The Rise of Millwal

Chapter 369: Relaxation in Leisure Time

Chapter 369: Relaxation in Leisure Time

In the final moments of the match, despite Chelsea's desperate surge, Millwall skillfully controlled the pace with their passing game, denying Chelsea even a single chance to threaten their goal.

When the referee blew the final whistle, the Chelsea fans at Stamford Bridge silently made their way out.

Meanwhile, the Lions' supporters reveled with unmatched joy, more satisfying than if they had played on the pitch themselves. The exhilaration lingered, an intoxicating feeling that wouldn't fade.

"In the highly-anticipated London derby, Chelsea, hosting at Stamford Bridge, fell 2-4 to their bitter rivals Millwall. They've dropped from the top of the league table to fourth place. Although Millwall won, they only moved up one position, still trailing Manchester United and Arsenal by a point. However, Hall should feel content as the fans will also be pleased; at least Chelsea is now behind them."

Aldrich approached Vialli for a handshake, but Vialli seemed to be in shock, standing frozen in place. After Aldrich gently patted his arm without saying a word, he turned and walked into the players' tunnel.

At the post-match press conference, Aldrich was asked if his views on Chelsea had changed.

Earlier, he had emphasized Chelsea's formidable strength, yet Millwall had defeated them on their turf.

Aldrich stuck to his guns, still proclaiming Chelsea to be very strong.

The more he hailed Chelsea, the more valuable Millwall's victory seemed, indirectly validating Millwall's superiority. If he were to belittle Chelsea, the significance of Millwall's win would be diminished.

In the locker room, he praised the players for their performance before the team boarded the bus back to East London, where they would disperse.

Upon returning home, Aldrich changed into casual clothes—jeans, a t-shirt, and a coat. The sky darkened as he strolled to the neighborhood entrance, where he spotted three teenagers chatting, all dressed casually.

De Rossi animatedly discussed Ronaldinho's goal in the match. "Did you see that move he pulled on the opponent? His timing was incredible. He faked to the right, causing the defender to lean that way, then suddenly cut back to the left. Right before shooting, he acted like he was going to pass, and the Chelsea defense was caught off-guard, reflexively trying to intercept his pass. Unexpectedly, he took the shot right there, and the curve was actually pretty standard—you should see him in training; he does that all the time."

Messi and Agüero looked up at De Rossi, seemingly absorbed by the insights of their "senior."

De Rossi finished with a self-satisfied grin, as if he'd imparted some deep knowledge to the young stars.

Agüero chimed in, "That goal? I could've done it too; I scored four yesterday against the local primary school team."

Messi scratched his head and added softly: "I scored five goals."

De Rossi frowned and asked, "How many matches did you play?"

Aguero shrugged. "I played one game and they ran away before they finished it."

"One match—90 minutes?"

"Uh, it was only 40 minutes, split into two halves of 20. The referee didn't add any time, which was really frustrating!"

Agüero was still hung up on yesterday's match, where the other team just walked off with five minutes to go.

"What was the final score?"

"13-0."

"Uh...are you competing against kids under ten?"

Messi shook his head, subconsciously rubbing his shoulder. "They were all about 12 years old, but they were really strong! They knocked my shoulder; it still hurts. I didn't sleep well last night."

De Rossi was momentarily lost for words. After clearing his throat, he straightened up and said, "Hey, you must have faced some amateurs—they probably don't know how to play. Three months ago, as captain, I led a team of 14-year-olds to win the first Millwall Youth Charity Cup. When we made it to the regional championship playoffs, our opponents were mostly 16. Some of them I suspect might even be 18, standing at nearly six feet tall."

Agüero held his head high, looking enviously at De Rossi, and asked, "So, how many goals did you get?"

De Rossi suddenly felt a little embarrassed and looked away awkwardly. "Three goals."

"Three goals in the final?"

"Uh, no, all the games."

"How many games did you play?"

"Ten."

"..."

Messi and Agüero exchanged glances, their expressions shifting entirely as they looked at De Rossi.

De Rossi exclaimed, "What do you know? I'm not a forward; I'm the spiritual leader—the leader, got it? I can defend, attack, assist, and clear balls!"

Agüero looked around, while Messi, pondering something, suddenly asked, "How many goals did that Portuguese kid score?"

De Rossi scratched his nose and replied: "Twenty-four goals."

"Wow!"

Agüero's jaw dropped in shock.

Messi rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested.

To be fair, both he and Agüero had never been fond of Cristiano Ronaldo. They believed he was a bit "of a bully."

During training or matches, Ronaldo would often order Messi and Agüero around like they were at his beck and call.

But once they reach a higher age group, Ronaldo is not like that. He usually keeps his head down and works hard, concentrating on doing his task and making sure he doesn't mess it up.

"What are you guys talking about?"

Messi and Aguero suddenly shrank back, their heads caught under a large hand that gently pressed down. They had no choice; both of them were quite short, and Aldrich only needed to lift his hand a little to reach the tops of their heads.

The trio's faces lit up upon seeing Aldrich; De Rossi quickly rubbed his hands together and asked, "Boss, where are we eating tonight?"

Messi and Agüero also looked up at Aldrich, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Aldrich felt a guilty twinge as he caught the longing in their eyes, like they hadn't eaten well at Millwall in forever.

To be honest, the food isn't great.

It's tough to strike a balance between nutrition and flavor.

The nutritionist at Millwall leans toward a bland palate, especially with meat. They serve a lot of fish and chicken prepared with minimal oil, and foods like fries, cakes, and pizzas are strictly forbidden.

For the first-team players, it's not too hard. Outside of training and matches, they can adjust their home meals to fit their tastes.

However, the younger players living in the Millwall community or dorms have it rougher. Their meals are arranged by the club three times a day, with only occasional home visits for a proper family meal.

Although Aldridge advocates for healthy nutrition, this is not a strict rule. Especially for these young players, they need some indulgence. If they are restrained for too long, they may seize any opportunity to eat and drink, which may cause serious problems.

He occasionally took these young players out for a meal or cooked at home. Today, he planned to take the three of them out for dinner and then watch a movie.

In a high-end restaurant, a steak sat before Aldrich, accompanied by a glass of red wine. His eyes darted around, surveying the trio across from him.

Messi, Agüero, and De Rossi devoured the steak with the hunger of starved souls. Aldrich hadn't even finished half his steak when the three of them polished off two plates.

No wonder—they rarely had such upscale dining experiences, especially for steak. And someone was treating!

In reality, the portion size wasn't huge; Aldrich simply had a modest appetite and aimed for a balanced diet. He would also have some veggies; the three boys, however, were fixated on their beef, producing a clatter of cutlery that drew disapproving looks from surrounding diners.

Aldrich didn't mind though; no point acting gentlemanly here. As long as they were enjoying themselves, he wouldn't remind them of table manners.

The trio munched and chatted, ordering different flavors and cuts, harmoniously sharing portions to taste.

After Agüero finished his third plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin, he curiously asked Aldrich, "Boss, why do we seem to have such a deep vendetta against Chelsea? Today, in the dorm, the administrator kept cursing them."

Such behavior was rare; on home match days, they would earn tickets to attend matches based on their training performances. For away games, they watched on TV; their dorm administrator was a companion during matches. With other opponents, even if Millwall lost, the administrator would offer comfort—"We'll do better next time."

But during the game against Chelsea, it felt like the administrator had transformed.

Aldrich smiled and replied, "In the past, there was a saying in London that true Spurs fans lived in Fulham, true West Ham fans in Cambridge, and true Chelsea fans lived in Millwall. Most other fans were either Manchester United or Arsenal fans. Nowadays, discounting the influence of local teams, most of London's fans are Millwall supporters."

Aguero stared at Aldrich with a serious face, yet his left hand was sneakily reaching for Messi's plate with a fork. Messi promptly swatted his hand away, maneuvering his plate to the side and covering it with his arm.

Aldrich couldn't help but chuckle at the scene, "Are you just trying to break the tension? Not full yet?"

Aguero grinned and said, "I am full, but I still want more! This beef is so tender and mouthwatering!"

Just then, De Rossi finished his third plate and, with no embarrassment, called over the waiter for another.

Aldrich turned to De Rossi and said, "Take it easy, okay? For the next plate, you and Kun will share."

De Rossi glanced at Aguero and nodded in reluctant agreement.

At that moment, Messi raised his hand and chimed in, "Make sure I get some too!"

De Rossi protested, "Then we might as well order another plate—two plates for the three of us."

Wow, now all three were in agreement! Aldrich shook his head and sighed before calling the waiter to place the order.

After drinking some water, Agüero burped and grinned sheepishly. He continued, "So why don't Chelsea fans live near Stamford Bridge?"

"High land prices, high cost of living—so they have to move to more affordable areas. Thus, our fans end up crossing paths, leading to some rivalry."

Agüero nodded in understanding. De Rossi and Messi also comprehended the reasons behind the Chelsea-Millwall enmity.

Such phenomena were common; every country, region, and city experienced similar situations, merely reflecting local clusters rejecting outsiders.

When dinner wrapped up, the waiter looked at the three boys as if they were oddities. However, when it was time to check out, the waiter's eyes lit up; not only did Aldrich spend generously, but he also tipped well, leaving the staff beaming.