Aldrich brought Bert and Earl back home, and it seemed that after arriving at their new place, the two little rascals had kept everyone awake all night. Aldrich himself looked exhausted, but it was Yvonne who seemed to be struggling even more, staying awake almost the entire night. Seeing this, Aldrich couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt in his heart.
During the day, if he had to go to work, he would drop the two boys off at Arthur's place and pick them up after work.
The situation was much better than the time when he had to squeeze in trips back and forth to Liverpool every week.
But during this period, he was utterly busy. In addition to his work at the club, he had to review national team data, past match footage, and still take care of the two boys. While he was happy to do it, fatigue was starting to set in.
The day before the team's departure for Moscow, Aldrich was unusually close to being late.
He threw on a suit and rushed out the door, racing against time, which the British paparazzi were quick to capture, snapping some sellable photos.
Fleet Street and other European media outlets were making him loathe the attention.
At work, Aldrich had been trying to downplay his role as England's national team manager, but every time a press conference came around, the reporters' questions would inevitably circle back to the England team. Aldrich had set a rule to handle it coldly—any questions about the national team would go unanswered.
Millwall was about to face Spartak Moscow in the first round of the UEFA Champions League group stage.
Traveling to Moscow at this time was far easier than going there in November or December.
However, after 90 minutes of play, the Moscow crowd erupted in celebration.
They had achieved a historic victory!
Spartak Moscow 2:1 Millwall.
The first match of the new Champions League season had brought an unexpected upset!
It would have been normal for Millwall to win, a draw would have been a mild surprise, but a loss? Who could have predicted that before the match?
One of the highlights of Millwall's record in European competitions was that, over the past four years, they had only lost to Bayern Munich.
Spartak Moscow was so close to entering Millwall's European history.
With three consecutive league draws and a loss in their first European match, Millwall's winter seemed to have come earlier than expected.
The match confirmed something Aldrich had noticed in the Spurs game: the team was lacking something!
The locker room was deathly quiet after the game. Millwall's players silently stripped off their jerseys, took showers, and changed into clean clothes. They sat on chairs, waiting for their teammates, preparing to leave.
The locker room had poor sound insulation, and the noise from the home team's celebration echoed through, harsh and grating. Even though Spartak Moscow didn't do it on purpose, to the Millwall players, it felt like mockery.
At the post-match press conference, Aldrich took full responsibility, working hard to defend his players.
There were a lot of internationals in the team, and the effects of the FIFA virus were still lingering.
There were disadvantages to playing away.
The team's qualification prospects were still good, and so on.
But he took full responsibility for the loss, admitting it was due to tactical errors. He had underestimated the opponent and didn't expect Spartak Moscow to be so aggressive at home...
After the press conference, Aldrich entered the locker room, gently closing the door, and looked at the scene where no one seemed willing to speak. He walked to an empty seat and sat down, silent for a while.
It was as if he were accompanying his players to savor this moment.
The players suddenly turned their gaze toward him, but still, no one spoke.
Aldrich didn't explode in anger. If anger could solve the problem, he would have done so without hesitation.
But he knew that wasn't the way to solve things.
The team had a problem, one that had been a concern for the coaching staff before the season began. But it was hard to avoid this through words alone.
What was needed now was communication.
"Lost the game, feeling down, right?" Aldrich said with a sigh.
A few players nodded.
"Alright, let me first reflect on myself. As you can see, I am also the manager of the England national team. I can't deny that I haven't spent time on that, but I believe my commitment to Millwall hasn't diminished. Next, I'm going to say something that may make you uncomfortable, but I'm not blaming anyone. Right now, what we need most is to stick together. If any of you think that my resignation from the England job could improve the situation, just let me know, and I'll go to London and submit my resignation to the FA immediately."
Before Aldrich could finish his words, Schneider spoke up, "Boss, yes, we lost today, but it doesn't reflect on your role as the England manager. We've all witnessed your dedication, whether it's with the national team or here at the club. You never cut corners or overlook things. Frankly, I'm happy for you, and I'm proud of what you're doing. Don't let it get to you, boss. This isn't the apocalypse. We'll regroup, get our heads straight, and go after every win from here on out."
Schneider's seniority in the locker room gave him significant influence, and his words were acknowledged by his teammates.
For players like them, seasoned veterans who've been through countless battles, losing a match wasn't something to dwell on. There would be more games ahead, and they weren't on the edge of a cliff just yet.
Aldrich forced a faint smile, his expression somewhat grim. "Yeah, it's not the end of the world. But I don't think it's your performance that's the issue. Like I said earlier, I'm going to say things that might make you uncomfortable, that could make you resent me or even hate me, but I have to say it: your fighting spirit has noticeably declined recently!"
The players' expressions turned serious, and the atmosphere in the room grew heavy.
The head coach could criticize the players' performance—that was something they couldn't deny. But to accuse them of lacking fighting spirit, to say they weren't playing like men, like they weren't battling on the field…
Who could take that?
Aldrich sighed. "You've all been at Millwall for six years, five, four, two years… You've won honors, lived in luxury homes, driven fancy cars, and worn designer clothes. Wherever you go, you're stars, the center of attention. It seems like you've become too good for this, like you're on a different level from regular players. We've been winning, winning, and winning—Juventus, AC Milan, Real Madrid, Barcelona, Manchester United, Bayern Munich, all the top European teams have fallen before us. Who could stop us now? Right? Who could stop us now? But then why did we lose to Spartak Moscow? Why did we lose to a team from a second-tier European league?"
Many players suddenly lowered their heads in shame, some even feeling humiliated.
"Was it because of the absence of Ronaldinho and Nedvěd?"
"Or was it the Eastern European environment that we couldn't adapt to?"
"Or was it the artificial turf on the pitch that made it hard to play?"
"Or did you all naively think the opponent should just lose to us?"
"Or maybe you were afraid of getting injured, thinking it wasn't worth it to clash with these unknown players, or you felt it was a given. It was just the first match of the group stage, we still have five more games, we're sure to advance, one loss doesn't matter."
Aldrich scanned the locker room, and no player dared to meet his gaze.
Some things he said had clearly struck a nerve, maybe even tapped into their subconscious thoughts.
Although Millwall had experience playing in Eastern Europe in recent years, that didn't guarantee the team would immediately adapt to the climate and environment here.
One could only say that their previous experience had prepared them mentally.
The difference between artificial turf and natural grass was obvious. When a player falls on artificial turf, not to mention the risk of serious injury, even the minor abrasions can be painful enough to make you wince.
And with the current relaxed qualification scenario in the Champions League group stage, and Millwall being in a relatively weak group, it gave the players a lot of room to ease their minds.
The game progressed with Millwall taking the lead in the 32nd minute, being equalized in the 60th minute, and then losing 2-1 in the 91st minute.
In the 30 minutes after the equalizer, Aldrich identified the problem from the sidelines.
A decline in fighting spirit!
Why do top teams always manage to pull off a last-minute win? Why do near-top teams often concede goals in the final stages of key matches?
Sometimes, it's not about the difference in basic strength, but in the difference in willpower.
When players reach the 70-minute mark, when their stamina is starting to peak, it's the team with the stronger desire to win, the one with greater mental strength, that will determine the final result!
Millwall's situation was the complete opposite of most teams that lacked mental toughness.
It was because they were so strong!
So strong that they had begun to disregard teams that were below their level.
Against top-tier teams, in crucial matches, they showed no signs of weakness.
But against teams like Spartak Moscow or Tottenham, they couldn't get themselves excited. It was like a sort of arrogance, a belief that they were above their opponents.
They probably thought they could just stroll through the match and win easily, that victory would come to them naturally. But if they got injured in the process, the cost would be too high, and the players started to avoid physical confrontations.
It was true that last season, Millwall had won many games by 60th or 70th minutes.
But that was because they used 100% of their fighting spirit to wrap up the game quickly.
It didn't mean they could just use 60% of their effort and expect to win the game in 90 minutes.
After the score was equalized, Aldrich adjusted his tactics and pushed for an aggressive attack. But on the field, the players showed no greater determination. The decline in their combativeness and impact was the best proof of this.
Aldrich's voice was soft as he said, "Maybe, I've reached a different conclusion than you all. I don't doubt your ambition to keep reaching for greatness, but I believe if things continue as they are, Millwall's recent glory will be the end of the road. Perhaps you all don't agree, and you think we can still maintain our dominance in European football in our current state. Over these years, thank you for being by my side, for sticking with this club that had nothing, through all the ups and downs. You all are the true heroes of this team, and that's irrefutable. I'm grateful and I don't want to blame you all too harshly. On this matter, I'll step back. Let's go with your vision. In success, we are together; in failure, I'll stay with you all. When this season is over, we'll see what happens. If I'm wrong, I'll apologize. If I'm right, we'll forget this season and start fresh. Let's go home now."
As Aldrich finished his words, he stood up and walked slowly toward the door. Southgate shouted behind him, "Boss!"
The moment felt as though Aldrich was leaving them.
Aldrich turned around with a smile, shaking his head to stop Southgate from speaking in shock. He spoke quietly, "Like I said, in success or failure, we're in this together. At worst, we start over."