with confusion. Today's newspapers reported on the "Spicy Guys" incident involving the Liverpool squad, which captured them enjoying a night out at a nightclub prior to the final.
He couldn't help but wonder, muttering to himself: "Am I going crazy, or is the world going crazy?"
These Liverpool players, whose honors were painfully few, were they planning to stop playing football entirely?
Aldrich stood in the players' tunnel, coldly observing the scene.
He felt pity for Liverpool.
Aldrich could not grasp the thinking of Roy Evans, the manager. Supposedly, as a former disciple of Shankly, he should have been in the best position to comprehend the spirit that Shankly cultivated within the Liverpool team. Yet how had this batch of talented Liverpool players, capable of rivaling Manchester United, come to abandon even the most basic team discipline while under his guidance?
McManaman and Fowler prided themselves on their ostentatious displays, believing this reflected a unique and edgy personality. However, Aldrich found them utterly pathetic and absurd.
While he was also celebrated by the media for having a distinctive character, his identity was firmly rooted in football and focused on the pursuit of victory.
The idea that a professional player could equate womanizing, drug abuse, and flaunting wealth with a sense of individuality is not only ridiculous but also a clear indication of a lack of maturity and perspective.
He couldn't understand why these Liverpool players, who hadn't even secured a top league title, strutted around like they were on a runway.
After lamenting Liverpool's fate, Aldrich suddenly thought: If these players could enforce self-discipline and focus entirely on the pitch, in a couple of years, with reinforcements like Carragher, Gerrard, Owen, and, oh, the newly signed Hyypiä, Liverpool would have no trouble dominating.
Wait...
What was that idea?
Aldrich raised his head, a sudden thought flashing through his mind, prompting him to pull out his phone and send a text to Andrew.
"Find a player: Sami Hyypiä."
Since the beginning of this year, the competition for player acquisitions had intensified. Back in February, UEFA officially enforced the Bosman ruling, a culmination of the EU negotiations, even promoting the idea of abolishing the transfer system. They argued that players should have the right to choose where they work, forcing FIFA to step in to support UEFA, or else it would threaten the foundation of professional football.
If players could transfer at any moment, not only would the rules of football become chaotic, but hundreds of clubs would likely file for bankruptcy and game activities would dwindle. Previously, clubs could develop players and sell them for profit, but if there's no transfer fee income, who would bother to establish youth training systems?
The Bosman ruling marked a pivotal change in the relationship between players and clubs, shifting it from one of subservience to a more balanced dynamic. This new environment enabled Stam to negotiate an agreement with Aldrich. Previously, in other clubs, if a player wished to leave, the club would simply refuse to let them. Once the contract expired, if the player didn't want to play, they still couldn't join another club.
Clubs' previously dominant stances were beginning to weaken, which made Aldrich realize he had less room to recruit talent. Players with any kind of reputation would demand higher wages, and other teams wouldn't hesitate to throw hefty offers around. With the cost of transfers, salaries, and the club's heritage and fame, Millwall found it hard to compete.
He suddenly thought of Hyypiä and wondered if he could bring him in early. Even though the team had ample depth in the center-back position, Millwall still faced the threat of poaching from various clubs, so he felt it necessary to plan ahead.
As the kickoff approached, the Liverpool players finally shed their light cream suits and began to warm up for the match.
Aldrich returned to the locker room, waiting for his players.
Once the players filed in one by one, Aldrich crossed his arms and asked with a relaxed smile, "Did you see the Liverpool players?"
The players nodded in unison, their expressions varied, but most found it odd.
They had never seen players casually chatting and sipping drinks in suits prior to a match; it made them feel like they'd walked into the wrong place.
"Are you envious?"
Aldrich continued to ask.
"Trezeguet shouted, "Boss, they're idiots! We're here to play football, not to have a meal!"
His teammates burst into laughter.
Aldrich snapped his fingers, wearing a serious expression. "I want you to remember them, remember them forever! Until the day you retire, never forget them! It would be best if they haunted your dreams!"
The players exchanged bewildered glances, unsure why Aldrich was saying this.
They were all men; why would they need to remember a bunch of guys?
Aldrich gritted his teeth and said, "Fowler has scored quite a few goals this season, and McManaman has made 25 assists. Are they good players? Yes! Are they outstanding? Absolutely! But they are finished, their careers only amount to this! How much potential do they have? I believe it's not less than ours! But they've chosen to decline, to squander their youth, to show no ambition! You must remember them, never forget them! Open your eyes and look at those Liverpool stars in their suits today and imagine what their careers will become! I can tell you—they will be remembered for one reason only: as a warning! A lesson for all managers, like me reminding you now: don't be like them! If you mimic them, you're finished! No matter how great your talent or past efforts, it will all be in vain, hastening your career's death. You might retire without a single champion medal to console yourself! If you follow them, you'll only regret why you didn't stop yourself earlier, why you didn't exercise self-control, why you didn't spend more time on the pitch, and why your name missed out on greatness!"
The locker room fell silent, Aldrich spoke passionately, eventually raising his voice.
The players' expressions shifted from laughter at Liverpool's expense to seriousness and determination.
Aldrich wasn't going to sugarcoat his advice; every lesson must leave an impact. Usually, saying this would have little effect, but today, he sincerely appreciated Liverpool's players.
Thank you for letting me use you as a cautionary example for my players.
"Why has Liverpool shown up at Wembley? Oh, right, for that coveted trophy! But here they are, strutting in their posh suits, chatting away like they're at a cocktail party, obviously looking down their noses at us. It's utterly mind-boggling! They had a wild night out and still have the gall to believe they can stroll in and defeat us for the title today. Have they really erased the memories of us beating them twice in the league? Apparently, they need the lessons tattooed on their foreheads. Our hard work seems utterly insignificant in their eyes. Tell me, are we really just going to let them prance around in victory? Are we going to let those well-dressed chaps flaunt their success? Will we sit back and watch them switch from suits to kits just to play and then back to suits to collect their trophy? Seriously, can anyone actually accept such ridiculousness?!"
"No!"
The players shouted in unison.
Aldrich fixed them with a determined gaze and asked, "What should we do?"
"Destroy Liverpool!"
"Not enough! That's far from enough! You must tell everyone at Liverpool: they're a bunch of fools, idiots, morons! We'll show them through our actions that we are the true champions of the pitch! We work hard, we are focused, we are united, and we will lift the champion trophy and then laugh at them, encouraging them to enjoy their nights at the nightclub. In the end, we'll turn away without a second glance. They are garbage; we don't need to care about them, even if they cry, rage, or plead for pity! Because we are strong! On the football field, we don't know what pity is—that's the domain of the weak. Save that for Liverpool."
"Yes!"
The players' fighting spirit was fully unleashed. Aldrich's gaze swept across each player, urging them forward with a nod, signaling them to take the field.
But just as the team strode confidently out of the locker room, Aldrich stopped Pirlo.
Once it was just the two of them left in the locker room, Aldrich fixed his gaze on Pirlo, asking in a serious tone, "Andrea, what's going on with you?"
"Pirlo seemed overly calm today; while his teammates were already brimming with fighting spirit, he appeared somewhat anxious, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he sat in the chair.
"Boss, today is the final, I... I...' he stammered."
he stammered.
Aldrich patted his shoulder in reassurance. "Don't worry, just play like you normally do."
"But I'm only 17!"
Pirlo replied.
Bang!
Aldrich slammed his fist against the locker behind Pirlo, his eyes wide as he stared intensely into Pirlo's eyes, a burning fire within them.
"Pirlo, today is the FA Cup final, the most historic cup involving the most teams! I know you're nervous and worried about your performance, but I believe in you. Ask me a hundred times, and I'll tell you: I have faith in you. So, as your coach, I have no issues. Now, it's your turn. Yes, you're 17. Matthaus played for his country at 18, Seedorf and Kluivert won the Champions League at 18, and Fowler at 18—damn it—replaced Rush in Liverpool! Overmars, at 18, carried the team, and Shearer scored a hat-trick against Arsenal at just 17 . "If you think you can't manage the pressure of today's match at 17, wait a couple more years. Just tell me right now, and I'll take you off the starting list."
Younger players like Ballack and Vieira, who are just two years older than you, are eager to start every match! Do you know what Trezeguet did when he joined the team at just under 17? I started him, and he proudly nodded, saying, 'Boss, leave it to me. I will score!' Match after match, he would tell me, 'Boss, I scored today. Let me start next time,' or 'Boss, I was a bit unlucky today, but I will score next time, so please let me start!' Pirlo, tell me, what do you say to me now that you're 17?"
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