บท 515: The Special One Steps In
Henry is about to transfer!
Bernabéu? San Siro? Camp Nou? Alps?
Fleet Street was increasingly leaning toward the inevitability that Henry would leave this summer.
The only suspense was where he would go.
The unusual signs within Millwall had already caught the attention of the outside world.
Millwall had always been swift in making decisions, never dragging things out.
It was a string of great news for Millwall fans as key players kept renewing their contracts. The atmosphere around the club was electric. To the supporters, the team was already top-notch. They didn't need any new big-name stars. As long as the current squad stuck together, that was cause enough to celebrate!
As for the players leaving, Makélélé's transfer to Real Madrid had been announced in June, and the deal was finalized without surprise in July.
Fans felt a mix of regret and disappointment at Makélélé's departure, but as Fleet Street analyzed, they could understand it.
At Millwall, Makélélé had indeed reached his limit.
If you asked one hundred Lions fans who the top three or five players in the team were, the names that would come up most often were Larson, Nedvěd, Southgate, Henry, Pirlo, and Ronaldinho.
Generally speaking, attacking players stood out more than defensive ones, and they were more likely to be celebrated and remembered. This was the norm in football.
Only in teams that struggled offensively but succeeded defensively do defensive players stand out, being hailed as the pillars of the team.
But, ironically, Millwall's attack was so dazzling that Makélélé's importance was overshadowed. His brilliance was completely eclipsed by Millwall's terrifyingly efficient attacking force.
It just so happened that the Real Madrid Makélélé transferred to was a club desperate to improve its defense. Since Capello's departure, Real Madrid's defense had been abysmal—could anyone imagine a team like Real Madrid conceding 62 goals in 38 league matches?
In a sense, Makélélé was trying to come to the Bernabéu as a "savior." He was a defensive player, and defense was what would bring the championships!
he shared with Aldrich when he made it clear he wanted to make the move.
Millwall had gone from being a club of commoners—or rather, rebels—to a giant over six years. It might not be aristocratic, but its fame, influence, performance, and the attention it garnered had made it a powerhouse, especially with its top-tier stadium that matched its rise.
Similarly, player wages and transfer fees had also skyrocketed.
They had money now. Many of the players who used to live in the Millwall community had moved out. That place was no longer home.
Aldrich, living there, now mostly saw the faces of younger players.
For example, De Rossi and Cristiano Ronaldo no longer lived in the youth dormitories but had their own apartments.
Aldrich had asked Yvonne to pick out a new place for him. He wanted to end his bachelor life, already having thoughts of marriage, or perhaps, it had come a bit late.
But before that, he still had to live in his old apartment.
The club's summer operations were running at full speed, and Aldrich had temporarily set aside the Henry matter; there was other work to be done.
Selling players!
But this certainly didn't mean selling first-team players—if they were selling first-team players, why bother renewing their contracts?
Just like last year when a batch of players who had reached the age where they needed to play were sold to Leeds United, this year, Millwall still needed to put some players up for sale.
They had reached the age where they needed to be playing regular matches. The youth and reserve team matches were no longer enough to help them gain experience and improve. If Millwall kept them but couldn't give them playing time, it would only lead to them "wasting away" in their most crucial years!
The cost of the youth team was huge, and their basic goal was to supply players to the first team. The ones the first team didn't need could bring in cash, which would offset some of the investment. It might even be profitable, much better than letting them sit idle.
Every summer, some players from the youth and reserve teams would attract interest from lower-league clubs, and once the club informed them they were being let go, they would leave. Some who had reached the necessary age but couldn't make the cut would be offered coaching contracts, should they choose to transition.
Aldrich had entrusted the power to handle the transfers of youth and reserve team players to Nagy. Nagy had the final say, but only for transactions involving leagues below the top division. If any top-tier clubs made offers, Aldrich would make the final decision.
Aldrich had no doubts about Nagy's judgment and professionalism. Over the years, he had come to trust him deeply. Nagy had never let slip any of the players Aldrich believed had potential, unless it was a decision Aldrich made himself, and only when it became absolutely necessary—like with Cahill or Bresciano's departures.
As Aldrich was reviewing a list of players sent by Nagy, he received a call from the club. Someone had come to visit, wanting to discuss player transfers.
When Aldrich heard the name of the visitor, his mood instantly brightened. He instructed the club to let the person know he would be waiting at his apartment.
At three in the afternoon, Aldrich welcomed the guest.
He opened the door and extended his hand to the well-dressed man standing outside. "Hello, José. I think the last time we met was about two years ago, right?"
"Hello, Mr. Hall," the man replied.
The visitor was none other than Mourinho.
The last time Aldrich and Mourinho had met was during the previous year's Champions League group stage, when Millwall played against Barcelona. But back then, Mourinho wasn't the star of the show; he was merely an assistant to Van Gaal.
Now, what was his purpose here? Was he looking to join Aldrich's team?
Of course not!
This summer, Mourinho had made a firm decision in his mind.
No more being a translator. No more being an assistant coach for anyone!
He was going to go solo!
At this time, Mourinho still looked relatively young—at least compared to many of the other managers in football. But in Aldrich's eyes, he seemed much more mature.
Mourinho's face was serious, a little tense, as he entered the living room alone, following Aldrich's warm greeting. Sitting down on the sofa, he got straight to the point. "Mr. Hall, I'm here as the new head coach of Benfica, and I would like to discuss the transfer of two players."
Aldrich had already prepared some tea on the table. He leaned back comfortably, crossing his legs, and gestured for Mourinho to continue.
"One is Paulo Ferreira, and the other is Hugo Viana. Both are Portuguese players, and given the lack of opportunities for them at Millwall, I believe they could grow better in their domestic league. Millwall didn't spend much to acquire them, so Benfica would like to take them for £4 million."
Mourinho spoke seriously, and this was probably his first time wielding the power of a head coach—waving a check to bring in players he desired.
Ferreira was a backup right-back in the first team, and Viana was still with the reserves, an attacking player who had shown promise.
The £4 million for both players seemed ridiculously low.
But with a little more, it wouldn't be unreasonable.
After all, Viana hadn't proven much yet, and Ferreira had only appeared in minor matches. Whether he could handle a bigger role was still uncertain.
"Sorry, José, you're a little late," Aldrich said with an honest smile.
Mourinho frowned. "Has Millwall already sold these players? We haven't heard of any other club offering for them."
Aldrich shrugged. "No, they haven't. The transfer window has already closed halfway, and we won't be letting go of any first-team players. Especially with Ferreira having just signed a new contract. It's our tradition to solidify the lineup and start preparations early for the new season. In fact, we usually finalize deals between the end of the season and the start of the transfer window. So, you're late."
"But you used to..." Mourinho began.
"That's right," Aldrich replied, still smiling. "Millwall used to let players go during preseason, but as you said, that was in the past. The current Millwall is not the same as before."
Aldrich smiled warmly, but Mourinho's brows furrowed deeply. He sighed. "So, Viana will join the first team for the new season?"
"No," Aldrich replied. "We're considering loaning him out, but he won't be sold. He has potential, and we'll decide his future at the right time. If he can contribute to the first team, we'll keep him. Otherwise, we'll let him go, but not now."
Mourinho thought for a moment before speaking. "Then, could we loan Viana to Benfica? Returning to his home league, where he's familiar with the environment, would help his growth."
Aldrich shook his head again. "Sorry, we did consider loaning him to Portugal, but Benfica is not one of the clubs we're considering."
Now, Mourinho was completely confused. He asked, "Why not? I can guarantee him playing time. I've seen the footage of him training with the reserves, and he's impressive."
Aldrich smiled as always and said quietly, "José, it's better not to talk about the reasons."
"No," Mourinho responded, his tone steady but resolute. "If you respect me, you'll be honest and tell me."
"Okay, since you insist, I'll be straightforward. We think Benfica might not offer Viana the stable environment he needs to develop."
Mourinho frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well, Benfica has brought in a new coach – a young one with no managerial experience. José, I admire you and I have faith in you, but I'm not the owner of Benfica, nor am I a member of their board. I believe in you, but Benfica might not have enough patience with you. If we loan Viana to Benfica today and you're dismissed within six months, his time at Benfica could be wasted."
Mourinho gave a faint, almost dismissive smile before shaking his head slightly and turning to Aldrich. "Mr. Hall, I originally thought we were alike – young, passionate, driven to make our dreams come true through hard work. But when you achieved success, you became shallow, hypocritical. What you're really implying is this: 'I, José Mourinho, the promise I made to you about Viana's playing time, is worthless. It's all nonsense!' Am I right?"
Aldrich shook his head with a smile. "No, if you knew me, you'd understand that I'm speaking the truth. Let me give you an example. I have a good relationship with a manager in League One, a guy named Moyes. He took over Preston during the season to save them from relegation. He asked me to loan him a player, and I agreed. Why? Because I trusted his promises. At that time, Preston was bottom of the league – could they really get worse? Moyes would definitely finish the season with them. His word was reliable. But you? You're managing Benfica, one of Portugal's big three clubs. What are Benfica's expectations? Can you guarantee that the board will be satisfied with your performance and that you'll finish the season? Can you ensure results that will stabilize your position as manager? You can't. So, I said that Benfica has some instability."
Mourinho's smile curled into something between a sneer and a smirk. He stood up, pointed at Aldrich, as if he was about to say something more, but instead, he turned and left the apartment. As he stepped outside, his gaze sharpened, and his expression became more menacing.
One day, I'll prove that I'm stronger than you.
And then, will you still look at me like this? Will you still question me like this?
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