The Unexpected Cold Shoulder

Aldrich initially thought that Millwall's success last season would earn him some respect from Fleet Street. Even if the four first-team players they brought in weren't well-known, at least they should give him some face, right? 

Just a photo, a few symbolic questions, and an exchange with Aldrich, and they could wrap up the whole affair.

But unexpectedly, the atmosphere grew cold.

These reporters were terribly realistic!

He didn't expect the four new players to arrive to much fanfare, but being treated this coldly was a different matter entirely. Not only might the players feel uncomfortable, but Aldrich also felt like he'd lost face.

"Cough, cough."

As the silence hung in the air, Aldrich cleared his throat and turned to the four new players, wearing a smile as he began to speak passionately.

"When Napoleon was ten years old, due to his background, accent, and name, he became the target of bullying at his boarding school. French boys mocked him and ridiculed everything he did, including his name."

As soon as Aldrich started speaking, the atmosphere shifted dramatically; the reporters transformed into eager students, listening intently and taking notes, recording every word he said.

They were here for news, and the announcement of Millwall's four signings had already been made public. There wasn't much to hype up; the reason for the packed house, with reporters from well-known media outlets, was not for these new players—it was for Aldrich.

In the lonely summer of '97, struggling with a lack of news stories, they were barely scraping by. The hottest topic in English football was not some celebrity player, but this young manager.

Nearly two months passed, and Aldridge was nowhere to be seen. He was last seen with reporters surrounding his home, trying to get his opinion on Cantona's retirement.

The lot of football reporters from Fleet Street had been waiting for ages, wishing on a star, and finally, Aldrich had returned.

When they heard Millwall was going to hold a press conference, they were thrilled, practically ready to celebrate.

But once they arrived, they were stunned to find that Millwall was merely announcing the formal signing of four new players.

The reporters were internally disgusted: After waiting two months, this was the news? No, this wasn't news; it was the kind of waste paper you'd use in the restroom.

However, once the young manager began to speak, the reporters perked up, eager for the feast of information.

Napoleon faced exclusion and discrimination until he was almost sixteen. Each year, the evaluations he received were peppered with comments that worked against his future. How did he respond? He simply laughed off the mockery and chose not to associate with the boys who wasted their time mocking him. While at the Brienne military school, he fully utilized every opportunity given to him, no matter how humbling it was. He voraciously devoured books. This road was bound to be lonely, and in his deep reflections, he wrestled with thoughts of quitting, even contemplating suicide at times.

Aldrich's storytelling captivated Van der Meyde, Duff, and Gudjohnsen, while Klinsmann wore a wry smile.

"Boss, I don't understand. I don't know English very well."

"But he overcame everything: external challenges and inner demons. By the age of 22, he had acquired knowledge that most people take 30 or even 40 years to gain. He penned numerous meaningful articles, filled with grand strategies and political reform plans that revealed his ambitions. The rest of the story, I believe everyone knows—he transformed from the son of Italy to the father of Italy. The French who once mocked him, and the noblewomen who despised him and would never consider him for a son-in-law, ended up bowing to call him Emperor."

When Aldrich finished, he smiled slightly at the audience and turned to the four new players, saying, "When Trezeguet came, some said he was just a wild kid from Argentina; when Pirlo arrived, they said he would cry in fear. Many players were doubted by the media, yet Millwall has produced one Napoleon after another, proving themselves through hard work and talent. If you can focus all your energy on striving, you too can become a Napoleon. Our goal is to become the Emperor of Europe! If one day we achieve that, then we'll have to shift our target: to avoid becoming Napoleon at Waterloo."

Laughter erupted in the venue.

Some reporters chuckled, others shook their heads in amusement, and a few sighed.

You can't help but respect this young manager.

His story seemed to encourage his players, yet it sounded like a jab at their shortsightedness, as if he was calling them blind to true value.

He even made a humorous remark at the end.

Now, this was a proper press conference!

Everyone got the news they wanted.

The young manager used a Napoleon anecdote to motivate his team.

This is just the kind of news we love to see!

In the spirit of reciprocity, they began to ask some trivial questions.

They inquired about how the players felt about joining Millwall, their aspirations for the future, and whether they were adjusting well to life in England.

Basically, it was just a waste of time to build rapport, giving Aldrich some face.

As for the serious answers from the four players, what they said would likely be boiled down to brief remarks in tomorrow's papers, such as "The newcomers are full of expectations for the future" and "I'm glad to play for Aldrich."

After the main program of the press conference had concluded, the reporters turned their attention back to Aldrich.

David Miller from The Times raised his hand and asked, "Mr. Hall, I have a question, I hope it's convenient for you to answer."

"You can ask; how would I know if it's convenient if you don't?" 

"Um, it's like this: I'm writing an academic article on Millwall's remarkable success last season, and there's a phenomenon I'm hoping to clarify with you. Millwall competed on four fronts last season, yet your players have suffered the fewest injuries among all Premier League and even top European clubs. Moreover, even when players did get injured, their recovery times were the shortest. What successful experiences does Millwall have that other English clubs can learn from?"

To Aldrich, David Miller was a journalist with refined taste, and his writing style was professional rather than sensationalist.

For instance, when he first saw Cruyff play for Ajax, he likened Cruyff to "Pythagoras in football boots." Ordinary readers sometimes found his articles too complex; if you didn't know who Pythagoras was, it would be hard to grasp what Miller was trying to convey.

After pondering for a moment, Aldrich responded, "There are generally three reasons. First, our training system equips players with strong physiques, reducing the likelihood of injuries in fierce competitions. Second, reasonable rest—young players shouldn't have back-to-back matches. Moreover, if any player feels slightly uncomfortable before a match, I won't risk having them play. Of course, at times, players might hide their discomfort just to get on the field. This requires coaches to be extra vigilant in observing players' conditions. Thirdly, we take pride in our medical system; I can confidently say that Millwall has the best medical team in Europe."

"Why are you so sure of that?" 

"Because there's something to compare it to." 

"What do you mean?" 

"How many team doctors does Manchester United have? How much do they budget each year for their medical system?"

David Miller frowned, uncertain, "It probably doesn't exceed £200,000, right?"

"Alright, let's say it's 200,000 pounds. Millwall's annual budget is at least five to ten times that amount. We have a medical team of over fifty people and eight licensed sports medicine specialists. Even with all of that, I still don't think it's enough, because it doesn't guarantee that every single injury a player has will be diagnosed without any errors."

The journalists present were astonished.

Millwall's annual medical budget was that high!

David Miller's expression grew even more troubled.

"What drove you to create such a high-standard medical department? I mean, if other clubs have a budget of one to two million pounds, they could recruit a decent player or offer raises to keep their existing players. For a club like Millwall, with debts over a hundred million, this money should ideally be saved instead of spent on injuries, right?"

Other reporters nodded in agreement, acknowledging Miller's viewpoint.

Aldrich shook his head with a wry smile, saying, "If you want to consider economic benefits, the calculations should be made this way. Suppose a player valued at £5 million gets injured and doesn't receive the correct diagnosis and treatment. If he's ruined, the club loses £5 million, plus his salary and the potential future value. If he could have recovered in three months but takes six due to improper treatment, the club incurs a loss for three months without his contributions and still has to pay his salary. However, I believe that's not the initial intent behind Millwall's hefty investment in its medical department. I respect my players; they deserve the best care. The club has an obligation to keep them healthy. And everyone knows, football is a closed circle; the team doctor is part of the club. Players can only be treated by team doctors unless they face serious injuries. Often, conditions that appear to be common issues like strains or ligament inflammation might be more complex than they seem. Some doctors lacking sufficient expertise may misdiagnose, which not only harms the club's interests but also disregards players' health. The club binds the players' will, and some players endure pain rather than seek treatment elsewhere, fearing it would be seen as betrayal. Meanwhile, some inept doctors keep their jobs by not revealing the truth, even when they can't diagnose the issue."

Once again, the room fell silent, the one most affected being Gudjohnsen.

There were indeed incompetent doctors at PSV!

They never diagnosed his illness correctly and never considered referring him to a more specialized medical institution. When they ultimately realized they couldn't treat him, they just kicked him out!

Despite the large investment in the medical department, Millwall was truly making a smart investment.

For example, bringing Gudjohnsen on board for free was a won opportunity worth at least £1 million. If he trained hard, with his natural talent, it was easy to see his value rise to £5 million.

Ensuring player health translates directly into revenue for the club, as only healthy players improve rapidly, and their value appreciates quickly.

David Miller didn't pursue the matter further because the relationships involved are incredibly complex. There's a long-standing distrust between traditional clubs and outside doctors. Clubs often prefer to reward loyalty by hiring non-professionals as team doctors to ensure that all information stays under wraps, including players' injury details.

"Mr. Hall, thank you for your candid response. I'll include your insights in my article. To be honest, I really admire your attitude and actions protecting players. Other clubs should emulate Millwall's approach and let professionals handle professional matters."

Aldrich smiled and nodded at David Miller, genuinely hoping the journalist would publish everything he just said. He wished for other reporters to do the same.

Even if it would upset many colleagues, it would win the hearts of more players, attracting them to join his ranks.

Moreover, employing professional doctors as team physicians is an inevitable trend; in a few years, the FA will officially require that team doctors in professional clubs be licensed specialists in sports medicine.