บท 474: The Unexpected Return
Drogba's story diverged significantly from the typical trajectory of African players. Most African players would arrive in Europe as unknowns, either kicking off their careers on the professional stage or, if they failed trials, drifting into obscurity and odd jobs.
Drogba, however, had moved to France early in life. He wasn't alone or struggling; it wasn't until he turned twenty—when he had to stand on his own—that he began to view football as a career, as a way to make a living. Up to that point, football was just a game, a pastime without any grand ambitions. After exploring France, he reached a point where he needed to earn a living. Yet when he tried out for Paris Saint-Germain, he was rejected. That's when Millwall brought him to London, marking the moment he started dedicating himself fully to football.
As for the tales of his inspiring journey, full of grit and determination from a young age—they were pure exaggeration. If Drogba had genuinely focused on football from childhood, by twenty, his skills would have been far superior. Even Klose, who started out in amateur leagues, had better technical skills, having received a year of professional training earlier than Drogba. When Drogba arrived at Millwall, aside from his remarkable physical prowess, his technique? It could be summed up in one word: rough. And more accurately, painfully rough!
Over the last two years, Drogba has tried to refine his technique, but his lack of a solid foundation isn't something that can be corrected overnight. Millwall, after all, isn't a lower-tier team, and Aldrich, no matter how committed he is to giving younger players a chance, can't afford to do so at the cost of team success.
Millwall was pushing through intense matchdays in the Champions League, league, and FA Cup, often facing two games in a single week. In the middle of this brutal schedule, Aldrich had a new challenge on his hands—managing the latest turmoil stirred up by Drogba.
Drogba started the season out on loan at Preston, but suddenly he was back, no longer willing to stay there. Fans and the dressing room alike at Preston seemed unwilling to put up with him anymore, either.
Moyes was thoroughly disappointed by how things had unfolded.
Drogba—hell, he's such a damn asset!
League One's harsh and physical play is a perfect stage for Drogba, who rampages through it like a beast. By round 30, he's the league's top scorer with 21 goals, firmly anchoring Preston in fifth place. Should he maintain this momentum, it's hard to say he'll win the title or be in the top two for direct promotion, but a playoff berth is well within reach.
Yet now, Drogba had become a pariah at Preston.
The whole mess started with a scuffle over a parking spot between Drogba and Preston's captain. It blew up fast, and before long, they were brawling in the parking lot outside the training ground. Naturally, Drogba came out on top, sending the captain to the hospital.
Even though he was a hero on the pitch, beating up the local captain was too much. . The locker room turned against him, and fans wanted him gone. Drogba shrugged it off, thinking, "If this place won't have me, I'll find somewhere else." He grabbed his things and returned to London that very day.
But back in London, his bravado faded quickly. Holed up in a small hotel, he hesitated to go back to Millwall, worried his actions might have ruffled feathers at the club.
When Millwall finally heard the news, two days had passed. They had lost contact with Drogba and were nearly ready to send people to France or Côte d'Ivoire to track him down, fearing he'd fled back home. Thankfully, David Larmore, who'd hung out with him in the reserves, had a private number that Drogba only shared with close friends. That's how they managed to drag him back from the inn.
Moyes was still trying to persuade Drogba to return to Preston. His heart was set on leading them to promotion, and Aldrich's young players had proved invaluable for this goal. With their efforts, Preston's current season was progressing better than expected. But just as they reached a critical moment, their main striker had up and left!
After understanding the situation, Aldrich delivered his final verdict.
"Drogba can't go back, David, really. You need to think about your own position. I truly understand how much you want this, and I get that you're eager to achieve more with Preston. But with angry fans and a locker room full of Preston's original players, Drogba won't be accepted. Even if you take him back, he'll face isolation, and you… you'll be under siege yourself. It could ruin you, leaving you isolated."
Aldrich's genuine concern made Moyes pause. After a moment's thought, he had no choice but to reluctantly accept reality.
He was, after all, just a man driven mad by his desire for success.
Aldrich could empathize with Moyes' frustration. When success seems within reach but slips away, there's little one can do but adjust, accept the situation, and carry on.
After seeing Moyes off, Aldrich called for Drogba and waited in the meeting room for this troublemaker to arrive.
Not long after, Drogba walked in with a serious expression and a hint of nervousness in his eyes. Though he usually presented a fearless front, here in front of Aldrich, he looked unusually cautious.
Since his return to London, his attitude had noticeably changed. Gone was the swagger he'd shown in Preston, where he'd sent the team captain to the hospital without batting an eye. Now, there was a distinct tension in his demeanor.
Maybe it was the bustling city that tempered his arrogance, or perhaps he was awed by Millwall's reputation as one of Europe's most successful clubs. Or, quite simply, the club controlled his paycheck.
Seeing him hesitate by the door, Aldrich spoke calmly, "Come over here. Sit down."
Drogba took a seat at the nearest table, but Aldrich repeated, "Come, sit by my side."
Immediately, Drogba pushed the chair back, moving to sit closer to Aldrich, his head lowered to avoid eye contact.
"What have you done to feel guilty?" Aldrich asked.
"Huh?"
"Why can't you even look me in the eye?"
"Uh… I've caused trouble for the club."
"Well, that's true. Now, explain to me why you started a fight."
Drogba scratched his head, relieved that Aldrich wasn't outright scolding him. So, he launched into the story, giving his side of the events.
When he first went to Preston, he packed only a few essentials, with the club taking care of his accommodation and Millwall paying his wages.
The day before the fight, he found that a substantial amount of money had been credited to his account.
Eager to show off his success, he bought himself a shiny new car and drove it to training, feeling rather pleased with himself, ready to flaunt it to his teammates.
But when he parked in the captain's reserved spot, it didn't occur to him that it would cause trouble—after all, he had never had a car before and hadn't paid attention to such details.
When the Preston captain arrived and found the "big guy" in his spot, he took it as a blatant provocation. From his point of view, Drogba was a star stealing the spotlight and much of the team's success, so he confronted him angrily.
Drogba, feeling innocent, hadn't meant to offend anyone—he'd merely parked in the wrong place after buying a new car. But when he noticed a few teammates watching, he felt humiliated.
So, to silence the captain, Drogba impulsively slapped him across the face. The two then got into a physical fight, with Drogba ultimately emerging the victor. The Preston captain had to be helped to the hospital by two of his teammates, each supporting him on either side.
Aldrich listened without commenting, picking up a report and flipping through it.
Drogba, who had been brash while throwing punches, was now anxious and asked, "Boss, why aren't you saying anything?"
"What should I say?"
"Uh… I, um, punched Preston's captain."
"Oh, well, what's done is done. There's nothing I can say now that'll change anything. I doubt the other guy's going to press charges for assault either."
"Press charges? No, no way! Just for a fight?"
Aldrich glanced at Drogba, surprised by his reaction, and explained, "He couldn't beat you and ended up in the hospital. If he's not willing to let it go, he either comes back to get revenge, or he takes it to court. Is that really so strange? If hurting people wasn't against the law, at least a good chunk of lawyers would be out of work."
Drogba's anxiety turned into genuine fear.
"Boss, I won't end up in jail, right?!"
Aldrich chuckled inwardly: Got you! Let's see if you'll dare to cause trouble again!
He offered some light reassurance. "It's nothing serious. You could hire a lawyer to defend you if needed, but I doubt it'll come to that. Just treat it as a lesson—think things through before acting. Fighting may sound impressive, but if things get serious, it's you who ends up in trouble."
Drogba nodded vigorously. Reflecting on it, he realized Aldrich was right. A fight could go too far, and no amount of money would fix jail time.
"Boss, if he couldn't beat me, why wouldn't he press charges?"
"Would he really want the whole world knowing he got beaten up by you? A team captain has pride. If he didn't care about his image, he wouldn't have clashed with you in the first place. His injuries aren't too bad; he'll be out of the hospital in a couple of weeks. Take it as a lesson, and remember this: within a team, while everyone's equal on the field, there's a hierarchy in daily life. You have to respect the veterans. For instance, on the bus, you don't sit in my seat or the captain Gareth's seat. If you make a mistake, just correct it when reminded. Got it?"
Drogba nodded again and asked, "So, boss, does that mean I was wrong to hit him?"
"Hitting people is definitely wrong—it's illegal, understand? But that captain has some blame too. If it were Gareth, he'd just smile and remind you to watch out next time, no need to overreact. That's the difference: they're Preston, we're Millwall. They're struggling in the First Division; we're a top-tier Premier League team."
Drogba laughed, and Aldrich shook his head, smiling as well.
Millwall maintained a certain internal order, if not as rigid as feudal hierarchy. Respect was earned, with the captain enjoying certain off-field privileges and the more experienced players receiving greater respect and perks as a reward for their contributions. This was fundamentally different from favoritism—it was a recognition of the veterans' hard-won status.
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