At the fork in the road, Aldridge and Villa split ways. Villa headed off to the Leo Youth Training Base with a ball tucked under his arm, while Aldridge called after him, "Don't go too fast—be careful on the road." Then he turned and walked toward the first-team training ground.
There were still ten minutes before the scheduled afternoon session, yet every first-team player was already out on the pitch. Several coaches had also arrived, standing in small groups chatting, while the players in jackets and shorts passed the time by casually juggling footballs.
Millwall's Premier League debut had left a deep mark—not only on the outside world but within the squad itself. The players had been frustrated by the result, but that match had also lit a fire inside them. One night's sleep was enough to transform that frustration into drive. Today, stepping onto the training ground, their spirit seemed sharper, their confidence higher. Facing Manchester United had made them believe all the more in their own strength.
For the substitutes, the lesson was clear. They would have to work twice as hard to close the gap with the starters. Professional football was merciless: talent alone was never enough. Sweat, perseverance, and an unyielding fighting spirit were just as essential.
The new arrivals—Pirlo, Shevchenko, Ferdinand, and the others—had quickly realized what kind of club they had joined. Millwall's ambition was not just empty talk from Aldridge; it was written into their football, plain for all to see.
Wearing a dark blue tracksuit, Aldridge stepped onto the pitch. At once, the players stopped chatting and fooling around, instinctively falling into three orderly rows as they usually did before training.
Thirty pairs of eyes fixed on him in confusion. Aldridge stood before them with his head bowed in silence. Nobody understood what he was doing—was this some kind of ritual? A reflection?
Five minutes passed before Aldridge finally raised his head. His voice was calm, almost understated."In the last match, your performance was impeccable. But I made a mistake—an irreparable mistake. At the very end, I should have made a substitution. That was my error. I've just spent five minutes reviewing it… well, now it's behind us. Everything else remains the same. Right—let's get moving. Jog to warm up."
He set off first, and the three captains quickly took their places to lead the lines behind him.
As they jogged, some players shared faint smiles as they glanced at Aldridge's back. They had already read in the papers that he had admitted his error in the post-match interviews. Hearing it from him directly only reinforced their trust in him.
Yes, conceding so late had been painful. No one had been satisfied with a draw, but they knew as well as he did that even a substitution might not have changed the outcome. What mattered most was that Aldridge remembered, that he held himself accountable. And after all, to come away from Old Trafford with a point had been no small feat.
Still, Aldridge's refusal to be content sent a message: there would be no complacency here. His attitude reminded them all to keep pushing. Next time they went to the Theatre of Dreams, they would not settle for survival—they would go there to win.
That afternoon's session was kept light. The starters were given recovery routines, while Aldridge and his staff focused on the substitutes and newcomers, helping the fresh faces adapt and grasp Millwall's tactical framework as quickly as possible.
Rumours about Manchester United's offers for Larsson and Trezeguet had spread through the camp, but no one pressed the strikers about it. Both men trained as normal, showing no hint of distraction or intent to leave.
The coaching staff, of course, kept an eye on the situation, but since Aldridge said nothing, they followed his lead and stayed quiet.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, Aldridge dismissed the players. He returned to his office to pore over the recovery data and the medical department's reports.
Knock, knock.
A firm rap sounded at the office door.
"Come in," Aldridge called without looking up from the papers on his desk.
When the footsteps stopped before him, he lifted his head and found Henrik Larsson and David Trezeguet standing there.
Aldridge smiled, gesturing for them to sit. He rose, poured each of them a glass of water, then returned to his chair. Resting his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, he asked quietly,"Henrik, David—did you come to talk about Manchester United's interest in signing you?"
Both nodded.
Trezeguet spoke first, his tone blunt and unwavering."Boss, I'm not going. I want to stay here. I don't want to sit on the bench at Manchester United."
His directness carried conviction.
Formally, Millwall had yet to reply to United's bid, and by transfer rules, United could not directly approach the players. But in reality, such rules were often bent. Many transfers began with back-channel contact long before official offers were lodged. The fact that Ferguson's camp had not done so reflected his respect for Aldridge. For his part, Aldridge also followed the principle. He might exploit loopholes in the FA for financial manoeuvres, but some lines were not to be crossed. Chelsea would later face sanctions and a transfer ban for precisely this kind of illicit tapping-up.
Still, Manchester United had not been idle. That very morning, Andrew had texted Aldridge to inform him that someone had reached out: Jason Ferguson, Sir Alex's son. Working at Sky TV in London, Jason had quietly conveyed United's proposed terms for the two strikers.
Trezeguet, however, had no interest. At Old Trafford, he would be well-paid but uncertain of a starting spot. At Millwall, he was grateful and determined. Aldridge had brought him back from Argentina and given him the platform to grow. He believed he could carve out his future here. Having come from a modest background, he valued regular football above glamorous wages. He knew that minutes on the pitch were more valuable for his career than sitting gilded on a giant's bench.
Aldridge nodded, satisfied. He had no desire to sell anyone this season or even the next. Players choosing to stay of their own accord only strengthened the club.
Larsson, older and more seasoned, spoke next, his voice steady."Andrew went through the pros and cons with me. If I moved to Manchester United, I'd have to prove myself better than Andy Cole by October, and quickly fit into their system. But, Boss, I don't think I need to prove anything to them. Here, I already fit your tactics. I can play a huge role—bigger than I expected. So I want to stay."
He paused, then added with a faint smile, "I don't need United."
Andrew, of course, had also run through the financial side. United's offer matched Millwall's £15,000 per week, which would put Larsson as the third-highest earner at Old Trafford, behind only Cantona and Schmeichel. Bonuses for trophies were on top of that. And at United, commercial exposure promised significant off-field earnings.
Yet Larsson was focused on football. He knew United's "two-wing" system would restrict his influence. At Millwall, he was central: a scorer, a link in the build-up, and a fulcrum around which attacks could turn. That role was shaping him into a more complete striker. Add to that Millwall's ambitious but tight-knit environment, and the choice became clearer.
A late-August switch, followed by a rushed adjustment to new teammates and tactics, was not appealing. If he stumbled, he risked months on the bench. And Cantona's return ensured that one striker position was already untouchable. Whoever else played up front would be fighting to partner him—not to replace him. Larsson did not want to gamble his career on such odds. He trusted his path at Millwall more.
Aldridge's eyes lit with relief."To be honest, I feared losing you. An invitation from Manchester United is always tempting. That's why I didn't reject their bid immediately. I worried you might want to go, and me blocking it could sour things between us. But now that you've decided—good. Then we keep going forward together. On this road to the top, no one leaves early. That's our pact. As for United's offer, we'll formally reject it at the weekend."
Both strikers nodded, smiling.
But Trezeguet tilted his head curiously."Boss, why not reject it today? Wouldn't it be better to end the talk quickly? Robert asked me earlier if I was leaving. I don't want teammates thinking I'm already gone."
Aldridge chuckled."You can tell them yourself if you like. But as for me—I'll make United squirm. Everyone knows they've bid for you. So what? Let's see what happens inside their camp. Especially their forwards—what will they think? That the club is trying to replace them. Let Ferguson's dressing room stew over it all week. That's my answer."
Larsson and Trezeguet exchanged a glance, then both broke into knowing smiles.
...
After the opening weekend of the new season, few in English football had expected the spotlight to fall so squarely on just two names: Manchester United and Millwall.
Their thrilling encounter had already set tongues wagging. Now, as the transfer window ticked toward its close, United's attempt to lure away Henrik Larsson and David Trezeguet only intensified the attention.
Elsewhere, the supposed heavyweights had stumbled or underwhelmed. Defending champions Blackburn scraped a dull 1–0 win over Queens Park Rangers. Arsenal, still searching for form, were held 1–1 by Middlesbrough. Liverpool edged Sheffield Wednesday by the same 1–0 scoreline.
None of it stirred the imagination. The headlines belonged elsewhere.
Manchester United. Millwall.Manchester United. Millwall.
On the eve of the second round of the league, Millwall's regular pre-match press conference drew an unusually large crowd. Not only were the usual local reporters in attendance, but now journalists from every major national paper had crammed into the room.
Breaking with custom, Aldridge brought two players with him—Larsson and Trezeguet. In the First Division, he had always appeared alone; attention then was modest, and few reporters bothered to probe players for soundbites. But this was the Premier League. Millwall now had names that the giants wanted, players Manchester United themselves had tried to prise away.
The press box buzzed with anticipation. For weeks, Millwall had offered no comment. With the two strikers present at the table, it felt certain that today would bring a definitive answer.
Was this to be an announcement of departures? A farewell? Or a firm rejection? Either way, the story would dominate tomorrow's papers.
Once seated, Aldridge leaned into the microphone, his voice calm and measured."On Monday morning, Manchester United officially submitted an offer for two of our players. After consulting with them, Millwall respects their choice and fully supports their decision."
The room stirred. The phrasing made it sound as though the forwards were on their way out. Pens hovered. Dictaphones clicked on.
Aldridge turned toward Trezeguet with a smile.
The young Frenchman leaned forward."I joined Millwall a year ago. I like it here. The boss has helped me a lot, given me trust and support, and I've achieved some success. But it's not enough. I want more success here. I'm not interested in moving to Manchester United."
His tone was blunt, almost naïve, but utterly sincere.
The press room erupted in murmurs.
Not interested in Manchester United?
How many players in the world would dare say that?
Reporters' minds flicked back to the transfer sagas of the past—Ferguson losing out on Paul Gascoigne, seduced by Tottenham's offers, or countless other stars who had never turned down Old Trafford. And now, here was a 19-year-old French striker saying "No" outright.
To the journalists, this was gold. If he had accepted, the headline would have been predictable: French star joins United. Ordinary. Expected.
But a rejection? That was explosive.Trezeguet tells Ferguson: No. I'm not interested in Manchester United.
Flashbulbs popped. Reporters scribbled furiously. Trezeguet, having said his piece, leaned back with the casual air of someone unconcerned by the storm he had just created.
Then it was Larsson's turn. The Swede spoke with greater poise."Manchester United is a club known on every street in England. They have a legendary history and an inspiring story. To receive their attention is an honour—it is a form of recognition. But I have enjoyed my time at Millwall immensely. Working with the boss has made me enjoy my football more than ever. We have an excellent team here, and a harmony that is rare. That makes it worth staying. I believe this is a decision I will never regret."
It was a refusal delivered with tact. Respectful to United, but firm in loyalty. The contrast with Trezeguet's bluntness only made the moment richer for the press.
Around the room, reporters nodded approvingly. Here was a story with teeth: United thwarted, Millwall standing tall, and two strikers pledging allegiance to the underdogs.
When the players finished, Aldridge leaned in again."The transfer rumours end here. You may also know that Tottenham and Leeds made offers for several of our players. All of those were rejected. I will say this once: Millwall's transfer business is finished. No one will come in, no one will go out. The season has started. Our focus is football. Now—do you have questions about tomorrow's game?"
The atmosphere had shifted. Once, Millwall had been an afterthought. Now, the heavyweights of Fleet Street jostled for their turn to speak.
David Miller of The Times raised his hand.
"Mr. Hall, historically there hasn't been much conflict between Millwall and Arsenal. But tomorrow is Millwall's first-ever Premier League meeting with Arsenal, and it's also a city derby. Earlier this year in the FA Cup, Millwall knocked Arsenal out, and shortly after, their long-serving manager George Graham was dismissed. Do you think that will add extra spice to the match? How do you view Arsenal now?"
Aldridge smiled and shook his head."No, let me clarify. Graham wasn't sacked because of that defeat. He left because of the scandal with transfer payments, and the FA banned him from managing in England. Arsenal couldn't keep him, so he left Highbury. As for tomorrow, I think Millwall fans will enjoy a wonderful contest at the Den. Yes, it's a city derby. Arsenal will want to beat us, and we'll want to beat them. The focus will be purely on the pitch. They're one of the traditional giants of English football, and Millwall is not only interested but ambitious enough to challenge the strong. For us, this is a valuable part of our growth.
"Even without Graham, Arsenal remain a powerful side. Last season, they came very close to winning the Cup Winners' Cup, which proves their strength. And in this new season, they've kept their core squad together and added Bergkamp and Platt—two excellent players with proven ability and experience. They're stronger now than last year. I also believe Bruce Rioch will want to use the Lion's Den to declare Arsenal's resurgence."
Resurgence?
The reporters exchanged glances. Arsenal, like United in the first round, had failed to win their opening match. But everyone who saw the games knew the situations weren't the same. United and Millwall had played out a thrilling 5–5, while Arsenal's 1–1 with Middlesbrough was drab, lifeless, and created hardly any chances. No one watching had seen signs of a revival.
Richard from the Daily Mail followed up."Aldridge, are you suggesting Rioch will try to beat your team at the Den—a ground where Arsenal couldn't win last season? Especially with Arsenal struggling in attack?"
Aldridge widened his eyes theatrically."Are you saying Arsenal, the most successful club in London's history, a traditional English giant, would come to the home of a newly-promoted side without the intention of winning? If that's the case, then I'll be delighted. Millwall could proudly declare: Arsenal are afraid of us! London would have to admit it—North London belongs to Arsenal, East London belongs to Millwall!
"But no—that won't happen. Arsenal are kings. Kings don't abandon the belief that they can win."
Laughter rippled through the room. The press conference had shifted from tense to lively. Richard, grinning, jotted down keywords for tomorrow's article.
He knew Aldridge's style well by now. This was classic provocation—setting the stage with bold words, daring Arsenal to attack.
At the Den, would Rioch's men come forward bravely? Or would they turtle up, afraid to be exposed? Either way, the pressure was now his.
Professionally, Millwall's system could be described as "defensive counterattack." In plainer words: their sprinting pace outstripped the defenders' retreat. That was how they had built their success last season. And Aldridge was once again daring an opponent to walk into the trap.
By the time the press conference ended, both sides had what they wanted. The journalists had better headlines than expected. Aldridge had planted doubts in the minds of two of England's most established giants.
Manchester United had already been thwarted in their transfer pursuit. Arsenal, meanwhile, were trying to shed the image of "dull football" and embrace a more attacking style. But now Rioch faced the task of proving that at the Den, against the league's most exciting newcomers, and in a derby.
For Aldridge, it was just another step in his process. The draw against United was a fine start, but there was no time for complacency. The league was long. Football had no true finish line—only the chance to create new milestones for others to chase.
Later that evening, in the tactical meeting, Aldridge broke down Arsenal with his usual precision. He outlined their strengths, weaknesses, and set out Millwall's approach. The players listened attentively. For them, this was the stage they had been waiting for: one big game after another.