章節 31: A Lesson in Defeat
The next day, Millwall faced Tranmere away and suffered their first league defeat of the season. Before the match, Aldrich and the coaching staff were in a relaxed state of mind, looking forward to the game. Their plan was to go undefeated in the second to eighth rounds of the league, aiming for at least seven points.
In the previous five rounds, Millwall had secured three wins and two draws, collecting 11 points. Most importantly, they hadn't conceded a single goal in the first six rounds, indicating that their defensive structure was solid. For this match, Aldrich fielded a substitute lineup, not overly concerned with the outcome; his focus was on giving the bench players valuable game time to show their progress.
However, this round presented a challenge as Millwall were up against Tranmere, a formidable opponent known for their strong home performances. Aldrich had underestimated Tranmere in his pre-season analysis, mistakenly not considering them as a serious contender for promotion. Yet, Tranmere had been terrifying at home, winning all four of their matches there.
Aldrich chose a 4-4-1-1 formation for the game. Solskjær played as a second forward, with wingers Beckham and Glen Johnson primarily given defensive duties, while Ballack held the midfield and Vieira played a holding role.
Despite this cautious setup, they faced relentless attacks from Tranmere. The home team fired off 25 shots, with 10 on target, while Millwall managed less than half of that. The final score was 2-1, marking Millwall's first loss of the league season.
Aldrich wasn't disheartened; he saw the defeat as somewhat expected. After all, many of his key players like Glen Johnson, Zambrotta, Ballack, Beckham, Neville, Vieira, and even Solskjær and Butt had little professional league experience prior to this season. Expecting this inexperienced squad to triumph over Tranmere didn't make sense—professional football would be far too easy if they could.
The earlier cup victories were against teams who didn't take the matches seriously, often fielding weakened squads, and Millwall benefitted from home advantage. Losing by just one goal to a solid team like Tranmere meant that Aldrich's goal of training his players had been met—the players got to experience the atmosphere of competitive football and familiarize themselves with the game's rhythm. Although they lost, they gained invaluable insight.
Post-match, however, the away dressing room was in shambles, having been destroyed by an enraged Materazzi. As the newly appointed captain, he was furious about not only losing but also failing to secure even a draw. Rather than blaming his teammates, his frustration led him to lash out, turning the already modest dressing room into a wreck.
In the mixed zone, Aldrich faced pointed questions from reporters eager to put him on the spot.
"Did Millwall underestimate Tranmere by sending a reserve side? Did the unbeaten streak give you the impression that victories would come easily?"
"Tranmere accused Millwall of playing dirty. Materazzi should have been sent off in the first half. Do you agree with that assessment?"
Despite the tough questions, Aldrich remained calm, smiling as he acknowledged Tranmere's strength at home, calling them the best team in the league in those conditions.
When asked about Materazzi's aggressive style on the pitch, he shrugged it off: "This is England. I think Materazzi's performance was consistent with the standards expected of defenders here. If every action he took was considered a foul, then center-backs in the Premier League would only play a handful of matches a season before being suspended."
The reporters, hoping to provoke a reaction, were met with Aldrich's composed demeanor. Losing a match didn't mean he would lose his composure or dignity.
What was the alternative? To lose both the game and his cool? That wasn't the type of transaction Aldrich was willing to engage in.
After a brief interview, he returned to the dressing room, only to find that the players and coaching staff had already left, leaving Materazzi alone on the bench, staring blankly into space.
Aldrich approached him and sat down. He noted the wreckage around them—the torn-up door and broken bench—before speaking softly to the captain, "You played well today. I'd give you a nine out of ten. This is professional football, not a game. You can't expect a team with an average age of just over twenty to become unbeatable in less than three months. On the road to becoming the strongest team, there will inevitably be defeats. But as long as we learn and improve from each loss, that's what truly matters."
Materazzi felt slightly better and nodded.
"I understand why you're upset—losing is one thing, but there's also your pride and status as captain. But you have to stand tall. Show your teammates that while we lost today, it was a fair defeat, and next time we will win with dignity."
Aldrich's tone was light and conversational, far from a coach's reprimand, more like a friend offering support.
Materazzi turning to Aldrich with a curious look and asked, "Boss, I scored a nine today. What about the others?"
Aldrich shrugged slightly, "Richards gets an eight, Butt a nine, the two strikers get seven, the wingers six, the midfielders seven, and the full-backs seven."
Aside from Beckham and Glen Johnson, whose performances barely met his approval, Aldrich noticed significant improvement in the other players, and it was only natural to give them a fair assessment.
Materazzi threw up his hands, saying, "Boss, aren't you happy? Why didn't anyone get a perfect score?"
Aldrich stood up, stretching lazily as he turned back with a sly smile, "I'll let you in on a little secret: no one will ever get a perfect ten from me. That way, I'll never be completely satisfied with your performances. There's always room for improvement. No matter how good you guys perform, keep pushing forward. Aim for that perfect score!"
Materazzi's eyes widened, "Are you a fox?"
Aldrich chuckled and waved his hand dismissively, "What I am doesn't matter. What's important is what you all become. I want you to embody the lion on the Millwall badge! Now, stop moping around. Let's go; do you want to stay here?"
As Materazzi slid on his jacket and hesitated at the mangled dressing room, he noticed the scowling Tranmere staff outside.
"Aldrich, what about... this?" he asked, gesturing at the mess.
Without looking back, Aldrich waved his hand, "Don't worry. If Tranmere wants compensation, they can send us a bill when they're ready. A few hundred pounds taken from your wages is no big deal. We're tough; we'll take the hit."
Materazzi heard this and let out a hearty laugh, glancing over at the flustered Tranmere staff in the hallway with an amused smirk.
The Tranmere staff were fuming!
"Damn it!"
They had expected the young coach, looking dapper in his tailored suit, to be a gentleman, but instead, he seemed to condone his players' antics of vandalizing the away team's dressing room!
What an outright display of bad behavior!
What troubled them even more was whether they should go ahead and fax a list of damages to Millwall.
After all, how much could a dressing room door, some lockers, and chairs possibly cost?
Did they really want to demand compensation for a few hundred pounds?
Who was being stingy here?
And what about their own reputation?
Sigh!
Once back on the bus, Materazzi seriously apologized to his teammates, clarifying that his earlier actions weren't directed at them but were purely driven by frustration.
Aldrich quickly refocused everyone, applauding their efforts and expressing satisfaction with their performance.
Losing wasn't the end of the world, and it didn't necessitate berating the players. They were on a path of growth, and nobody was slacking off or ignoring tactics on the field.
Once back in East London, Aldrich set aside the loss, turning his attention to the next match: hosting Burnley.
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