Chương 453: Unforgettable Defeat
With two main players subbed off at halftime, it was as if Millwall declared the game over, giving Leeds United a silent but stinging message. With 45 minutes left, their large lead allowed them the luxury of resting star players—an audacious move Leeds fans took as an insult.
Smith, perhaps reacting from pride or raw frustration, went in for a reckless tackle from behind on Makelele, then spat at Aldrich in anger after hearing the mocking applause. His actions lit a spark in the Millwall squad.
Ronaldinho, Pirlo, and others on the bench, who'd been in a joking mood earlier, now turned deadly serious. And those still on the pitch took on an ice-cold resolve, looking back at Leeds with an unshaken, unbreakable stare.
Initially, Millwall intended to slow the game down, simply maintaining possession and defense to secure a victory. But now, they forgot the 4-0 scoreline. To hell with it. The game was just beginning.
"Alan Smith has paid the price for his lack of discipline with a red card. His reckless challenge from behind was clearly malicious, and he could face further suspension after review. His disgraceful behavior as he left the field, spitting at Millwall manager Hall, will certainly add to his punishment, as the FA won't tolerate such conduct. O'Leary has made a substitution, bringing Mills on for Duff, shifting Leeds into a 5-0-5 formation, with five defenders and no forwards."
Meanwhile, Aldrich's suit jacket, which he had thrown to the ground, was retrieved by a Leeds staffer who placed it on the visiting coach's seat. But Klinsmann picked it up and threw it right back on the ground. A staff member quickly removed the jacket from the pitch—it couldn't stay there for everyone to see, lest it add to the negative attention Leeds was already facing from Smith's unseemly act.
Aldrich stood on the sideline with arms crossed, completely ignoring O'Leary next to him.
After Makelele's injury, Gattuso was brought in to fill his spot, using up Millwall's last substitution. With Leeds dropping into a five-defender formation, they'd essentially lost all counterattacking power.
Millwall originally planned to ease off in the second half after securing a four-goal lead; there was no reason to push against a team out of their league. They had a title race and European competitions to consider, so Aldrich needed to conserve his players' stamina without risking exhaustion that could dampen their future form.
But Leeds was bent on dragging Millwall down, refusing to concede and resorting to destructive tactics.
It was intolerable. Absolutely intolerable.
Aldrich thought, "If only Materazzi were playing." He wasn't looking to have Materazzi dish out punishment to Leeds; his thoughts were more on the tactical shift. With Materazzi on the field, Aldrich could simply point him toward the attack, and Materazzi would know exactly what to do. His height and aerial prowess were perfect for a target man role—no need to involve him in defense at all.
At this point, Millwall was dominating midfield, pressing in the attacking half. Although Leeds was down a player, their five-man defense allowed them to clear ball after ball.
At the 60-minute mark, Aldrich shouted onto the pitch, "Lucas! Lucas!"
Neil heard Aldrich's shout, glanced at the action on the field, and felt a bit surprised. The game was still on—was Aldrich really calling him over now?
But Aldrich was waving, so Neil jogged over. Once he arrived, Aldrich began explaining his next move in detail.
Aldrich wanted him up top, stationed as a target forward. The goal wasn't to make an actual impact but to mess with Leeds' defensive line and give Henry some cover.
In other words, he was there to stir things up…
Without Materazzi's height to threaten the goal, Neill understood Aldrich's instructions and moved up, lingering around Ferdinand and Radebe.
This adjustment, later hailed as another Aldrich masterstroke in Fleet Street, had Neill staying in the forward line without advancing deep. As Millwall pushed their attack, he ignored his teammates' positions, focusing solely on exploiting the space around Ferdinand and Radebe, making lateral runs into open gaps.
His movements forced Ferdinand and Radebe to track him, creating slight disruptions in their line. Each time, it prompted someone—either a midfielder like Bresciano, Cahill, or Bowyer—to adjust, leaving small cracks in the defense.
Capitalizing on this opening, Aldrich made another adjustment. Zambrotta and Sneijder pushed higher, joining Lampard to threaten Leeds with a trio of long-range shots from various angles outside the box.
Gronkjaer drove in from the left, sidestepping Kelly before firing a long-range shot just as Mills closed in. Radebe got a block in, but Lampard was there to claim the rebound, passing it over to Zambrotta on the left. Zambrotta followed up with a long-range shot of his own, only for it to ricochet off Mills. The ball fell back to Gronkjaer, who this time sent a lateral pass to Schneider.
The two quickfire shots had Leeds' defense scrambling, expecting Schneider to take a shot as well. Instead, the German spotted an opening and threaded a clever pass into the box. Larsson broke free onside, reached the byline, and chipped the ball across. Henry muscled past Radebe and met it with a powerful strike from his foot, sending the ball through Martin's legs and into the net.
"Sixty-four minutes in, Millwall scores their fifth goal. 0-5. It's an absolute massacre now, and every passing second will feel like torment for Leeds United."
Henry turned back, one hand in the air, holding up all five fingers.
Seeing this, Aldrich raised his chin with a fierce, defiant look.
Leeds, you brought this on yourselves.
Four minutes later, Bowyer, after several fouls, received his second yellow and was sent off.
The referee had shown plenty of leniency toward Leeds United. Bowyer, who'd already been booked in the first half, committed his seventh foul of the game. Moments earlier, in a completely futile aerial contest, he'd charged into Lampard. It was a clear card-worthy offense. Had the scoreline not read 0-5, with Smith already sent off, Bowyer might have already received his second yellow for an earlier shove on Gronkjaer. This time, the referee couldn't let him off any further; otherwise, who knew where the game might head from here. Leeds, five goals down and now two players short, had minutes remaining.
On the sidelines, O'Leary looked expressionless as he subbed Kewell for Matteo, adding another defender.
Six defenders!
Aldrich could barely hold back a laugh. Brilliant stuff, O'Reilly!
The guy's an Arsenal icon for a reason. A Graham disciple going all in with six defenders!
Why not just line the goal with bodies, eh?
In the aftermath, pundits lambasted O'Reilly's consecutive substitutions, calling them "disastrous errors." While a man down, his increased defensive lineup backfired, making an already challenging situation worse.
Without midfield cover, Millwall's players fired freely from range. The final minutes became a nightmare for Leeds players.
Gronkjaer, Neill, Henry, Nedved, and Larsson formed a daunting line of attackers, each watched by one of Leeds' six defenders.
Meanwhile, in midfield, Cahill and Bresciano were toyed with by Zambrotta, Lampard, and Sneijder.
Bang, bang, bang…
Millwall launched one shot after another from the edge of the box, with most blocked by Leeds bodies. Any miss from Millwall led to a deliberate delay from Leeds on goal kicks.
In the 81st minute, Lampard finally blasted one into the net with a world-class shot—his fifth attempt paid off.
Three minutes later, Nedved's long shot was blocked, but the loose ball fell to Larsson, who chipped it past the keeper.
In the match's final minute, Neill received Sneijder's cross at the far post, guiding the ball into the net with his knee.
As the scoreboard ticked from 89:59 to 90:00, the referee blew the whistle, ending the match without waiting for stoppage time.
At the beginning of the second half, Leeds fans were still singing, but after Bowyer's exit, the Elland Road atmosphere turned eerie.
Dead silence.
Then, it morphed into cheers from the Lions fans. They jeered, joked, and celebrated. Every time a Millwall player touched the ball, the stands roared, even counting passes—"One, two, three, four…" Their counting grew louder with each pass, always breaking into laughter at every Millwall shot attempt.
When the match ended, Aldrich didn't argue with the officials about the lack of added time. He lifted his chin, surveying the mostly empty stands at Elland Road, loosening his tie, his face cold as he turned toward the players' tunnel.
In a VIP box, Ridsdale looked on with a face of shock and fury.
What had he just witnessed over the past two hours?
An utter disaster.
Shameful.
The White Rose of Yorkshire was trampled by the Lions from London, an 8-0 thrashing that would forever be etched in the record books of Leeds United and the Premier League—unless, somehow, they suffered an even more humiliating defeat someday. But that would be an entirely different nightmare.
Clap.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Ridsdale looked up, pale, to find a middle-aged face he could barely tolerate at that moment.
Arthur, big-bellied and smug, had come to watch the game as a guest, sitting right beside Ridsdale.
As if in sympathy, Arthur gave his shoulder a pat. Ridsdale, stunned, looked up at Arthur, who, without a hint of irony, began to whistle.
Ridsdale instantly recognized the tune Arthur whistled—a familiar melody that made his blood boil.
It was "Auld Lang Syne."
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