A Manager’s Gamble

Aldrich couldn't contain his emotions as he watched Henry drive the ball into the net. Without thinking, he sprinted toward the corner flag on the far side of the pitch, the very spot where Henry was roaring and running to celebrate.

Advancing to the Champions League final was another step for Millwall toward claiming the ultimate glory. This wasn't just a triumph for the team; it was also a pivotal moment for Aldrich as a manager—a chance to make his name shine even brighter.

With such a surge of excitement, how could Aldrich not be overwhelmed?

"3-2! An aggregate score of 7-5!" The commentator's voice was electric. "Henry's goal has delivered a potentially fatal blow to Real Madrid. With just 13 minutes left, they now need at least two goals to keep their hopes of reaching the Champions League final alive. Can they still make it? Wembley is in pandemonium! The Lions' fans are singing their hearts out. Henry, the impeccable striker of this season, has solidified his lead in the Champions League scoring charts. It's been a perfect season for him, but he isn't just after personal accolades. He wants to go to Paris, stand on home soil, and lift the big-eared trophy!"

Aldrich grabbed Henry by the neck in the crowd, shouting over and over.

"I told you! You'd be a world-class forward!"

"You're going to be a legendary striker!"

Henry and Aldrich stood with their foreheads touching, their faces alight with wild.

Once, in Henry's early years, he and Aldrich crossed paths but never truly connected. However, in the period when Henry rose to prominence, Millwall also reached new heights. A string of events—Henry's injury, Trezeguet's transfer—led to their eventual reunion at Millwall. Under Aldrich's tutelage, Henry was transformed into a lethal force feared across Europe. This was the story of their bond as coach and striker.

When the celebrations finally subsided, Aldrich turned to the stands, raising his arms in triumph. As he headed back toward the dugout, he pointed at Henry, a proud smile on his face.

Before Real Madrid resumed play, Millwall had already submitted their substitution list. But at that moment, Aldrich decided to adjust the plan.

With Madrid trailing by two goals, their desperation would likely open up more counterattacking opportunities for Millwall. Aldrich wanted Pirlo to stay on the pitch to exploit these openings. After all, one of Pirlo's incisive through balls could easily result in another goal.

Aldrich signaled for Neil to take the field, substituting Larsson.

Despite getting on the scoresheet, Larsson wasn't in peak form today. He missed a golden opportunity and was uncharacteristically shaky with a few other chances.

But Aldrich wasn't one to nitpick. For most forwards, a lackluster performance would mean being completely anonymous throughout the match. Larsson's ability to still produce a goal was commendable.

Neal's introduction sent a clear signal to the entire team: they knew exactly how they needed to play from this point forward.

As the match restarted, an incredible turn of events unfolded.

Real Madrid pushed forward, bringing the ball to the edge of the penalty area. Ballack, with Neil in front of him, unleashed a powerful long-range strike. The ball rocketed toward the left side of the goal. Its destination—inside or outside the post—remained unclear.

Butt reacted swiftly, shifting toward his left, only for the ball to take an unexpected deflection mid-air. Neil's outstretched leg had disrupted its course, though it still headed for the goal, albeit slower than before.

Butt, momentarily stunned, tried to reverse direction, but the split-second delay proved costly. He dove, clawing the ball back, but it had already crossed the line. Southgate promptly cleared the rebound.

The referee's whistle blew loud and clear. He pointed to the center circle: the goal was confirmed.

"This is absolutely unbelievable! Real Madrid have scored again! It's now 3-3 on the night, 7-6 on aggregate. If Real Madrid can get one more, it'll be 7-7, and with the away goals rule, they'll draw level with Millwall in every sense.

This goal had a bit of luck to it. Ballack's long-range effort, if left untouched, would likely have either gone wide or been saved by Butt. But Neil's block changed the ball's direction, and it rolled into the net instead. Replay footage clearly shows that Butt only managed to scoop the ball out after it had crossed the line by almost half a meter. There's no controversy about this one."

Ballack didn't celebrate. He turned and jogged back toward his own half with a blank expression. Perhaps it was because Real Madrid were still trailing on aggregate—or perhaps it was because of his history with Millwall.

For the first time in his managerial career, Aldrich felt as though he were on the verge of breaking—or perhaps losing his sanity altogether—while commanding from the sidelines.

In this moment, he probably felt just like Manchester United captain Keane earlier this season when his team suffered that 4-5 comeback defeat to Millwall: utterly incredulous.

Why?

Why?

Why couldn't Real Madrid just be crushed underfoot?

Why wouldn't they simply bow down and admit defeat?

3-3, 7-6.

If Real Madrid scored one more, Aldrich was certain the entire match would tilt in their favor.

The pressure would crush Millwall's spirit, dragging the players back into the nightmare of last year's defeat in Munich.

Aldrich took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He had to keep his head. Now, more than ever, he needed to stay cool.

What to do?

Go on the offensive?

But he had already subbed out Larsson for Neil, and Pirlo was utterly drained. The recent defensive lapse wasn't solely Neil's fault for sticking out a leg and fouling; it was just as much due to Pirlo, who held his position but failed to act as a defensive barrier.

The blame lay squarely with Aldrich.

He realized it all too well—he should never have indulged in the fantasy of keeping Pirlo on for a counterattack against Real Madrid.

Sure, Pirlo could deliver game-changing moments in open spaces during counterattacks. But as his stamina dwindled, his defensive weaknesses became a glaring liability.

Aldrich needed to fix his mistake. He immediately brought on Lampard to replace Pirlo and sent him onto the pitch with clear instructions: defend and counterattack.

The decision had to be resolute. Aldrich couldn't afford to change tactics midway—ordering the team to defend one moment and attack the next would be self-destructive.

Since Neil's substitution had already signaled a defensive shift, even after conceding a goal and facing a less favorable situation, Aldrich's priority was to unify the team's tactical mindset. Any hesitation would spell disaster.

If they lost in the end, Aldrich would bear full responsibility.

With Lampard on to replace Pirlo, Millwall rebuilt their defensive core.

Gattuso, Lampard, Neil, and Nedvěd—every one of them was a fighter.

Real Madrid's central attacks were completely blocked. They were forced to rely on the flanks, but Millwall's commitment to defense left Madrid unable to bring enough players forward. Even their right-back Salgado had to push up to a winger's position to assist the attack.

85, 86, 87, 88...

Time ticked away as the match hung in the balance. Both Vicente del Bosque and Aldrich stood at the sidelines, fully aware that the game's outcome boiled down to a single question:

Could Real Madrid score a fourth goal?

If they managed to do so, whether through extra time or penalties, Real Madrid would gain a massive psychological edge.

For Millwall, the situation wasn't entirely bleak. As long as they didn't concede, they were guaranteed a place in the final.

In the 89th minute, Raúl sprinted from the left to the center to receive the ball. McManaman delivered a cross, and Raúl's header—though on target—was too far out, allowing Butt to catch it easily. Holding the ball securely, Butt glanced forward, took a few long strides, and then charged to the edge of the penalty area before launching a powerful throw into the midfield.

Real Madrid had committed to an all-out offensive push, leaving their defense wide open. The ball, thrown by Butt with precision, bounced near the center circle and rolled forward—into an empty expanse of the pitch.

Yes, empty. That was why Butt dared to risk such a bold throw.

Henry collected the ball, turned, and began driving forward with long strides. Ahead of him, only Helguera and Hierro stood in his way.

As the counterattack unfolded, Ronaldinho surged forward from midfield.

Helguera and Hierro positioned themselves to contain Henry, but Henry decisively angled a pass to the left flank. There, an unmarked Ronaldinho exploded into action, bypassing Hierro's defense with sheer pace—one-on-one with the goalkeeper!

Wembley erupted. Fans stood as if being on their feet would grant them a clearer view of the action.

The commentators were already shouting themselves hoarse.

Casillas abandoned his post, rushing out to close the distance. Ronaldinho had yet to enter the penalty area, but Casillas had no choice—Hierro's recovery speed couldn't match the Brazilian's electrifying dribble. At 32, the veteran couldn't be expected to perform miracles.

Allowing Ronaldinho to enter the box and adjust for a shot would almost certainly result in a goal. Casillas had to act.

Expressionless, Ronaldinho dribbled forward. Just outside the penalty box, he noticed Casillas charging toward him. Calmly, he stopped the ball, nudged it to the side, and, with a quick, measured motion, used the inside of his foot to loft the ball gently.

The ball, spinning with precision, seemed to hang in the air as if time itself had slowed.

Casillas leaped, stretching his fingertips in a desperate attempt to alter its course.

But no. His outstretched hand—so close yet so far—missed the ball by a mere 30 centimeters. The ball arched beautifully over his head, leaving the young keeper with no choice but to glance back in despair before shutting his eyes in defeat.

The ball nestled into the back of the net, spinning slightly against the fabric before coming to rest motionless.

Wembley erupted like a volcano. The roar of the crowd was deafening.

"4–3! The aggregate score is 8–6! Ronaldinho has sealed the win for Millwall with a sublime chip! There's no time left for Real Madrid. Unless they score twice in stoppage time—highly unlikely—this is over! They've fought hard, creating glimmers of hope, but Millwall has snuffed them all out. Ronaldinho isn't celebrating with his signature samba dance. What's he doing? It looks like he's praying."

After scoring, Ronaldinho walked toward the sideline, kneeling on Wembley's grass before his teammates could reach him. Placing his right hand on his lips, he kissed it, then touched the grass, traced a cross on his chest, and finally lifted his head with both hands pointing to the sky.

This solemn moment became an iconic image. Later, Ronaldinho explained that he loved Wembley and was sentimental about leaving it behind for Champions League matches. Over the past two seasons, during which he had become a first-team regular, Wembley had gifted him many beautiful memories.

Indeed, his senior debut had been at Wembley—not in a European competition but in the FA Cup final.

While the Real Madrid players stood despondent, the contrast was stark. On the sideline, Aldrich and the substitutes were celebrating wildly, jumping and shouting with unrestrained joy.