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Chapter 77: Ferguson Moment

"Martin, the match isn\'t over yet; we don\'t know what will happen next. But it\'s undeniable that if Millwall wins, they completely deserve it. Aldrich and his team are heroes—even if they lose, they\'ll still earn the highest praise!"

"Will anything else happen? Look! After scoring, Nedved..."

Once Nedved scored, he dashed towards the coaching box, dirty from head to toe.

This match marked a historic milestone for Millwall Football Club: their first ever Premier League game!

So, this day belonged to all Millwall fans.

Some fans were moved to tears, while the coaching staff and players on the substitution bench rushed out. Aldrich was so excited he could hardly contain himself. Trembling, he felt the urge to join Nedved as he sprinted over.

The blond Nedved and the blond Aldrich, mentor and protégé, mirrored each other\'s jubilant movements as if they shared a deep connection.

Before reaching the touchline, Nedved slid on his knees, and Aldrich, dressed in a suit, mirrored him, dropping to one knee in celebration!

Thanks to Old Trafford\'s quality pitch!

Sliding on his knees felt incredible!

Once they finished their slide, Aldrich and Nedved rose to their feet, embracing tightly, two men of similar age yet bound together as master and student.

This moment became a classic image, one of countless unforgettable scenes in Aldrich\'s coaching career, and it was the very first.

Aldrich\'s feelings toward Nedved were pure. Unlike many master-student relationships filled with love and hate, Aldrich only held admiration for Nedved.

This iron man, who was humble off the field yet fiercely determined on it, had no faults in Aldrich\'s eyes. Who wouldn\'t love such a player?

After a successful year at Millwall, Nedved had developed a pure sense of respect for Aldrich.

No one ever called him a genius.

So, he had worked tirelessly to achieve success. Yet, Aldrich had clearly told him, "You are a genius!"

Aldrich was very dissatisfied with how many fans labeled Nedved as a diligent worker compensating for a lack of natural talent; it was nothing short of an insult!

Nedved was a hard worker and tenacious, those were indeed his outstanding qualities, but did that mean he lacked talent?

People who claim he had no talent were simply talking nonsense!

How many can dribble and break through like he does? How many can handle the ball with such simplicity and efficiency?

Too many people have grown accustomed to flashy football, believing that only players who can outrun everyone else possess true talent—such a notion is utterly absurd!

Similar to the touted stars of the next World Cup: Baggio II, Pirlo, Spain\'s golden boy Raúl, and the likes of Denilson and Ortega—half of them flopped, and the other half failed to impress. Pirlo couldn\'t lead, Raúl\'s Spain fell apart, Denilson dazzled during the final but ultimately enabled Thuram\'s defensive glory, and Ortega, who tried to clone Maradona, ended his World Cup journey with a red card.

Nedved\'s talent was enough for him to rise to global fame without needing excessive hype. Just because he worked harder than those with flashier skills does not diminish his technical abilities. His relentless running and countless falls only testify to his superior mental qualities—not because he was compensating for something, but because it made him perfect.

Much like the later mention of Xavi, no one ever considered his play to be flashy, yet no one could deny Xavi\'s uniqueness. Such players, how can they not be seen as gifted?

Nedved, a gifted warrior!

Players and coaches, alongside all the fans at Old Trafford, embraced each other in joy.

5:4!

A crazy scoreline, but victory was ours!

The referee approached, urging them to wrap up their celebrations quickly—the match wasn\'t over yet.

Once the crowd dispersed, Aldrich, disregarding what the referee, Duggan, was saying in his ear, called out to every player, "The remaining time, everyone fall back to defend!"

Regular time had already concluded, and Millwall didn\'t need to hope for a counterattack anymore; at this point, preserving the score was paramount.

Every team member understood the gravity of the moment—they nodded firmly in agreement, with no dissent.

Once the players cleared out, Aldrich turned to the referee, Duggan, catching his breath to calm his expression. He forced a smile and said, "I understand, I\'ll return to the coaching bench now."

"No need, Mr. Aldrich, please head to the stands. You\'ve disrupted the flow of the match," Duggan replied, raising a hand to indicate the stands.

Aldrich didn\'t expect to be sent to the stands. There was no choice; after all, he had taken Duggan\'s previous murmurings as mere noise.

At any other time, Old Trafford would have echoed with boos or applause—boos for Aldrich, applause for the referee. Yet, at this moment, Manchester United fans were dumbstruck, their hearts suspended in anxious anticipation.

Aldrich didn\'t protest; he simply made his way to the stands, knowing he could still coach in the next match. If he argued further with the referee, the risk of receiving a red card loomed.

As he walked up to the visiting team\'s bench in the stands, the staff had cleared a seat for him, while nearby, a mix of Manchester United fans eyed him suspiciously, as if they were witnessing some peculiar phenomenon.

How could this young man—who seemed like an overgrown boy—possibly be a head coach?

In football, rumors about disharmony in the locker room or rifts between the coach and players circulate endlessly. How could he, so young, command the respect of seasoned players on the pitch?

His youth added an air of mystery to Aldrich.

Once Aldrich sat down, he let out a long exhale, and turned to see two individuals in Manchester United jerseys seated next to him—a father and son.

The father, a typical middle-aged British man with a round belly, looked like he fit the stereotype. The child, around six or seven years old, was fair-skinned and had innocent eyes locked onto Aldrich. When he noticed Aldrich looking his way, he piped up in a clear, childish voice, "Can I have your autograph?"

"But I\'m Millwall\'s head coach, kid. You\'ve mistaken me for someone else—Manchester United\'s coach is over there," Aldrich pointed.

"I know, but you\'re really cool! Can I still have your autograph?"

"Alright, let\'s wait until after the match."

The East Stand erupted in cheers as Millwall fans linked arms, jumping for joy. This match was undoubtedly worth the ticket price, and all pre-season worries were dissipated.

Based on today\'s performance, Millwall\'s relegation worries were behind them!

Perhaps they could even contend for the title!

Melanie and Victoria both stood up, though they were not die-hard fans, the impact of today\'s match had left them simply amazed.

"Does he always act like this?"

Victoria noticed how Aldrich frequently became the focal point, always attracting the camera\'s attention. He appeared on the big screen almost every time a goal was scored, becoming the second highlight, whether it was Manchester United or Millwall.

From the moment he stepped into view, Aldrich, in his tailored suit, exuded a unique masculine charm that was mesmerizing.

The synchronized knee slide celebration with Nedved was unprecedented; never had a head coach contributed to a goal celebration with such passion!

Sporty Melanie bounced excitedly alongside the Millwall fans, her laughter contagious. "Absolutely! He does this all the time! I specifically dug up old news articles, and there\'s even a photo of him sliding on his knees by the sidelines. It drives women crazy! Aldrich, I love him! Take down Manchester United! Haha, Manchester\'s going to lose to a promoted team!"

As a Liverpool fan, Melanie couldn\'t suppress her glee seeing United fail. Now joining in the Millwall fan\'s jubilation, she couldn\'t help but loudly relish their misfortune.

Victoria observed Melanie, her gaze revealing envy.

Manchester United had gone mad!

No, it was the Red Devils\' passion that had erupted!

There were four minutes of stoppage time due to five goals scored in the second half and two substitutions—not much time had been wasted otherwise.

For those four minutes, the entire Manchester United squad pressed forward, launching a frenzied attack on Millwall\'s goal. But Millwall had built a solid defensive barrier in front of their net, forcing most of United\'s shots to hit defenders instead.

Palister even came up for a shot, which struck Stam and flew out of bounds.

Manchester United earned a corner, and by now, the clock read 95:42.

Despite surpassing the added time by nearly two minutes, Duggan still hadn\'t blown the final whistle, perhaps because Millwall had celebrated Nedved\'s goal for too long.

Sitting in the stands, Aldrich watched as Schmeichel joined in the attack for the corner; suddenly, a pang of guilt hit him.

Damn it!

Damn it! I forgot to use substitute players to waste time.

Yes, he still had two substitution slots unused!

Manchester United doesn\'t make substitutions; on one hand, there\'s no one to replace, and on the other hand, it\'s to save time.

Millwall could have used their two substitution slots to disrupt the opponent\'s rhythm, allowing players to rest and make necessary adjustments to their defense.

But Aldrich had overlooked this aspect; he still lacked experience in high-stakes matchups. Overwhelmed by excitement, he had pushed all thoughts aside.

Watching the corner unfold, Aldrich couldn\'t help but stand up.

Almost the entire stadium stood with him—this was surely going to be the Red Devils\' final strike.

With players packed in the box, Beckham was set to take the corner, and given Schmeichel\'s involvement, both teams would effectively have equal numbers in open play.

From the start of the match to this moment, Bruce\'s performance has been nothing short of disastrous, and he is still wearing the Manchester United captain\'s armband.

As captain, his chubby face contorted with rage. When the corner was taken, he leaped with all his might to head the ball.

The box was chaotic, but Bruce surprisingly managed to rise above the crowd!

His eyes, filled with fighting spirit and fury, convey strength. Steve Bruce, the Manchester United captain, is already thirty-four; yes, he has grown older.

However, when facing the newly promoted Millwall today, he must not appear to be past his prime!

Otherwise, not only would United face a defeat on home soil, but it would also leave a lingering shadow on this new generation of Red Devils.

As captain, he had to step up at this critical moment.

Bruce leapt high, powering a header straight towards Millwall\'s goal. At the moment he jumped for the header, he even overpowered Makélélé, letting out a fierce roar.

Even if I\'m eighty, no one can run wild at Old Trafford!

Bang!

Keller collapsed on the goal line, painfully striking the ground with his fist; the ball nestled within the net, forcing all Millwall players to helplessly shut their eyes.

The Red Devils had equalized in stoppage time!