"Precursor of collapse! The crazy lion is running out of stamina!"
"The young coach should already be satisfied. Congratulations to Millwall for avoiding relegation — your holiday begins now."
"2–1! Nottingham Forest end Millwall's 23-match unbeaten run at the City Ground!"
The media thrived on alarmist headlines designed to catch the public's eye. After Millwall's surge into the League Cup final, their undefeated run in the Premier League came to an end away at Nottingham Forest — their first loss of the season.
The major newspapers quickly seized the opportunity to mock them. Aldridge ignored the chatter, but he still conducted a thorough post-match review.
The medical staff reported that the players were not physically exhausted. However, the psychological assessments showed clear signs of mental fatigue.
Many of Millwall's players were foreigners. They were unaccustomed to playing through the English winter, with no mid-season break, and missing time with their families during the Christmas period. Last year, the same problem had already appeared across the Premier League: the relentless fixture congestion, coupled with festive isolation, created noticeable dips in concentration.
It was natural for human beings to feel the urge to rest or to escape when difficulties mounted. Professional players could not go on strike, but their mental sharpness and intensity inevitably declined. No one could sustain peak levels indefinitely.
Aldridge knew this was not a problem he could solve with training drills or motivational speeches. There were only two realistic solutions. First, players had to gradually adapt themselves to the English football environment. Second, coaches had to manage workloads sensibly. Sir Alex Ferguson, for instance, often gave Manchester United's key players time off in January so they could refresh and return sharper.
Aldridge resolved to follow a similar path. After the midweek FA Cup tie, he would give his squad four full days off. The FA Cup was scheduled for Tuesday night, with the next league match falling on the following Monday, leaving nearly five days in between.
The draw pitted Millwall against lowly Wigan Athletic at home. On paper it was an easy assignment, but Aldridge was not complacent. The team's form had wavered, and he feared a surprise upset, even against an unheralded opponent.
But the media's criticism after the weekend defeat to Nottingham Forest had stung the players. Their pride was provoked. In response, Millwall unleashed their fury. The "crazy lions" tore Wigan apart, storming to a 7–0 victory and marching into the next round of the FA Cup.
After completing his media duties, Aldridge headed down the tunnel, planning to announce the holiday to the players. Pulling out his phone, he noticed a text message from his elder brother Barnett and stopped in a quiet corner to call back.
"Aldridge, are you free sometime soon?"
"What for?"
"A friend of mine from the United States invited me to watch the Super Bowl. You know I don't care much for American football, but I thought you might be interested."
"When is it?"
"This Sunday."
"Sunday… I'll call you back later. By the way, are the tickets VIP?"
"I'll find out. If you come, I'll arrange for a box."
Aldridge hung up and continued toward the dressing room.
Inside, the players were not wildly celebrating the seven-goal demolition. Instead, they were relaxed, showering, chatting, and enjoying the food laid out for them. English clubs often provided post-match meals — sometimes to questionable effect. Aldridge even thought with a smile of the infamous "pizza-gate" that would hit Ferguson's Manchester United more than a decade later.
When he entered, Robert Pirès — who had scored twice — offered him a drink. Aldridge declined with a smile and leaned casually against the wall near the door. Behind him hung two posters: one for the League Cup final, the other for the FA Cup.
Once the players had changed back into their clothes, they noticed their manager waiting to speak. They settled down quietly, food in hand.
"I know the last few weeks have been hard," Aldridge began. "You couldn't spend Christmas with your families. You had no winter break. Every day you had to train while your friends back home enjoyed the holidays. That takes a toll."
The players said nothing, but their expressions showed understanding. Among themselves, they could complain. To Aldridge, they listened. He did not expect them to put on false bravado, pretending they were tireless warriors.
If this had been an all-English squad, he would have been harsher, because domestic players had grown up with the English football calendar. Foreigners, however, were still adjusting. In fact, much of the growing criticism of the Premier League's unforgiving schedule in the 1990s came from foreign coaches and players.
Aldridge continued: "This month isn't over, and already we've played three league matches, two in the League Cup, one in the FA Cup. In five days, we'll be back at it again. You've pushed yourselves to the limit, and I know you can keep going. But sometimes, the best way forward is to rest. So here's my plan: you'll have four full days off. Come back for training on Monday, the day of the league match. Until then, enjoy your break.
"As for me, I'm going to America for a short holiday. You may not care about their sports, but this Sunday is the Super Bowl — their biggest event. I'll be there. If any of you want to come with me, you're welcome. Bring your families or girlfriends. The club will cover the expenses. Frankly, London's weather is dreadful. I need some fresh air. If you want to join me, come by my office and let me know."
He finished with a grin and turned toward the door. Behind him, the locker room erupted into cheers loud enough to shake the walls.
The players were exhausted — not so much in body, but in spirit. Aldridge's gift of a holiday felt like heaven.
In those days, footballers were not yet multi-millionaires with fleets of sports cars and frequent overseas trips. For most, European away matches were the only real travel they experienced. A free trip to America was a luxury. Every single player signed up. Even those who preferred staying home realized they might never again get such an opportunity to bring their loved ones abroad.
Later that evening in his office, Aldridge and his coaching staff carefully counted numbers. Including wives, girlfriends, and children, nearly a hundred people would be traveling. When Aldridge relayed this to Barnett, his elder brother did not blink. He simply promised that everything would be arranged properly.
The next morning, Aldridge had breakfast at home with Andrew.
Andrew, dressed smartly in a suit and polished leather shoes, had come early, bringing hot coffee and sandwiches. It was not a casual visit. Today was the final hearing of Aldridge's defamation case, and he would need to appear in court.
After finishing his meal, Aldridge put on his own suit, preparing to leave with Andrew, when the doorbell rang. Opening it, he found a fashionable young woman smiling at him.
"Today, I'll be accompanying you to court," she said brightly.
It was Melanie. A year earlier she had looked like an unpolished, slightly scruffy girl. Now she was transformed: her slim figure accentuated by a tailored black coat, her long hair tied neatly into a ponytail, her look carrying a touch of London's newest fashion trends.
Aldridge did not object. Soon, the three of them left in two cars, heading toward the district court.
On the way, Melanie spoke animatedly. The Spice Girls had just finished recording their debut album, and she was enjoying a short holiday. Aldridge shared his own plans with her.
"You're going to America? And you didn't think to call me?" she asked, half-joking.
"I didn't know you were on vacation. You didn't mention it when we spoke last night."
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
"Consider me surprised then," Aldridge smiled. "Happy?"
Melanie rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm coming with you to the United States. Is that convenient?"
"There's no problem at all," Aldridge replied lightly. "You're more than welcome. I just hope nothing changes after the court hearing today."
The case was reaching its conclusion. Katie Price was due to appear. She looked haggard, but the scandal had not destroyed her career. On the contrary, the publicity had only raised her profile. As a glamour model, her "Page Three" features in the tabloids were selling well, and adult film companies continued to court her with offers.
Yet public perception was another matter. No matter the facts, reputations required careful preservation. She needed, as the saying went, a "chastity arch" — the façade of respectability to cover past disgrace. Her greatest wish now was for the scandal to be resolved quickly so that the jeering headlines about her "£2,000 a night" offer would fade from public memory.
That morning, the court delivered its verdict.
The restraining order Aldridge had applied for was granted. From that point on, Katie Price was forbidden from contacting him directly. Any violation could result in prison time.
The defamation charge was upheld, and she was ordered to issue a public apology.
However, the judge also ruled that Aldridge bore some responsibility for his actions. Although the infamous phone recording had been a trap, the court felt he had crossed a line. As a result, he received a symbolic fine and was sentenced to forty hours of community service.
Both parties accepted the judgment.
To Aldridge, voluntary labor was hardly a burden. Ten hours a week would see the sentence completed within a month. Moreover, performing the work in the Millwall district of East London could even serve as positive publicity, strengthening his bond with the community.
With the scandal finally behind him, Aldridge rejoined Millwall. Together with his coaching staff, players, and their families, nearly a hundred people in total boarded a chartered plane bound for New York.
In this, it would seem unusual for a manager to lead an entire squad on a mid-season trip abroad. Yet Aldridge knew that in the future such pratices will be normalize. Ten, twenty years later, clubs would regularly schedule warm-weather breaks, commercial tours, or promotional trips overseas, mixing rest with business opportunities.
For Aldridge, the priority was clear: his players needed to recharge mentally. Their bodies could endure the grind, but their minds required release.
On the chartered flight, the atmosphere was lively at first. The women gathered in small groups, laughing and chatting. The men settled into games of cards. Aldridge himself played poker alongside his coaching staff, placing light-hearted wagers.
But once the initial excitement wore off, fatigue took over. Blindfolds went on, seats reclined, and soon the cabin was filled with the quiet rhythm of sleeping passengers. The transatlantic flight was long enough for them to rest deeply.
Because of the time difference, the group departed London at 5 p.m. and, after seven or eight hours in the air, landed in New York at 8 p.m. local time.
Stepping outside the terminal, Aldridge was taken aback by the scene awaiting them.
Ten long Lincoln limousines stood lined up. From the central car, Barnett emerged, immaculate in his suit, smiling broadly as he waved them over.
"Boss, what's going on?" Schneider muttered with his German girlfriend blinking in astonishment at the extravagant reception.
"Get in the cars," Aldridge instructed. He led Melanie toward Barnett first, climbing into the limousine himself so the others would see the fleet was indeed arranged for them.
"Was this necessary?" Aldridge asked once inside. "All this just for a holiday?"
Barnett only smiled, nodding politely toward Melanie. He opened the refrigerator built into the armrest and gestured. "Help yourself."
Melanie, sitting next to Aldridge, gave a small smile but waved off the offer. She still seemed slightly uneasy in such surroundings.
Barnett turned his focus to business. "They're only rentals, not purchases," he explained. "For now, you'll spend two days here in New York. After that, we'll head to Arizona. Miss Chisholm, I do have some personal matters to discuss with Aldridge. Would you mind going on to the hotel with the others?"
His tone was calm but carried the weight of authority that came from years in high-level business. Melanie, perceptive enough to understand, agreed readily. She was not the type to make trouble unnecessarily.
The convoy soon reached the hotel. The players and their families were escorted inside, where Barnett had already arranged a lavish dinner in the restaurant. But Aldridge did not join them. Barnett took him back into the car, and together they drove on toward Manhattan, the commercial heart of New York.
The night was dark when Barnett's car stopped in front of a sleek, glass-fronted office building. Walking side by side with Aldridge, Barnett gestured toward the streets nearby and spoke quietly.
"Just next door is Wall Street. At first, I wanted to set up the branch there. But I remembered what you told me: make money quietly, keep a low profile. So instead, I bought three floors here and set up the North American branch."
Aldridge frowned. "What exactly are you doing bringing me here?"
Inside the elevator, still puzzled, he pressed further.
Barnett answered without hesitation. "There's a high-level meeting tonight. I want you to sit in."
"I don't know anything about business," Aldridge replied flatly.
"It doesn't matter. Just listen. If you have something to say, say it."
Aldridge raised his eyebrows but didn't argue further.
Though it was late, the offices were still lit. Staff were present, moving quietly with serious expressions. They were not rushing about, but there was a gravity to the atmosphere. Every employee who spotted Barnett showed visible respect, lowering their voices, their eyes following him.
When Barnett opened the door to a conference room, Aldridge saw eight people already seated. Most were in their thirties or forties, a few older, their hair already streaked with gray. As Barnett entered, all of them rose in unison. He motioned for them to sit, then deliberately pulled out a chair next to his own and gestured for Aldridge to take it.
Curious glances turned toward the unfamiliar young man.
"This is my younger brother, Aldridge," Barnett introduced calmly. "Now, let's begin."
The meeting resembled an annual review and forecast. Each executive had thick folders of reports, detailing investment performance and projections for the coming year. Real estate, finance, industrial ventures — Barnett's company was not limited to a single sector.
Aldridge received a document too. He opened it, scanned a few lines, then felt his head spin from the jargon. Closing it, he leaned back with his eyes shut. This world wasn't his battlefield.
One by one, the executives presented, discussing market prospects, citing data, proposing strategies. Aldridge half-listened, the words washing over him. Time passed until, eventually, silence fell. Barnett, seated like a monarch at the head of the table, seemed lost in thought.
At that moment, Aldridge yawned — loudly and unavoidably. Heads turned. Displeasure flashed in the eyes of several executives.
Barnett, however, only smiled. "What do you think, Aldridge?"
"No opinion," Aldridge said bluntly.
"Aldridge," Barnett pressed, "are you keeping your distance from me?"
Scratching his head, Aldridge considered. Then, casually, he said: "Internet."
The room froze. Several executives exchanged puzzled looks.
Barnett leaned forward, intrigued. "Go on."
"The Internet isn't widespread yet," Aldridge began slowly, "but IT is advancing quickly. Computers will enter homes everywhere. They're becoming easier to use, so ordinary people can learn fast. Look at Microsoft — their new operating systems are laying the foundation. The next step is clear: the Internet will be the future."
An older executive asked skeptically, "And what commercial value would that have?"
Aldridge shrugged. "Think about it. With a computer connected to the Internet, people will be able to read the latest news instantly, watch films and shows, and use new kinds of entertainment that reach a huge audience. They'll talk with friends across the world, do business from home, and even handle financial speculation without leaving their chairs. For now, the personal computer will be the foundation. But in the future, as technology keeps advancing, I believe these functions won't be tied only to a desk. They'll become portable, carried in devices small enough to take anywhere."
"I don't need to argue with you. Just look at how technology develops. Fifty years ago, a computer filled an entire hall the size of a basketball court. Now one fits on a desk. That's the trajectory. The world will shrink into a global village. Without the Internet, innovation will stall. The possibilities are endless. If you can imagine it, you can make money from it."
Silence filled the room again. Aldridge didn't bother reading their expressions. He knew his words would not be welcomed with blind faith. In this era, the Internet was still a curiosity. Only time would prove him right.
Barnett, though, was smiling. "Is that all you want to say?"
"Yes. Can I leave now?"
"Tom, see Aldridge back to the hotel," Barnett instructed.
Aldridge stood, offered no further glance to the room, and left.
Barnett remained by the window, watching until Aldridge's car pulled away before turning back.
"Boss," one executive asked cautiously, "forgive me, but what is your brother's education?"
Barnett laughed — not a polite chuckle, but a deep, booming laugh. "Education? Hahaha!"
He laughed long enough to make the room uneasy. Then he stepped forward, resting a hand on the man's shoulder, his voice carrying weight.
"Nine years ago, I was learning the stock market on the London Exchange. Everyone there had higher education than me. They were more serious, more intelligent, better connected. I had nothing. They dined in fine restaurants with beautiful women while I sat silently, hiding my nerves. One Monday, eight years ago, they mocked me for putting my entire savings into a single stock. I spilled coffee on my pants just to cover my trembling. That same week, three of them jumped from the exchange building. I walked out with millions, the only survivor among them.
"Do you know who told me to make that move? My younger brother, who never studied beyond primary school. From then, I understood two truths. First: all investment is gambling. Education and experience cannot guarantee victory. Second: no matter how hard you work, you cannot overcome the hand of fate. God decides. And I believe God sent my brother as a messenger to the Hall family."
The executives listened, captivated. Coming from anyone else, such words might have sounded like nonsense. But Barnett's success was legendary, his rise almost mythic. His conviction carried undeniable weight.
"As he said, the Internet deserves our attention," Barnett concluded. "At the very least, Microsoft has already brought us profits."
Once their leader voiced support, the executives quickly agreed, their earlier doubts pushed aside.
Aldridge, back at the hotel, would never know that what he dismissed as a few casual words had just planted the seed for the Hall family's entry into the future Internet empire.