Millwall's pre-season training was officially underway. Every day, Aldridge was present on the training ground, personally overseeing the drills and monitoring the players through every aspect of the sessions. During breaks and moments of downtime, he would seize the opportunity to instill tactical concepts, discuss positional awareness, and help the players refine their individual technical profiles. His dedication didn't end there—he made time to speak to each player one-on-one, evaluating their roles, potential, and adjustments required in their game. And impressively, no translator was needed. After spending eight years across Europe before returning, Aldridge had acquired fluency in nearly all major European languages. Though not native in any of them, he could communicate with the players clearly and effectively.
The talent pool at Millwall was exceptional for a club of its level, filled with players of outstanding potential. Still, many lacked positional clarity and experience. Take Vieira, for instance—at just 18, he was convinced he was best suited to playing as a traditional centre-forward. Similarly, Makelele had arrived with the mentality of a full-back. Aldridge, patient and methodical, used targeted training and positional drills to help reshape their footballing identities. More importantly, he didn't push them blindly—he let the training performances speak for themselves, using each session as a mirror to reflect what worked and what didn't.
More than tactics or technique, it was Aldridge's day-in, day-out presence and sincere commitment that struck a chord with the squad. In just a short time, he built a genuine rapport with his players—a critical step in laying the foundation for a cohesive unit.
One unique element of training was the 15-minute match session Aldridge introduced at the end of each day. Just 15 minutes. No extra time. No draw. If there was no winner by the end, it went straight to penalties.
It drove the players mad.
"Boss, can we go again? Just 10 more minutes?"
"How about another half an hour?"
"Even 20 minutes would be better!"
Every day ended with these familiar pleas. The players couldn't get enough. A 15-minute scrimmage barely whets the appetite for any footballer, let alone one filled with adrenaline and ambition. But that was the point.
The brevity was by design. It left the players hungry. If you let players exhaust their passion for the game in training, it dulls their edge on matchday. Aldridge knew that the right amount of restraint would ignite their competitive drive come kickoff. The desire to play—the hunger—had to be preserved and amplified.
And so, as the short scrimmage ended, Aldridge would simply shake his head with a smile. Then he and the coaches would collect the scattered footballs by hand. Though there were workers assigned to the job, Aldridge always made time for these small acts—adding to the tight-knit, humble culture that was beginning to take root at the club.
There were still two weeks left before the First Division season began. In preparation, Millwall had arranged three warm-up fixtures: Birmingham City, Oxford United, and Peterborough United.
All three clubs had been relegated to the Second Division the previous season. Aldridge deliberately chose opponents perceived as "weaker." This wasn't for arrogance—it was strategic. He wanted his boys to build rhythm, sharpen their combinations, and most importantly, gain confidence ahead of the real battle to come.
...
...
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and the stands at The Den—still affectionately called the Lion's Cave by locals—were packed. Though the stadium's capacity was under 20,000, every seat was filled. The sea of dark blue represented the unmistakable presence of Millwall's loyal supporters.
This was Aldridge's first match at home in front of a full crowd, even if it was just a pre-season friendly. Their opponent: Birmingham City.
Aldridge emerged early from the tunnel with his coaching staff, walking calmly to the home bench and taking his seat. There was no tension in his face, only composed focus. The tactics had been laid out in advance, the starting lineup announced. This match would serve as the first official unveiling of the squad he had carefully assembled—and perhaps an early glimpse of how Millwall would play this season.
Starting XI:
Goalkeeper: Kasey Keller
Defenders: Lilian Thuram, Jaap Stam, Gareth Southgate, Lucas Neill
Midfielders: Bernd Schneider, Claude Makélélé, Pavel Nedvěd, Robert Pirès
Forwards: Henrik Larsson, David Trezeguet
The biggest surprise was the inclusion of 17-year-old David Trezeguet in the starting lineup ahead of the more experienced 21-year-old Ole Gunnar Solskjær.
Millwall had six forwards in the senior squad: the veteran Larsson, the natural poacher Kevin Phillips, the technically gifted Solskjær, and the raw talents Van Nistelrooy, Luca Toni, and Trezeguet. Each brought something different. Solskjær had impressed the coaching staff since day one, earning the nickname "Millwall's bargain Hiller" for his sharp instincts in front of goal.
But Aldridge had a different problem—an abundance of options and the need to make clear decisions.
Solskjær's game resembled Larsson's too closely. Both preferred to play off defenders, drop deep, and link play. In contrast, Aldridge needed someone who could physically occupy defenders, make aggressive runs behind, and finish with conviction inside the box. Van Nistelrooy, despite his potential, was not yet sharp enough. Toni, too, lacked the spatial awareness necessary at this level.
Trezeguet, though, had impressed him. The youngest of them all, his early professional experience in Argentina had sharpened his instincts. Strong, direct, and fearless, Trezeguet had earned his spot—not by reputation, but by performance.
As the players warmed up, Aldridge sat beside Jenson on the bench. The two spoke casually.
Jenson, still adjusting to his new life in English football, remarked wistfully, "There's real potential in this squad, but... sometimes I do miss Ajax. Oviedo, Seedorf, Kluivert, Van der Sar—just different level players."
Aldridge listened quietly and nodded.
In truth, he agreed. Technically, Ajax's current crop was stunning. The fluidity of their play, the rhythm of their passing, and the sheer joy they brought to football—it was a different world. Marc Overmars on the wing was dazzling, a blur of speed and skill.
But then again, this was England.
The First Division wasn't a place for artistry alone. English football was unforgiving—physically brutal, tactically chaotic, and relentlessly fast. Aldridge had built his team accordingly. Grit over glamour. Balance over brilliance.
Still, he felt the weight of the difference.
Just as he was lost in thought, he noticed something odd.
The stadium was unusually quiet.
He stood up, scanning the stands. The energy was there, but it was subdued—like the tension before a storm. There were no profane chants, no roars of hostility directed at Birmingham, no traditional outbursts that usually made The Den infamous. The atmosphere felt... tentative.
It wasn't hostility. It was caution.
He turned toward the southeast corner, just as a slow rumble rose into a chant—deep, guttural, defiant.
"No one likes us, we don't care!"
It started small, but it caught fire.
Fans raised their scarves—some of them bearing Aldridge's name, a rare sight in Millwall's history. He watched them in silence for a few moments, then sat back down.
They were watching him.
Evaluating him.
It wasn't mistrust exactly, but neither was it blind support. After all, he had dismantled the team they knew. He had swept away their familiar heroes and replaced them with a batch of unknowns—foreign names, unproven kids, players they couldn't even pronounce yet.
...
If Aldridge's team had been playing at the Santiago Bernabéu, perhaps the pressure of the occasion would've crushed them. But here at The Den—Millwall's Lion's Cave—they didn't have the upper hand, yet they were still embraced, fiercely, by the fans.
Every successful clearance, every desperate tackle, every clash of bodies—whether clean or a foul—was met with wild applause from the home crowd.
Say what you will about English football hooliganism—its reputation precedes it—but the intensity and loyalty of these fans are unlike anywhere else in the world. They didn't judge the team on tactics—whether they played attractive football or something brutally direct. Nor did they stop singing just because the scoreboard wasn't in their favour. For many of them, Millwall wasn't just a club. It was a legacy. A badge handed down through generations.
And for fans who chant "No one likes us, we don't care", loyalty isn't conditional.
The football in the first half was far from pretty—slow, disjointed, and at times frustrating—but the fans watched attentively and cheered all the same.
Four names, in particular, began to ripple through the stands as fans turned to each other with pointed fingers and curious questions: "Who's that lad in midfield?", "That big one at the back?" Makelele, Thuram, Stam, and Nedvěd—each in their own way—began to carve their names into the hearts of The Den.
It wasn't their footwork that won them admiration.
It was the grit.
The steel in the tackle. The no-nonsense challenges. The constant tracking back. To Millwall fans, these weren't just traits—they were virtues.
This was England. And here, football was a game for men. Fierce, bruising, passionate. Players who shied away from a challenge were dead to them. Players who stood their ground, even bloodied, were heroes.
As the half-time whistle blew, Aldridge was the first to disappear down the tunnel, his mind already racing through adjustments. The score was 0–0. Millwall had held firm—never looking overrun or overwhelmed—but they hadn't created much either. Offensively, the team lacked fluidity, and their transitions were stunted.
Part of this was deliberate. Aldridge had explicitly forbidden his defenders from resorting to aimless clearances and speculative long balls. Every build-up was to be thought-out, rehearsed. It was a discipline he was instilling from day one—even if it cost them rhythm in attack.
Meanwhile, Birmingham, despite this being a warm-up, clearly came with a mission. Having just been relegated to the Second Division, they were desperate to prove their strength. A win over a First Division side—particularly one that finished third the previous season—would be the perfect tonic to rally confidence for their campaign ahead.
But Birmingham hadn't expected to meet a back line built like a steel gate.
Even 17-year-old Lucas Neill, raw and eager, didn't hesitate to fly into tackles or throw his body in front of a shot. With the left-back spot being contested between him and Zambrotta, he had every reason to fight for attention.
Jaap Stam, the immovable tower, dominated the aerial duels.
Thuram—nominally a centre-back but now deployed on the right—balanced physicality with positional intelligence.
Makelele shielded the back four like a shadow, never straying from danger zones. And Nedvěd? He might have been a foreign name to most in the stands, but his tireless pressing and combative edge had already won him silent admiration.
On paper, Birmingham had been the more active side. But by the time the teams walked down the tunnel, they hadn't registered a single serious threat on goal.
Millwall's defence had offered them nothing.
And for Aldridge, that—above all—was the most important victory of the first half.
...
Aldridge waited calmly in the dressing room as the players returned at half-time and took their seats. His tone remained composed as he addressed them.
"The first half was solid. This is a warm-up, so I'm not asking for much. Treat it like a high-intensity training session. But let me repeat—remember the tactical priority: defence comes first."
He turned his attention specifically to Lucas Neill.
"Lucas," he said evenly, "watch your positioning in the second half. Try to cut down on risky fouls near the box. You're still young, and defensive awareness comes with experience. Don't worry too much about being caught out—Thuram will cover when needed—but it's on you to track back immediately when you lose your man."
Hearing the coach call his name made Lucas jolt in his seat. He thought he might be pulled off. But once Aldridge's instructions became clear, he nodded quickly, determined to make the most of his minutes.
Tactically, Aldridge didn't need to change much. This team had been together for just ten days. It was too early to expect fluid combinations or cohesive pressing patterns. His instructions remained simple: keep shape, defend in zones, handle your own assignments. As the players gradually settled and built confidence through structure, more would come naturally.
He wasn't about to overload them with concepts—pressing traps, coordinated passing rotations, third-man runs—when the basics hadn't yet been laid. This phase was about establishing foundations.
As the players refuelled and listened to the coaching staff's minor suggestions, Aldridge clapped his hands.
"Right. Let's get out there. No pressure—just focus."
When the second half kicked off, Aldridge resumed his seat on the bench, then leaned over to Jenson and spoke in a low voice.
"Get Richards, Materazzi, Zambrotta, Vieira, Ballack, and Solskjaer warmed up. We'll rotate at the hour mark. Zambrotta will come in for Thuram—I want Lucas to stay on. Solskjaer replaces Larsson. He's had no real rest since the World Cup."
Jenson gave a short nod, turned to the bench, and began calling names. The group of substitutes rose with purpose and jogged off to the sideline, beginning their warm-up routine in pairs, their expressions serious.
Meanwhile, the game remained cautious and scrappy. Birmingham continued their barrage of long balls and direct play, but Millwall's defence, impressively, remained organised. The longer the opposition pressed, the more Millwall's back line absorbed the pressure and stood firm.
To Aldridge, it was ideal.
Watching his defenders repeatedly challenge aerial duels, cover for one another, and handle second balls under pressure was exactly the test he wanted. Bombardments like these were a key feature of lower-league football—if Millwall were going to survive and rise, they needed to thrive in that chaos.
Five minutes later, the substitutes came on as planned. Aldridge stood and personally shook hands with each outgoing player, patting them on the shoulder and offering quiet encouragement.
On the pitch, Pirès and Schneider remained. Freed from their initial nerves, they now played with more calm and confidence, showing their natural technical advantage. Pirès drifted inward to combine with Nedvěd, while Schneider threaded passes from deep. A few of their crosses narrowly missed the mark—Trezeguet wasn't quite in sync, but the quality of service was promising.
Late in the game, Solskjær came close to breaking the deadlock with a curling effort from the edge of the box. The ball clipped the outside of the post and spun out for a corner.
As the final whistle blew, the scoreboard still read 0–0.
For a friendly, it was far from thrilling. On paper, Millwall—third place in the First Division last season—had failed to beat Birmingham, who had finished near the bottom. And it wasn't just the scoreline; the performance had been conservative.
Yet in the stands, there was no whistling, no booing. The fans stayed calm, and as the players left the pitch, applause followed them. The crowd began to disperse, orderly and undisturbed.
...
In the final two warm-up matches, Millwall's performances steadily improved, growing more cohesive and confident with each outing. Aldridge watched with satisfaction as his young squad began to show its true character—mature beyond their years, calm under pressure, and steadily more assured in both structure and spirit.
In the second match, facing Oxford United at the Lion's Cave Stadium, Millwall claimed a narrow 1–0 win. The decisive goal came in the second half when Henrik Larsson rose to meet Schneider's pinpoint cross with a well-timed header. Though the margin of victory was slim, Aldridge was far more pleased by the backline's continued discipline—the defence didn't give Oxford a single clear chance all match.
In their final pre-season fixture, against Peterborough United, Millwall put together their most complete performance yet. On the foundation of defensive solidity, they unleashed swift and decisive counterattacks. Trezeguet and Solskjær, both introduced from the bench, found the back of the net, while Southgate capped things off with a header from a corner kick. The 3–0 scoreline reflected Millwall's growing cohesion and confidence.
Across three warm-up matches, Aldridge had achieved what he set out to do: build a defensive foundation. Not only did Millwall keep three clean sheets, they barely allowed their opponents any meaningful opportunities. The teams they faced may not have been strong, but for this fledgling Millwall side, the psychological value of those performances—of building trust and belief—was immeasurable.
With only three days to go before the opening match of the 1994/95 First Division season, and a home fixture to kick things off, Aldridge decided to take one last step to solidify the team's identity.
After the afternoon training session, he called the players over and had them change into the official home kit for the new campaign.
On the touchline, a staff member carried out a row of chairs and lined them up on the pitch. Aldridge signaled to the coaching staff to take their seats, while the players assembled behind them, arranging themselves by height into two neat rows that fanned out in a structured arc.
Beneath the golden rays of the setting sun, Aldridge sat in the center of the front row, a calm expression and faint smile on his face. The coaches flanking him looked equally composed. Behind them, the players stood still and serious, embodying youthful determination. Nearby, Adam directed the club photographer, making sure the lighting and angle captured the team at its best.
Millwall's official "family portrait" for the 1994/95 season was born.
After that, Aldridge returned to the dressing room and changed into a dark suit and leather shoes. Once the chairs were cleared from the field, he took his place in front of the players for a second shot—this time, standing confidently with his hands in his pockets. The photographer climbed onto a chair to capture a slightly overhead shot: a unified group of young professionals flanked by their sharp-looking, ambitious manager.
When the photographs were printed, Aldridge instructed the staff to display the official team portrait in the main corridor of the club. The cooler, more stylized shot—the one with him in the suit—was enlarged and used for club promotion and press materials.
And as Millwall fans passed by the club headquarters in anticipation of the new season, they were greeted by the sight of the full first-team lineup posted out front. For many, it was a moment of reflection. From the players to the manager, Millwall had undergone a complete transformation in just under three months.
They didn't know what this new team would become.
But one thing was certain: it looked like something alive. Full of energy and full of promise.