Millwall remained in strong form, yet their performances carried a familiar unpredictability, like the hidden bite of a snake. At home, they were magnificent, stamping their authority on every visitor, even in the heated battles of London derbies. But once they stepped outside the capital, victories were harder to come by.
After thrashing Chelsea 5–0 with a stunning display, they travelled to Elland Road and came away with only a 0–0 draw against Leeds United. Millwall seemed stuck in a rhythm of emphatic wins followed by frustrating stalemates. They rarely lost, yet failing to convert dominance into three points left a sour taste.
Every Monday night, the coaching staff held a small tradition of their own. They gathered for what they cheerfully called "beer night," sharing drinks and talk in the hotel's recreation room. Jenson and Babu played billiards, the crack of balls echoing through the room, while Craig and Nagy sat at the bar, drinking and chatting with easy camaraderie.
In just two months, the Millwall youth side under Nagy's guidance had made remarkable progress in the youth league. Their run in the FA Youth Cup was also gaining momentum, drawing attention to Millwall's Leo Youth Academy. Scouts and journalists alike began to take notice.
Talented youngsters under 21 — Pirlo, Capdevila, Shevchenko, Lampard, Ferdinand, and others — continued their development through the youth league. For players of their quality, it might have felt beneath them, but the experience was vital. Thrusting them prematurely into the unforgiving battles of the Premier League could do more harm than good. Even foreign talents needed time to adapt, not only to the English style but also to the culture and rhythm of football in London.
Aldridge's policy was clear. During gaps in the schedule, he occasionally promoted youth players to the bench, giving them the chance to watch first-team football up close. But he never rushed them into starting roles. He understood that steady growth, not hasty exposure, was the key to lasting success.
Nearly forty years earlier, Manchester United's reserves had been famously nicknamed the "Busby Babes" by the British press. Now Millwall's Leo Academy was earning its own reputation. The new generation of talents, nurtured under Aldridge's vision, were already being dubbed the "Hall Babies."
Aldridge arrived late that evening, delayed by time spent in the medical department. When he finally walked in, he immediately smiled at Nagy, who was sitting at the bar.
"The Millwall youth team is becoming too popular," Aldridge said lightly. "At this rate, our future might get picked apart by other clubs."
Nagy, whose manner was typically stiff and serious, replied, "I've already heard there are scouts from all over the country watching our matches."
Aldridge grabbed a bottle of beer, opened it with a sigh, and continued, "It's not just domestic. Andrew told me that scouts from Italy and Spain have been turning up at The Den. That's the reality. Millwall is attracting attention. The good news is that these scouts don't represent the true giants. Thank God for that. The biggest clubs are still too arrogant. Right now, even Manchester United isn't fully respected on the continent, so they certainly won't be paying serious attention to Millwall."
He was not exaggerating. The Premier League was growing in strength, but its European standing lagged behind. In recent years, English sides had struggled to reach even the quarter-finals of the Champions League. This season's champions, Blackburn Rovers, had gone straight out at the bottom of their group. Europe's eyes were not yet focused on England.
Aldridge's concern about losing players to bigger clubs was, in truth, not pressing. Local English sides might admire Millwall's youth talents, but they could not match the conditions needed to prise them away. First-team players were being watched by larger European clubs, but unless a genuine powerhouse — the kind whose name every fan knew and who could make a serious offer — came knocking, Millwall's squad would remain intact.
Jenson walked over from the billiards table and asked, "How's Nedvěd?"
Aldridge exhaled sharply. "Ten days' rest."
"Bloody hell," Jenson muttered under his breath.
Tolp added grimly, "Makelele is suspended, Nedvěd is out recovering, two of our main midfielders unavailable. Pires picked up a knock in the last match. Stam was sent off with a red card. And this weekend we're up against Newcastle United with only half our regular starters."
In a long league season, countless accidental factors collide and accumulate, gradually forming serious problems for any team.
In the last match at Elland Road, Stam was sent off after catching an opponent with his elbow. Makelele picked up another yellow card, triggering a suspension. Pires jarred his knee in a fall — nothing severe, but enough to keep him out for three weeks. Then, in training earlier today, Nedvěd felt tightness in his thigh, and the medical staff recommended a ten-day rest.
With so many absences, Millwall's main lineup was badly depleted, and the timing could hardly be worse. Their next opponents were Newcastle United, a side whose attack had been relentless through the first half of the season.
As the league table stood after seventeen rounds, Millwall had recorded nine wins and eight draws, putting them third on thirty-five points. Newcastle, meanwhile, were storming ahead with fifteen wins, one draw, and a single defeat. Sitting on forty-six points, they were already eleven clear of Millwall and ten ahead of Manchester United.
A decade or two later, the name Newcastle United might not carry the same weight for casual Premier League fans. But in this era, the Newcastle team under Kevin Keegan was nothing short of sensational, the so-called "Entertainers" of Tyneside. Their attacking football made them the darlings of the media, a kind of footballing Hollywood in the North-East.
Subconsciously, even Millwall's coaching staff felt Newcastle were a greater challenge than Manchester United at that moment. The results alone were convincing proof.
Yet Aldridge did not appear overly concerned. He leaned back with a cigarette, sipping his beer, and smiled.
"The league is a marathon," he said. "Some sides sprint at the start, others peak halfway, and a few come on strong at the end. Ferguson has already started firing shots at Keegan. Since Cantona's return, United's form has improved sharply. They're ignoring the UEFA Cup completely now, throwing all their energy into regaining ground in the league. Tell me, don't you think Keegan still looks a little green when you watch him from the outside?"
Jenson set down his cue, grabbed a bottle of beer, and frowned. "That old Scot seems to be losing it a bit. Criticising Newcastle and going after Keegan directly is one thing, but he's also had a go at other teams, saying they don't try hard enough against Newcastle. That's just irresponsible."
Aldridge grinned. "Now put yourself in Keegan's shoes. How would you take those words? Keegan's playing career was decorated with applause and praise. He's always been a man who thrives on admiration. Imagine someone who just graduated with an MBA, brimming with confidence, only to be told the job requires specialist skills and he'll need to go back to school. That's how Ferguson has made him look. The truth is, in Premier League management, Ferguson has many rivals, but all of them crave his respect. Recognition from Ferguson is a badge of honour. Keegan is trying to stand toe-to-toe with him, but really, Ferguson is flattering him by saying Newcastle are strong and Keegan can coach. That's exactly what Keegan wants most — validation. And since Manchester United remain the mountain everyone else must climb, Ferguson's words carry the weight of that peak."
Jenson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The more Keegan cares, the more he'll try to prove himself. That's dangerous for the team. If the manager loses his composure, the fallout can be disastrous."
Aldridge nodded. "Exactly. In the end, there is only one true opponent for any title-winning side: themselves. Champions don't keep staring at other teams, hoping their rivals slip. You must perform to your own highest standard. If you fall short, it means your level wasn't good enough. Ferguson's comments are simply nudging Keegan into losing his balance and shifting the spotlight onto Newcastle. Manchester United, meanwhile, only need to beat themselves — to keep their standards high."
His words drew nods around the room. Media mind games of this kind were still a novelty to them, even though England had seen shades of it before.
Tolp eventually asked, "So what about us this weekend? What's our plan against Newcastle?"
Aldridge's expression was calm, even confident. "I already have a rough idea. Newcastle are praised for their dazzling attack, aren't they? Then we'll meet them with the strongest shield available."
No one pressed further. They trusted his judgement. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, billiard balls cracked across the table once more, and the room filled with laughter. Beer night remained cheerful, a welcome respite before the storm of the weekend.
Beyond the weekend clash with Newcastle United, Millwall also faced a League Cup quarter-final against Manchester City the following week. Victory there would place Aldridge within touching distance of Wembley in late February. He was confident that if his side reached the semi-finals — played over two legs, home and away — they could overcome any opponent in England across 180 minutes. Even Manchester United or Newcastle did not intimidate him, because both sides would be stretched by their league ambitions. Aldridge's hunger for silverware was fierce. It was not just about him, but about Millwall as a club. They had been waiting for their first major trophy for one hundred and ten long years.
When the eighteenth round of the Premier League arrived, the pre-match press conference for Millwall's meeting with Newcastle was packed to the rafters. Journalists crowded every corner, sensing drama and expecting big headlines.
Aldridge walked in sharply dressed, his tailored suit and polished shoes giving him the air of a manager who carried himself with authority beyond his years. Taking his seat, he leaned into the microphone and spoke with calm clarity.
"Tomorrow is just another league fixture," he began. "Please, do not ask about the title. Whatever happens tomorrow, the Premier League championship will not be decided."
The bluntness of his answer caught the room off guard. Reporters were accustomed to managers fanning the flames of speculation, talking up rivalries or hinting at title races. Aldridge's words extinguished the suspense in a single stroke, and the silence that followed was almost awkward.
Frustrated but determined, one reporter tried a different angle. "Will Millwall be sending out a weakened side tomorrow? I mean, given your emphasis on the cup competitions this season, won't you rest players in the league to keep strength in reserve for next week's League Cup tie?"
Aldridge did not hesitate. "No," he said firmly. "We value every single match. My squad includes many young players, and they are more than capable of competing in the Premier League. The results so far speak for themselves. We have not lost a game in this round of fixtures. That alone proves we have never disrespected or deliberately abandoned the league. In fact, I will announce tomorrow's starting lineup now:
"Goalkeeper: Keller. Defenders: Thuram, Helguera, Southgate, Zambrotta. Midfielders: Schneider, Vieira, Gattuso, Ballack. Strikers: Solskjær and Larsson."
The room stirred immediately. Reporters exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. The lineup Aldridge had named was starkly different from the predictions that filled the morning papers. At least two defenders were not the ones expected, one midfielder had been overlooked, and even the forward line was not what the press anticipated.
"What on earth is Aldridge playing at?" was the question written across every face in the room.
...
Kevin Keegan, who had sparred with Aldridge through the press last season, adopted a softer tone before travelling to London. He set aside his pride, publicly praising Aldridge's achievements and describing Millwall as an exciting team to watch.
Fleet Street quickly dissected his words and reached three conclusions.
First, Keegan was not genuinely acknowledging Aldridge as a threat. He did not believe Millwall could derail Newcastle's title charge, and his so-called "peace declaration" was simply the humility of a man who expected to keep on winning.
Second, like Ferguson, Keegan was keen to avoid making unnecessary enemies. With Millwall sitting only a single point behind Manchester United, still within range of the title picture, antagonising them could stir a fight he did not want.
Third, it was possible Keegan had already set his sights on one of Millwall's players. Newcastle were scouring the market for a striker. Colombian forward Faustino Asprilla — famous for ending AC Milan's 58-match unbeaten run with Parma — was already on their radar, and barring complications, that transfer was expected to go through in January. Even so, Newcastle's forward line looked thin, and speculation swirled about where else Keegan might look.
When the flamboyant Keegan arrived at The Den in his slightly rumpled suit, Aldridge greeted him warmly. Television cameras immediately zoomed in, eager to capture every second between the two most talked-about coaches in the Premier League. Smiles were exchanged, but the content of their brief conversation was rather bewildering.
"Have you eaten?" Aldridge asked casually.
"Huh?" Keegan blinked.
"Have you had lunch?"
"Yes, I have… uh, and you?"
"I've eaten too. That's good. See you later."
"Wait, what if I said no?"
"Then go eat!"
Keegan stood dumbfounded. Even as they parted, he turned to his assistants, replaying the exchange. He wanted to know whether Aldridge's words carried some hidden jab, some subtle sarcasm he had missed.
The broadcasters quickly cut to the commentary booth.
"Hello everyone, I'm Martin Taylor. Alongside me is Andy Gray, and we'll be covering today's Premier League highlight: Millwall, unbeaten in seventeen league matches this season, against leaders Newcastle United. Andy, we just saw Aldridge go over to Keegan before kick-off. From their body language, it looked like the tension between them has cooled a little. What do you make of that?"
Gray chuckled. "Heh, I wouldn't say that. I suspect both of them would secretly love for the other to fall ill and miss the match. But that's part of the theatre. What really matters is out on the pitch. And once again, The Den is packed to the rafters. Millwall's supporters are as ferocious as ever. Let's take a look at the line-ups. Aldridge has sprung another surprise — his starting XI doesn't match any of the predicted formations we saw in this morning's papers. It looks like a 4-4-2 on paper, but with Ballack included, it's hard to see him stuck out wide. His role is puzzling."
Taylor added, "That's Aldridge for you. He never sticks to convention, so we'll need to watch closely once the match kicks off. Newcastle, by contrast, are straightforward. In goal, they've got Pavel Srníček. Steve Watson and John Beresford are the full-backs, with Warren Barton and Philippe Albert in central defence. The midfield is loaded with experience and flair: Peter Beardsley, Rob Lee, and Lee Clark in the middle, Keith Gillespie providing width on the right, and David Ginola carrying the threat down the left. Up front, it's Les Ferdinand leading the line on his own."
Gray continued, "Keegan doesn't have much choice. He's short on strikers, so Ferdinand has to carry the attack. It looks like a 4-1-4-1 setup. The big question is whether Newcastle, with all their attacking intent, can come to The Den and finally break Millwall's unbeaten run."
When the whistle blew, Millwall did not storm forward as they usually did at home. Instead, they played cautiously. The back four stayed disciplined, with no adventurous overlapping runs from the full-backs. In midfield, three men — Ballack, Vieira, and Gattuso — dropped deep, forming a protective barrier in front of the defence. They shielded the back line and closed off central spaces, forcing Newcastle to work harder for openings.
Keegan noticed immediately. He glanced across the touchline at Aldridge, who stood calm, one hand tucked into his coat pocket.
"So, you're playing for a draw?" Keegan muttered under his breath. "Fine, hold us if you can. But last season we beat you twice, boy. Let's see what happens today."
True to form, Newcastle began in their trademark style, launching into wave after wave of attacking football, their forwards and wingers eager to showcase the brilliance that had made them the league's most entertaining side.
At times, Aldridge envied managers who had once been great players. The glory of their playing careers gave them a natural aura, a pull that could attract talent almost by reputation alone.
Take Robert Lee, for example. Born in London, he could easily have been a natural fit for a southern club. Yet his admiration for Keegan led him north to Newcastle, where he had become an indispensable figure. Keegan used him as a midfield anchor, a defensive bulwark, yet he still made timely runs forward, contributing assists and goals with a surprising consistency.
Ahead of Lee stretched Newcastle's dazzling attacking line.
On the left flank stood David Ginola, the Frenchman condemned as a scapegoat after France's 1993 World Cup qualifying failure. At Newcastle, however, he had been electric for months, lighting up Tyneside with his elegance and flair. His trademark move was to whip in a cross, then turn away, nodding with self-satisfaction as his teammates celebrated. He was the undisputed star of Newcastle's attack, their sharpest blade.
On the opposite wing, Keegan had sacrificed Andy Cole to Manchester United, securing £7 million and Keith Gillespie as part of the deal. A graduate of United's famed Class of '92, Gillespie brought youthful invention and pace. Tricky and direct, he could score as well as create, and he gave Newcastle width and unpredictability on the right.
Peter Beardsley needed little introduction. Once the pride of Liverpool, he had commanded a record transfer fee in his day and still carried that aura. Five years earlier, he had scored a hat-trick in the Merseyside derby, a feat no Liverpool player had repeated since. Now thirty-four, his legs were older but his footballing brain remained razor sharp. With twenty-one league goals the previous season, he was Newcastle's second scoring threat after Ferdinand and still one of Keegan's most trusted generals.
Alongside him in midfield was Lee Clark, not a global star but a true Geordie. A product of Newcastle's own academy, he embodied the club's spirit. His understanding of Keegan's system was instinctive, and he often produced performances beyond expectation.
Leading the line was Les Ferdinand, a striker with a direct link to Millwall. When Aldridge had recruited Rio Ferdinand, Les — Rio's uncle — had been present at the talks. Now, he was one of the hottest centre-forwards in England. He shattered stereotypes of the old-fashioned English target man: tall and ungainly. Les combined aerial power with finesse at his feet, able to dribble and cut sharply. His predatory instincts in the penalty area were second to none, and his threat was obvious with every forward thrust.
The brilliance of Keegan's system lay in its fluidity. His midfielders interchanged positions constantly, rotating with the wingers to overload flanks and unsettle defenders. It was chaotic to defend against, and beautiful to watch.
Sure enough, Beardsley and Gillespie swapped flanks, linking neatly on the outside. They worked a quick exchange, and Gillespie sent in a cross. Zambrotta was a fraction late to react and lost his man, but Helguera recovered brilliantly, climbing above Ferdinand to disrupt his header.
The danger was not cleared. The loose ball spilled to Rob Lee, who surged forward through midfield. He quickly slid it wide to Ginola. The Frenchman, part-time model and full-time showman, oozed confidence as he glided past Thuram with a flourish. But Ginola had chosen the wrong opponent for tricks. Thuram was unmoved by stepovers and feints. Planting his feet, he used timing and sheer physical strength to shoulder Ginola off balance, letting the ball roll harmlessly his way. You could dance all you wanted around Thuram; he would not be baited.
Ginola went sprawling over the touchline, leaving the ball at Thuram's feet.
Keegan leapt from the bench, shouting for a foul, arms waving furiously. The referee, however, was unmoved and gestured play on.
Thuram wasted no time, thumping the ball clear. Yet Millwall's attack had not pushed forward, so the clearance came straight back. Newcastle recycled possession and continued to build, their pressure mounting higher and higher. Still, they struggled to create a clear chance.
Beardsley and Clark probed through the middle, looking for openings. Gillespie darted inside, seeking to cut between defenders. He nearly found the gap, but Southgate stepped out quickly and disrupted the pass. Millwall's shape held firm, frustrating the Magpies.
Newcastle's flowing attacks looked magnificent, but again and again they broke like waves on rock. Millwall's defence, disciplined and compact, was proving as stubborn as stone. When Helguera could not cut out the danger, he would play short to Southgate, who calmly blocked the next pass. It was like watching an egg shatter against a wall: beautiful in the attempt, futile in the result.
Slowly, the commentators began to understand what they were watching.
Martin Taylor's voice rose with astonishment. He checked Millwall's shape again and again before finally exclaiming into his microphone.
"It's chain defending! Millwall have taken the Italian model, the famous catenaccio style, and brought it into the Premier League! Look at the wide shot now — it makes it perfectly clear. Ballack, Helguera, and Gattuso are sitting in front of the back four, forming a protective shield. Together they slow Newcastle's rhythm and force the play into narrow channels. Even if Newcastle do manage to slip a pass through, Southgate is stepping out to intercept just before the penalty area, and Helguera is sweeping behind as the spare man. The whole defensive line shifts laterally like a chain, sliding left or right as one, covering each other's space. This isn't about individuals winning duels; it's about complete synchronicity. For twenty minutes, Newcastle haven't even managed a shot. Aldridge — how many tactical cards does this man have up his sleeve?!"
Andy Gray was cautious. "Yes, Martin, Millwall's defending is excellent. But what's the end product? They haven't had a shot either."
Taylor cut him off. "That's because they're waiting for the right moment. Keegan will inevitably push his players further forward if Newcastle cannot score. When that happens, space will open up, and Millwall will break into it. This system isn't built just to hold out — it's designed to spring a counter. Believe me, Aldridge hasn't built this to settle for a draw. He's set it up to win. This is a manager already showing extraordinary ability."
On the touchline, Aldridge's lips curled into a faint smile. He watched his players grow more comfortable with every Newcastle attack.
Millwall's foundation in training had always been collective pressing, tight lines, and coordinated movement. Building chain defending on top of that was a natural progression. His instructions for the week had been clear: full-backs were not to overlap, Southgate would step out aggressively to mark and intercept, and Helguera would sit deeper to sweep behind. In front of them, Ballack, Vieira, and Gattuso formed a second barrier, connected to the back line in layers. Each link covered the other, and when one player moved out, the rest shifted across in unison.
This was not the traditional English approach of man-marking duels or frantic last-ditch tackles. It was the kind of structure perfected in Italy, where defenders moved as one and suffocated attacks through positioning as much as through tackles. Aldridge knew that in England this was still rare, and Newcastle's dazzling combinations would find no easy way through.
Newcastle's attack sparkled with flair, but against Millwall's chain there was no opening. Aldridge looked on with calm satisfaction. If the Magpies wanted to score tonight, they would need to make the ball sprout wings and fly into the net.