The Rise of Millwal

Chapter 100: Two Fastest Records

After three consecutive away games against Liverpool, Grimsby, and Blackburn, Aldrich finally returned to London, his weary body feeling the strain of endless travel. The Spice Girls were busy recording their first album, and Aldrich found himself back in the single life. As a top-flight club manager, personal time was already scarce. Even during players' vacations, much of Aldrich's time was devoted to studying opponents. Hence, he did not feel lonely; his days were filled with work.

Andrew had arranged for him to visit the best hospital in the UK, Wellington Hospital, which ranked among the finest in Europe. The transfer paperwork for Puskás was in progress, and Aldrich hoped Elizabeth could receive care there. After all, he wanted the couple to enjoy some comfort in their later years.

This was the fifth match of a grueling schedule and the penultimate league game before the FIFA break. Next, the team would face Wolves in a League Cup match, after which many players would head to their national teams.

Aldrich's opponents in this fifth round were Nottingham Forest, a team with a peculiar record of winning more European trophies than domestic league titles.

Last season, Nottingham Forest finished third in the league, and their manager, Frank Clark, had met Aldrich a few months ago; both were recognized as the best coaches in their respective divisions.

This season, Nottingham Forest lost their top scorer, Collymore, to Liverpool. Collymore scored about 13 goals for them last season and had a total of 24. His departure severely impacted Nottingham Forest, which had started the season with a win but then drew against three London teams: West Ham, Chelsea, and Arsenal.

During their visit to the Lion's Den, Clark was quite cautious, subtly indicating that Nottingham Forest would probably face a challenging match in London. Is Millwall a strong team? At least on the points table, Nottingham Forest is right on their heels.

The two teams met at the Lion's Den, both unbeaten in the first four matches of the season.

Aldrich set out his starting lineup in a 4-4-2 formation. Clark's Nottingham Forest focused on defense, seemingly determined to secure a fourth consecutive draw against a London team.

The match was uneventful, with cheers from the home crowd never fading. The fans weren't used to seeing their team so dominant; it was something they had rarely experienced before.

After victories over Arsenal and Liverpool and draws against Manchester United and the defending champions, Millwall felt on a roll, and their fans had every reason to feel proud.

However, the match left Aldrich feeling somewhat helpless, as Millwall's forward line was mired in a quagmire.

Clark had clearly studied footage of Millwall's recent games. His tactics were conservative, emphasizing pressure right outside the penalty area. Solskj?r and Larsson struggled to find effective combinations, making even ball control difficult.

Aldrich strolled along the sidelines with his hands in his pockets, his mind racing.

Nottingham Forest was well-organized, and their defense key points were well-placed. Nedved closely marked any forays into the final third, alongside productive team support. They compressed space in front of the penalty area, and their flanks weren't overly aggressive; they even allowed Millwall's full-backs to venture forward, meaning penetrating play was too limited. High balls to the center found only Larsson, who was sandwiched and unable to contest for the ball, let alone threaten with a header.

It was a stalemate, hard to imagine that a team that finished third last season, Nottingham Forest, would display such a low profile at the home of a newly promoted side.

As the first half ended, the score remained 0-0.

Before heading into the player tunnel, Aldrich called Shevchenko over. The young striker stood before him, looking somewhat nervous, like a fresh-faced student awaiting instruction.

"Go warm up."

Aldrich's direct command sent Shevchenko immediately to the sideline to start his warm-up.

Breaking through a packed defense is a perennial challenge, one that plagues football discussions. In the 1990 World Cup final, where the star-studded German team faced Maradona's endurance-fueled Argentina, Germany dominated with over thirty shots to one. Yet, they only secured victory through a penalty.

To breach a tight defense during open play, there are fundamentally three approaches: individual skill, heroic dribbling, long-range threats that force the opponent to recall players, or creating set pieces.

Regarding positional play, if there is no space for a shot, even the most elegant combinations and the highest possession percentage are merely irrelevant figures.

Aldrich would encourage the team to attempt long-range shots in the second half and, depending on the results, he could adjust further.

At the very least, if the stalemate continued, he needed to boost the intensity of their direct threats in the penalty area.

Nottingham Forest maintained their compact defensive strategy in the second half, and several deliberate clearances were aimed directly into Millwall's half, hoping to catch Millwall's defense off guard with their two forwards.

Aldrich was alert to Clark's tactics.

He is confident that even the lowest-ranked team, while defending with ten men, will still cling to a sliver of hope for an unexpected lethal blow. Hence, he keeps Richards, Stam, and Makélélé in the back. If the opposing two forwards can receive the ball and score in a two-on-three situation, Aldrich would willingly concede defeat.

However, stopping the ball and turning against Makélélé, known for his elite defensive awareness and tackling skills, was already a tall order. Additionally, the long trajectory of balls cleared from the back provided ample time for Millwall's defenders to position themselves effectively for a clean catch.

After sixty minutes of play, Solskj?r's performance was lackluster, both in and out of the penalty area. He wasn't acclimated to such tight defensive setups, and with no space for his game, he found himself heavily marked. As his movements became predictable, he struggled to find his rhythm.

Aldrich was preparing to substitute, bringing on a powerful striker to fill Solskj?r's role.

Before making the change, he called Shevchenko over again. Seeing him jumping in place, Aldrich signaled for him to calm down, comforting him, and then squatted down to his level.

"Andriy, do you trust me?"

Aldrich looked into Shevchenko's eyes, speaking softly, using the simplest English he could muster as Shevchenko had only been in England for a few months.

After having observed several previous matches, Shevchenko had gained a deep understanding of Aldrich. Without hesitation, he nodded and replied, "Trust!"

He knew he had a future under this young manager.

"Are you nervous?"

Shevchenko glanced at the packed stands of the Lion's Den. Given the electrifying atmosphere, he was about to make his debut. It would have been a lie to claim he wasn't nervous, yet he also felt awkward admitting it, opting for silence.

Aldrich smiled and pointed at the opposing team, asking, "Do you know who they are?"

Shevchenko replied with a bemused expression, "Nottingham Forest."

"Do you know the history of Nottingham Forest?"

"Yes, European champions, twice!"

"Perhaps in Ukraine, you'd only meet opponents with European titles if you were lucky. Do you regret coming to England?"

"No! I'm very excited! Manchester United, Liverpool, and Nottingham Forest—all have achieved the highest honors in Europe. Such rivals are thrilling!"

Seeing the genuine excitement on Shevchenko's face, Aldrich nodded and then reached down to scoop a handful of dirt mixed with grass from the pitch. He raised it before Shevchenko, saying, "Smell this."

Shevchenko leaned down to sniff.

"What does it smell like?"

"A pleasant smell."

Perhaps he couldn't quite describe the scents of wet earth and fresh grass, so "pleasant" was the most straightforward term he could come up with.

Aldrich also took a whiff, appreciating the natural aroma that eased his mind.

He shook the dirt from his hands, patted them together, and said, "You have one simple task when you go on: stand at the front of the team and wait for the ball to come near you. If the ball comes from above, head it into the opponent's goal; if it rolls along the ground, use any means to send it into their net. Understand?"

Still thinking about that delightful smell, Shevchenko nodded seriously after hearing Aldrich's instructions.

Aldrich stood up and put an arm around his shoulder, playfully asking, "Are you still nervous?"

Shevchenko laughed, "Boss, after all that chatting, I forgot everything. Now I feel cold!"

"That's fine; just don't forget to score."

With that, Aldrich headed back to the coaching area, signaling the fourth official to make the change.

After waiting for the next stoppage in play, Solskj?r was substituted. He appeared a bit dejected, but Aldrich made a point to walk over and comfort him. "Ole, today's match didn't allow you to shine. Don't take it to heart. Not every game will see a striker score, but a great forward always brings a hunger for goals into the next match."

Solskj?r chuckled, "Boss, I'm not a child; you don't need to console me like that."

Aldrich replied, "Okay then, just sit back and focus on the match."

The baby-faced striker's smile returned as he put on a jacket handed to him by a coach, settling down to watch the game. It had become his habit to observe Aldrich, whether on or off the field, eager to interpret the match from Aldrich's perspective.

"Millwall has brought on a new summer signing, his name is, um, Andriy Shevchenko, hailing from Dynamo Kyiv in Ukraine. Interestingly, Aldrich didn't substitute Phillips, that well-known super-sub forward. The Ukrainian doesn't appear particularly special, not overly strong or tall. What on earth..." The commentator's voice suddenly went wild, "Oh my God, goooooooal!"

As the commentator continued talking about Shevchenko, he dashed straight into the penalty area after entering the field and scored his debut goal.

He watched his teammates' movements and entered the penalty area. Schneider delivered a cross from the side, and amidst the Nottingham Forest defenders, Larsson flicked up the ball at the near post, sending it to the back post where Shevchenko was perfectly positioned. Instinctively, he used his head to direct the ball.

However, his angle was slightly off; the ball flew toward the back post, while he couldn't stop himself in time and collided violently with the post.

Bang!

He immediately felt blood stream down from his forehead.

Nottingham Forest's players were utterly deflated, their gazes fixated on Shevchenko, lying on the ground, clutching his bleeding head.

Where did this kid come from?

Clark had meticulously strategized based on the strengths of each Millwall player, yet he was blindsided when Aldrich took an unconventional approach; with Trezeguet unavailable, he opted for a Ukrainian newcomer.

Their defensive bus was shattered, and he got injured in the process.

Millwall's players rushed to surround Shevchenko, leaving no time to celebrate.

The medical team hurried onto the field.

Lying on the ground with blood gushing from his head, Shevchenko felt dizzy. He looked around at his teammates and nervously asked in broken English, "Did I score?"

Nedved crouched beside him, pressing on his chest with a serious expression, "Congratulations! You scored on your first touch in your debut match—this may be a record, Andriy. Well done, but you should stay down; the medic will be here soon."

Shevchenko glanced at his blood-soaked hands. He quickly went from excitement to deflation, "I'm afraid I might have the fastest injury record!"

Aldrich stood on the sidelines with hands on his hips. He had sent Vieira to warm up; now that they scored, Nottingham Forest would likely start pressing aggressively. He needed to reinforce his central defense, allowing Nedved more space in attack.

Watching Shevchenko being carried off on a stretcher, Aldrich approached and gave him a thumbs-up before clapping along with the fans.

Yet he murmured to himself, "What a stroke of bad luck!"

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