The Press, The Praise, and The Pressure

After their match against Greece, the England team flew back to London that evening. Although FIFA's international match days weren't over, they had another away game against Albania six days later.

Aldrich granted the team a day off, followed by three days of training and two days for traveling and playing the match.

By the time they landed in London, it was already the early hours of the morning. The team temporarily disbanded, and Aldrich returned home. Yvonne and the children were fast asleep, and he himself was utterly exhausted, nearly dozing off in the bathtub.

The next morning, Aldrich wasn't woken by the sunlight but by something being stuffed into his mouth. Half-asleep, he thought he was dreaming.

It wasn't until his teeth were uncomfortably pressed that he opened his eyes to see Earl holding a baby bottle and trying to feed him breakfast!

Bert stood by, watching with his arms crossed.

Sitting up with a laugh, Aldrich pulled both his sons onto his lap and began tickling them, eliciting bursts of laughter.

Bert tried to escape but was caught by Aldrich, while Earl giggled uncontrollably, wriggling in delight.

Aldrich felt a surge of gratitude—his two sons were not only healthy but seemed to be developing slightly ahead of the average milestones. They walked steadily, spoke clearly, and even responded thoughtfully to questions, showing signs of intelligence beyond their years.

When Aldrich went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, the two little ones followed, seemingly uninterested in their usual games and keen on shadowing their father.

As Aldrich brushed his teeth, Bert and Earl lifted their arms and motioned for toothbrushes.

"You don't even have all your teeth yet. Wait another six months," Aldrich chuckled through his foamy mouth.

While he brushed, the boys mimicked his movements, pretending to brush their teeth.

When Aldrich bent down to wash his face, Bert and Earl waved their hands near their faces as if washing up too.

When he combed his hair, they turned to face each other, using their hands as pretend combs to fix each other's hair.

Returning to his room to change clothes, Aldrich realized the boys were unusually clingy that morning. They weren't interested in playing house or other games; instead, they had decided to imitate their dad.

Even when Aldrich changed into casual wear, they tugged at his pants, insisting on wearing something similar.

Left with no choice, Aldrich rummaged through their wardrobe and found matching outfits to dress them in.

When they came downstairs, Yvonne had just returned from shopping. Seeing the boys in white casual outfits, she looked puzzled.

"Hmm? Didn't they have different clothes on this morning?" she asked, recalling how she'd dressed them herself.

Aldrich chuckled and shook his head.

"Brady and his wife are coming over for dinner tonight. You'll be home, right?" Yvonne asked as she put away the groceries in the kitchen.

"I'll be here," Aldrich confirmed, grabbing some food from the fridge and pouring himself a glass of orange juice before heading to the dining room.

Yvonne brought over the morning paper with a grin.

"Mr. Hall, the British media are singing your praises!"

As Aldrich sipped his orange juice, Bert and Earl sat beside him, holding their bottles but clearly not drinking. The milk levels remained unchanged as they simply gnawed on the nipples for show.

Looking down at the newspaper, Aldrich saw the front-page photo of himself during the match, his left hand in his pocket and his right hand signaling the team to stay calm.

While Aldrich read, Bert and Earl grabbed another newspaper, pretending to scan it with serious expressions. They couldn't read, of course, but the pictures seemed to amuse them.

England's 4–1 away victory was indeed worthy of celebration, and the media were predictably effusive in their praise.

The papers claimed Aldrich had transformed England's playing style into something magical and elegant, with significant improvements in the team's skills, especially in passing and ball control. Aldrich, however, took it all with a pinch of salt.

Some compliments were grounded in reality, while others were pure fantasy.

Suggestions that England's passing game had become more European in style, or that Aldrich possessed some magical ability to enhance players' skills, were outright exaggerations.

England simply wasn't equipped to play possession-based football at a high level. If stringing together a few extra passes during a counterattack qualified as "possession football," it was merely passing, not control—a far cry from the real thing.

In the past, England's offense often hit a wall—passes lacked targets, errors were frequent. The two main reasons? A lack of space and tightly marked attacking players. Aldrich didn't aim to turn his players into technical geniuses overnight; instead, he focused on solving these issues tactically.

If professional players, especially those at the national level, couldn't control the ball or make accurate passes in open space, could they even call themselves professionals?

Reading some post-match reviews, Aldrich shook his head and sighed. "They're all just waiting for me to fall. Right now, they're buttering me up, but they've already prepared their hit pieces. Once I stumble, they'll gleefully kick me while I'm down."

Yvonne gave a small smile. "But there's nothing you can do about it."

"Exactly. In this position, that's just the way it is."

Aldrich couldn't help but reflect. If he criticized the outside praise, it would seem like he was attacking those complimenting him. He wanted calm, and the national team needed calm—but the Fleet Street press, Europe's news hub, thrived on drama. It's how they made a living.

Picking up the more reliable The Times, Aldrich turned to the sports section. His eyes lit up.

The article barely dwelled on individual performances. Instead, it dissected England's tactical approach.

"In six months under Hall's leadership, England has played two official matches and two friendlies, all victories. Apart from the Albania match, the other games showcased a clear tactical direction—counterattacks!

"In the past, England relied heavily on individual brilliance to break through zonal or man-marking defenses. Now, Hall has introduced a fresh perspective: fast counterattacks as a potent weapon against zonal setups. Meanwhile, McManaman and Scholes' dynamic off-the-ball runs are crucial in dismantling man-marking schemes. The combination has produced remarkable results..."

Aldrich carefully read the article, nodding in agreement. "They nailed it."

The piece even compared Millwall's offensive strategies, detailing how they handled zonal and man-marking defenses. To crack zonal defenses, players like Pirlo used precise switches of play to penetrate the lines. Against man-marking, Millwall relied on clever off-the-ball runs and feints to outwit opponents.

While England couldn't replicate Millwall's methods exactly, the tactical goals aligned. Despite some limitations, having any strategy was better than having none.

The article concluded with praise for Aldrich, highlighting his ability to tailor tactics to maximize the national team's strengths.

After breakfast, Yvonne stayed home to prepare dinner for guests. "It's not just about the meal," she explained, "but also the pre-dinner snacks, desserts, and everything in between."

As Aldrich prepared to head out, Yvonne repeatedly reminded him to keep an eye on Bert and Earl.

Stepping into the bright spring morning, Aldrich held Bert and Earl's hands tightly, one on each side. Walking through the neighborhood, the boys greeted adults politely, and Aldrich exchanged pleasantries with the neighbors. Community events sometimes brought them together, so it was good to maintain friendly ties.

The boys, however, had Aldrich both amused and exasperated. At the street corner, Aldrich looked both ways before crossing, and the two boys mimicked him. When he raised a hand to greet someone, they did the same in perfect sync.

Aldrich chuckled. These two were a reflection of himself in miniature.

Taking a stroll around a nearby park, Aldrich made a deliberate stop at the playground equipped with slides and swings. He settled himself on a bench, expecting his two little ones to be drawn to the slides, swings, and seesaws. Yet, the kids sat on the bench with him, appearing as serious as adults, as though they were posing for Rodin's "The Thinker."

"You two are unbelievable!"

Resigned to the situation, Aldrich decided to relive his childhood and led the charge. Acting like the king of the kids, he slid down the slide first, then hopped onto one side of the seesaw. His two sons sat on the other end together, but as Aldrich's weight held the seesaw down, they couldn't lift their side. Bert, frustrated, kicked his legs furiously, prompting Aldrich to worry he might fall. To even things out, Aldrich used his own legs to push against the ground, creating a rhythm that had them playing together in no time.

As noon approached, Aldrich walked home with his sons, who now had wide smiles and were clearly in high spirits. Just as they reached the house, his phone rang in his pocket.

Glancing at the caller ID, Aldrich's brows furrowed.

A call from this person at this time? Hopefully, it wasn't going to stir up trouble.

The caller was Adriano Galliani, AC Milan's general manager.

"Old friend, congratulations on your victory in Greece yesterday!"

Galliani's opening line was warm and congratulatory.

Aldrich, already wary of the man, could only respond with a polite chuckle.

Silence.

About 30 seconds passed.

"Aren't you curious why I'm calling you?"

"Because I think if I ask, I'll hear something I won't like."

"Ah, you're as sharp as ever!"

"And there it is—something I don't like."

Even though Aldrich had already guessed the subject, he didn't see the point in hanging up. It wouldn't hurt to hear him out; business was business, after all.

"Didn't you catch the news from Milan?"

"..."

"Aldrich, in just two weeks, you've taken down two managers: the Greek national team's coach and now AC Milan's."

Looking skyward, Aldrich had no comeback for Galliani's remark.

News had already broken that the Greek national team's coach had been sacked.

Meanwhile, after Millwall's Champions League win against AC Milan at the Lion King Stadium, Milan's manager, Alberto Zaccheroni, was also dismissed.

The decision had been made directly by Milan's owner, Silvio Berlusconi, bypassing Galliani entirely—a testament to Berlusconi's resolve and frustration.

To be fair, Aldrich felt some sympathy for Zaccheroni. Leaving aside the pros and cons of his three-center-back system, the squad he managed wasn't built for success on both domestic and European fronts. Expecting results was asking for the impossible.

Yet Aldrich's newfound reputation as a "coach slayer," taking down two managers in succession, would undoubtedly become a favorite topic for fans over their tea and coffee breaks.