A Defiant Move

Aldrich leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as the players filed into the away locker room. They sat down silently, the only sounds in the room coming from their labored breathing.

When Millwall lost or drew against weaker teams, the mood was naturally dour, and nobody felt like talking after the match. But if they were defeated due to technical or tactical reasons, the veteran players would usually initiate discussions, learning from their mistakes to improve.

What was there to discuss today, though?

They had the shots, the defense was solid overall, and apart from Carew's "feint and stop" that allowed Valencia to score a sneaky goal, the other three shots they conceded were desperate attempts from Valencia with minimal threat. Millwall had effectively shut down their counterattacks. Considering how Valencia thrived in La Liga, suffocating the Bats at the Mestalla was no small feat. The only thing Millwall lacked today was a goal.

When the players had cooled down and their adrenaline subsided, Aldrich spoke.

"There will be no post-match review for this game. Take your showers, get changed, and let's head home. Forget about this match. The only thing to remember is that a week from now, we'll advance to the semifinals at Lion King Stadium."

After delivering these calm words, Aldrich turned and opened the locker room door, leaving to attend the post-match press conference.

In the locker room, Southgate and Nedvěd were the first to stand up, taking off their jerseys and heading for the showers. The rest of the players followed suit, silently performing their post-match routines.

Typically, Millwall held post-match reviews to fine-tune the team's awareness and performance. But Aldrich had called off today's meeting for a simple reason—there was nothing worth reviewing. They had executed their game plan to perfection on the road. González's goal could only be described as an accident. Aldrich didn't believe it was part of some "premeditated" tactic, and he wouldn't place the blame on Materazzi either. Even if it had been Nesta out there, it's doubtful he could have predicted Carew's unorthodox play.

What Aldrich needed from his players was to quickly forget this match. Overanalyzing it would only magnify Valencia's defensive strengths, chip away at their confidence, and possibly create a short-term psychological block. This was especially dangerous for the attacking players, who might hesitate the next time they had a chance: Can I really score this way?

The players needed to hold on to an unshakable belief in their ability to advance. There were still 90 minutes left to play, and the deficit was just one goal. As long as they didn't lose faith, their fate was still in their own hands!

Before Aldrich arrived at the press conference, Valencia's coach, Héctor Cúper, had already given his post-match interview. He described the win as an incredibly hard-fought victory and praised Valencia's fighting spirit as the key to their success. When asked about the second leg, Cúper kept his cards close to his chest, maintaining an air of mystery, as if Valencia were planning a big surprise at Lion King Stadium.

But the outside world didn't need to guess—Valencia's strategy for the second leg was obvious. They would have no choice but to rely on counterattacks again. If they had stuck to that approach at home, there was no way they'd suddenly play expansively away.

When Aldrich finally stepped onto the stage, the reporters perked up, many of them exchanging sly glances as if preparing for a show.

Sitting down, Aldrich didn't wait for questions to be asked. Instead, he said, "I'm on a tight schedule today, so go ahead and ask all your questions at once. I'll answer them together."

As soon as he finished, Aldrich rested his chin on one hand and scanned the room with a smile.

The reporters exchanged bewildered looks. Aldrich was really playing it bold.

If he had won, they could criticize him for being arrogant.

But Millwall had lost.

Despite his calm tone, his demeanor radiated an unmistakable defiance.

Some of the British reporters in attendance quickly caught on to Aldrich's intentions—he was shifting the narrative.

He probably wouldn't mind if tomorrow's headlines focused on "Millwall Narrowly Beaten Away, Aldrich Dismissive in Post-Match Presser!" instead of the result itself.

The external focus, as well as the team's atmosphere, had drifted away from the match itself due to the media's coverage.

Many seasoned reporters from non-British outlets shook their heads, smirking as they rose from their seats to leave.

One departure led to another, and soon, around a dozen journalists had exited the press room.

This was their way of pushing back against Aldrich, a response to what they perceived as his lack of respect.

The relationship between football reporters and clubs is indeed symbiotic. Sometimes, reporters find themselves in a weaker position in pursuit of stories.

However, this particular occasion was a post-match press conference mandated by UEFA. Aldrich, as head coach, was obligated to attend, while the journalists, having earned their credentials, had every right to be there.

There was no sense of indebtedness; both sides stood on equal footing.

The journalists had the freedom to ask questions.

Aldrich had the freedom to answer—or not.

This Q&A dynamic was supposed to be an exchange between equals.

Yet Aldrich had declared that all questions should be asked first, and he would respond to them collectively. This came across as dismissive of the unwritten rules, as though he were asserting dominance over the reporters.

It felt as if everyone present was there to cater to him like he was a star to be revered.

To the veteran reporters unfamiliar with Aldrich, he came across as a spoiled child.

It's normal to be upset after a defeat, but where was the sportsmanship?

Though Aldrich smiled benignly, his words, which seemed capricious and disrespectful, were only slightly better than outright tantrums.

The seasoned journalists from non-British media, all too familiar with such behavior, quietly made their exit, leaving behind an unmistakable message: If you want to throw your weight around, go ahead, but we won't stick around for it.

Meanwhile, Aldrich remained seated, his chin propped on his hand, smiling innocuously. The UEFA press officer, caught in an awkward position, looked helpless.

Plenty of reporters stayed behind.

Big-name journalists could afford to leave. Others couldn't—they still had deadlines to meet.

Some consoled themselves rationally: at least they now had unexpected news material to report. Next, they would listen to Aldrich's post-match comments and wrap things up.

Journalists from Fleet Street and Spain stayed put.

Those from Fleet Street likely wore wry smiles.

Once again, Aldrich has pulled it off!

At such a crucial stage of the Champions League quarter-finals, Aldrich had deliberately provoked the media, diverting attention from the team—especially individual players. As for offending European reporters? Who cares? Those outlets still needed to cover Millwall anyway.

The Spanish journalists, on the other hand, were eager to mock Aldrich.

You lost, yet you're still so smug!

Millwall had indeed earned its reputation as Europe's most hated team.

"All right, let's begin. If no one has any questions, I'll be on my way," Aldrich said, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

Questions soon poured in, ranging from critical to game-focused:

"After the quarter-final draw, Millwall was heavily favored to reach the final. Following today's loss in Valencia, as head coach, what do you think are Millwall's chances now?"

"Was today's loss due to your overconfidence? In the past, Millwall often employed counter-attacking tactics in away European matches. Today, you opted for an aggressive approach. Was your tactical decision a mistake that allowed Valencia to exploit you on the counter?"

"From beating Valencia 4–0 to losing 0–1 in less than a year, has Millwall's strength diminished, or has Valencia improved? We've also noticed that Millwall is struggling in the Premier League and exited domestic cup competitions early."

"Can you comment on the match? Valencia only managed four shots, while Millwall had 32. It's hard to believe the final score was 1–0."

...

After all the questions were asked, Aldrich half-jokingly responded, "Well, we're in Valencia, at the Mestalla. Maybe the Bat Guardian cast a spell on the stadium. Haha."

With that, the previously tense atmosphere in the room dissipated.

Many reporters broke into knowing smiles.

To be fair, anyone who had watched the match would admit—even diehard Valencia fans—that the victory was extremely fortunate.

Millwall had hit the crossbar and posts repeatedly. Santiago Cañizares and several defenders delivered heroic, almost miraculous performances at critical moments.

Even during the penalty opportunity, when it seemed Millwall's luck would turn, they still failed to convert.

"Valencia really impressed today, no question about it—they deserve their win. Someone asked me how I feel about their counter-attacking game, and I can only say: they won, full stop. Now, if anyone's asking whether Millwall made a tactical mistake, I'm here to tell you that's not the case. We were solid today; it's just that one unlucky goal that got past us. It's a shame we didn't score, but I have no doubt we'll come back stronger in the next game. Who's going to doubt that Millwall won't find a way to crack Valencia's defense?"

Aldrich rarely criticized opponents' tactics. The reality was, had Millwall opted for a defensive counterattacking approach, the game would have been painfully dull. But Aldrich wasn't chasing entertainment for its own sake—he was confident in Millwall's ability to create genuine threats through attacking play. What was missing today was simply the finishing touch.

If this game had taken place a year earlier in the final, the heartbreak would have been almost unbearable for Aldrich. Cañizares might have even cemented his legacy with a legendary performance. But matches like this don't happen on repeat. When they meet again, with Valencia in a different mindset, both teams in a new environment, and the variables changed, Aldrich didn't believe the game would feel like Millwall had been cursed again.

Hearing Aldrich's response, the Spanish journalists in the room exchanged disdainful smiles.

Football is a magical sport—one where results dictate the narrative.

Win the game, and the analysis of the match retrospectively justifies every decision, especially the coach's tactical strategy.

Lose, and no matter how the game looked or how close it was, everything feels weak, helpless against the absolute "truth" of the result.

If you win, even the ugliest defensive tactic, like parking the bus, will be hailed as the king's way.

But if you lose, no amount of dazzling football will save you from being forgotten.

After the game, Aldrich pulled off his star act, finishing his interview and quickly rejoining the team for their return to London.

The following day, the media was full of criticism, with some even suggesting that Aldrich might need a visit to a therapist. The loss to Millwall took a backseat to Aldrich's antics, though, as he managed to take the pressure off the team. In recovery training, Schneider secretly chuckled and told his teammates, "The boss is up to his tricks again!"