The Midfield War

The recent media frenzy in Britain left Aldrich both amused and exasperated.

Millwall was painted as a ruthless and tyrannical ruling class, while Aldrich himself was portrayed as an all-powerful dictator capable of controlling everything with a single hand!

And what about the other Premier League teams?

They were cast as oppressed underdogs, barely clinging to survival.

Now, with the media's rallying cry, the time had come.

It was time to resist!

Time to overthrow the "tyrant's" regime!

This bizarre narrative even earned Aldrich a new nickname: "The Tyrant."

Of course, this "tyrant" differed greatly from the moniker once given to Van Gaal. Van Gaal was labeled a tyrant for his strict methods of discipline. Aldrich, on the other hand, was accused of mercilessly robbing others of their championship dreams.

As the Charity Shield loomed, Aldrich faced a barrage of questions at the press conference, repeatedly having to deny these claims with a bemused smile.

"No, this is completely unfair! I might have to hire a lawyer to sue you unprofessional journalists!"

"Millwall's success wasn't handed to us, nor was it achieved through unethical means. Why are we being criticized? Just because we're too successful?"

"And don't ask me about 'greatest achievements'—I'm only 24 years old!"

At first glance, it seemed like Aldrich was waging war against the journalists, but in reality, the atmosphere at the event was remarkably pleasant.

"What's your take on tomorrow's Charity Shield match against Manchester United? If Millwall loses, will it signal something bigger?"

"Signal? What kind of signal? If we lose the Charity Shield, does that mean we'll lose the league title too? The league hasn't even started yet. Come on. The Charity Shield is just that—a charity match. Whatever the result, it won't signal anything. You're overthinking it."

On the day of the Charity Shield, Millwall and Manchester United clashed at Wembley.

The Lions' fans were feeling conflicted.

They had just bid farewell to Wembley at the end of last season, and this stadium now carried a special emotional weight for them.

Yet, no sooner had they left than Arsenal struck a deal with the FA to use Wembley as their home ground for European matches.

Though Arsène Wenger had personal reservations, the prospect of doubling ticket revenue proved irresistible, and he reluctantly agreed.

Wembley, typically reserved for domestic cup finals and national team matches, had become Millwall's temporary home for a while. The Lions' fans had fond memories here. Now, with Arsenal seamlessly taking over, it felt like an unwelcome metaphor: the girlfriend you slept with yesterday was now seduced by someone else today.

Despite these sentiments, the fans' enthusiasm remained unshaken.

Facing Manchester United was just what they wanted!

Aldrich entered the pitch and shook hands with Ferguson. The Scot's face was like a storm cloud, dark and brooding.

Fleet Street's relentless commentary had clearly struck a nerve.

It seemed as though the world had already crowned Millwall superior to Manchester United. To top it off, The Sun declared Aldrich a one-man army, challenging the collective strength of 19 other Premier League managers.

For Ferguson, a man who had given his life to the game and amassed countless trophies, it was a slap in the face. To be compared—and seemingly outshined—by a 24-year-old felt like his life's work had been rendered meaningless.

Nothing stings more than being measured against someone and falling short.

All summer, Manchester United had prepared intensely, fueled by Ferguson's determination to challenge Millwall head-on from the very start of the new season.

Aldrich's emotions were complicated.

He had originally planned to tease Ferguson a little.

After all, the veteran manager had just poached Richardson from Millwall—not that Aldrich minded much. He merely wanted to throw a few jabs for fun.

But as soon as Ferguson greeted him with a deeply resentful glare, Aldrich found himself unable to deliver his taunts.

"Ha-ha, Martin, did you see Ferguson's face when he confronted Hall?"

"Of course I saw it. Manchester United finished with 88 points last season, the highest they've managed since the Premier League was restructured. But the result? A loss to Millwall. For months, United had been chasing them, hoping for Millwall to crumble. From February onward, they were waiting for that moment, that slip. But in the end, they didn't see Millwall falter. Instead, they had to watch as Millwall marched into Old Trafford, triumphant, receiving the trophy as champions. It was a blow to United's pride, a cruel twist of fate. No wonder Ferguson was in no mood to smile."

"Hahaha! Ferguson claimed Millwall is still the favorite for the Premier League title this season, but judging by their preseason preparations, United clearly has massive ambitions. Ferguson knows the art of psychological warfare. Right now, he's turning all the attention onto Millwall."

"Let's check today's starting lineups. Both teams are fielding their strongest squads. Millwall lost Makelele over the summer, with Gattuso stepping in as a replacement, but the 4-3-3 formation remains unchanged. As for Manchester United, there are three major changes: Barthez has replaced Bosnich in goal, young Brown starts at center-back, and Silvestre takes over Irwin's spot as left-back."

Aldrich returned to his seat on the bench, observing the game calmly.

Manchester United's structure remained intact, so their playing style wouldn't differ much.

But Millwall, regarded as one of Europe's top teams, had something people seemed to overlook: they still had room to improve—and significantly so.

With players like Ronaldinho, Pirlo, Zambrotta, and Henry, Millwall had yet to hit their peak.

"Yorke takes the shot! So close—just wide. Millwall patiently builds their attack again. It seems like they're focusing relentlessly on breaking through Brown today."

"That makes sense, doesn't it? Brown is young and lacks experience. He's undoubtedly the weakest link in United's defense."

In defense, consistency is everything. Ten successful blocks can be undone by a single lapse.

Under mounting pressure, Brown faltered in the 33rd minute of the first half, becoming the target of a coordinated attack by Henry and Nedvěd.

Henry held the ball with his back to goal, laying it off to Nedvěd, who surged forward under Keane's challenge.

Brown hesitated—should he press or stay back?

As Keane failed to dispossess Nedvěd, Brown stepped forward to help. But the moment he moved, Nedvěd threaded a through ball. Henry beat the offside trap and slotted a low, angled shot past his compatriot Barthez, finding the bottom corner.

"Wow, Martin. I'm not the least bit surprised that Henry scored from that opportunity—it's what he does. But the lead-up was fascinating: Keane versus Nedvěd. Every Millwall-United clash seems to feature those two as the main event. This time, Keane came out second-best."

Keane's defensive prowess was undeniable, but even he wasn't infallible. If he succeeded every time, he'd be a god.

His duels with Nedvěd were an even match, each earning their share of victories. They had become one of the Premier League's marquee battles.

Unlike Keane's clashes with Vieira—where both operated in deeper roles and rarely collided directly—Keane and Nedvěd went head-to-head in attack versus defense, creating an intense rivalry.

Earlier, Keane had tried to physically overpower Nedvěd during his forward run. But Nedvěd maintained his balance, broke free, and gained separation. Keane chased after him but had no choice but to concede the foul when he lost his positioning. Now, with his team conceding, Keane could only regret not fouling earlier.

Keane helplessly shrugged at Brown as he watched Millwall's players celebrating their goal.

He couldn't fault Brown too much for letting Nedvěd slip past him, but still, Brown had lost his position far too easily.

Brown felt frustrated. There was only Henry in the middle, and he had come up to support. He thought Stam would cover for him.

But Stam, used to such situations, was almost numb to it. If covering for others could prevent every goal, football would be easy. Nedvěd's pass to Henry coincided with Larsson's diagonal run into the box. With Silvestre a step behind Larsson, if Stam had shifted to Henry, Larsson would've been left unmarked for a tap-in.

On the sideline, Ferguson chewed his gum faster, his frustration evident.

The reality was clear: facing an elite attacking unit required an elite defensive line.

Stam was world-class, but United desperately needed another center-back of similar caliber. Unfortunately, players of that level were hard to find—and even harder to poach.

Ferguson had hoped to overpower Millwall with a two-wing attack today, but the match was proving that his tactical plan was failing.

Brown's vulnerability caused a chain reaction: Keane and Neville had to cover for him, leaving the midfield stretched. This gave Ronaldinho free rein on Millwall's left flank, forcing Beckham into a purely defensive role.

Meanwhile, Gattuso—though not as precise or imposing as Makelele—relentlessly disrupted United's midfield with his tireless running and no-nonsense tackles. Whether he succeeded or fouled, he turned the game into chaos, leaving United's attack in shambles.

This was supposed to be a friendly Charity Shield match, but Ferguson, standing on the sidelines, was growing increasingly agitated.

Manchester United, with their long-standing 4-4-2 formation under his reign, found themselves utterly dominated by Millwall. Despite United boasting a lineup that could rival Europe's best, they were being outplayed to a distressing degree.

Andrea Pirlo, now even harder to contain than before, controlled the tempo and delivered precise passes, amplifying Millwall's immense midfield advantage.

This wasn't just about individual talent. Millwall's three-man midfield—Gattuso, Pirlo, and Nedvěd—had a synergy that dwarfed the positioning of Scholes and Keane. Whether it was maintaining possession, intricate passing sequences, or defensive pressing to disrupt United's structure, Millwall's superiority in the midfield battle was painfully clear.

Ferguson began to formulate ideas for a tactical transformation for Manchester United.

Something had to change.

If they didn't adapt, every time they faced Millwall, they'd surrender the midfield and hand over control of the game entirely.

What exactly should change? That required careful thought. For now, Ferguson could only assess the individual performances of his players.

Millwall, as if sensing Ferguson's inner turmoil, played right into his frustrations.

Wes Brown, for instance, might have nightmares after this game.

Ronaldinho had him on toast in the first 10 minutes, dribbling past him twice. The second time, Brown clumsily collided with Neville.

Unfortunately for Ronaldinho, he hadn't brought his shooting boots. Both times he cut inside and got into shooting positions, but he failed to convert—one shot flew over the bar, the other was straight at Barthez, who easily gathered it.

By halftime, Millwall led by a single goal. The Manchester United players trudged off the pitch, brimming with frustration as they entered the tunnel.

Aldrich, too, walked toward the dressing room, his head bowed in thought.

Their pre-match strategy had deliberately targeted Brown, exploiting his vulnerabilities. It was a sound tactic—hit the weak spot, press the advantage. The results spoke for themselves. Still, Aldrich couldn't help but feel a trace of malicious satisfaction: perhaps they could demoralize Brown so thoroughly that he'd falter every time he faced Millwall in the future.

However, Millwall couldn't afford to stagnate as the new season approached.

They were the team to beat now, Europe's public enemy. Every team across the continent was studying them, devising ways to dismantle their dominance. If they remained static, this edge they held could slowly be eroded by relentless targeted strategies.

Reflecting on the game and Gattuso's strengths, Aldrich began considering subtle adjustments that could ensure Millwall stayed one step ahead.