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Chapter 222: The Real Strong

However, in just two seasons, Millwall managed to silence both Manchester United and Arsenal. As a result, Arthur now coldly mocked Dein: "When will Highbury be expanded? Oh right, it looks like the surrounding areas are all residential. There's no room for expansion, is there?"

As for Edwards, Arthur maintained an attitude of indifference. As long as Edwards didn't provoke him, he had no desire to engage with that old man, who disgusted him as if he were covered from head to toe in bodily fluids.

Concerning Bates, their animosity stemmed not only from being enemies but also from Arthur's inability to tolerate Bates's arrogant demeanor. Even though Chelsea had nothing substantial, Bates acted as if he deserved all the credit.

A shrewd businessman, Bates had a notorious reputation before assuming control of the club. He had made a couple of million to ten million-pound investments in the European financial sector over the years, often escaping unscathed from precarious situations. In short, his dealings were not clean.

Football is a tightly-knit community, and the FA's insularity means regardless of how intense the internal conflicts may be, any external interference is often met with fierce resistance, irrespective of right or wrong.

Bates capitalized on his position as Chelsea's chairman to erase his past. Although his financial management at Chelsea had raised eyebrows, it was difficult for outsiders to investigate his club operations. Both the FA and the Premier League opposed such investigations, as every club had its share of shady dealings hidden away from public view.

Bates, the shrewd and cunning businessman, not only built his grand vision of Chelsea Village but also actively stirred up conflict to boost his popularity. Before aiming his sights at Arthur, he had been at odds with Dein. However, seeing Arsenal's recent struggles, he decided to turn his attention toward Millwall, knowing the existing animosity between the two clubs would generate plenty of buzz.

Sitting beside Bates, Arthur sipped wine as he awaited the match to start, while Bates sat in silence, his face darkened.

"Old bastard, I heard you recently publicly questioned the Holts' asset sources? Haha, I've got a hilarious story about the thief shouting to catch the thief," Arthur said, his tone flat and eyes slightly narrowed.

Bates felt a chill run down his spine. This man would use any means necessary; when attacking Dein, he'd even hire private detectives. Now, facing Arthur, he planned to use the same tactic.

He issued statements to the media questioning whether the Holt family could really afford to construct such an expensive new stadium, implying that the Holts had turned from selling glass to billionaire status in just a decade—was there something fishy going on?

Arthur kept a straight face and replied nonchalantly, "Business matters, Bates; I'm not your equal, and I don't care. My three sons are managing that. However, if you want to play these games, let's play. I'm curious about Chelsea's financial situation—where do you get all that money for players and high wages? Your Chelsea Village is practically deserted all the time, is it really profitable? Haha, I asked my eldest son, and he told me we have quite a few friends in European business circles; I'm sure we can uncover many secrets. Are you really willing to play? Can you handle it?"

Bates' forehead began to sweat, and he gritted his teeth, "Mistake, it's all a misunderstanding!"

At that moment, he finally realized that his previous petty games were trivial compared to the Holt family, who had amassed over two hundred million pounds just three years ago, with their wealth growing at an astonishing rate.

Thanks to their connections, the Holt family had a stellar reputation, while Bates was no better than a rat crossing the street.

Arthur took another sip of wine, chuckling, "Misunderstanding? If that's the case, then, oh well, without you around, I might even miss the fun."

He joked lightly, but internally he thought: if Bates kept up these antics, Chelsea's debts would pile up, they wouldn't have any success, and they'd eventually go bankrupt...

In Wembley's away team locker room, Aldrich stood with arms crossed in front of the players.

"Everyone knows today is our last match of the season. I trust you'll approach it with three hundred percent seriousness. However, I want to address two points. The first is mentality. We've beaten Chelsea twice in the league this season, and that might make some of you complacent. Now, take a minute to ask yourselves: Chelsea? We've already defeated them, winning should be a piece of cake!"

The players exchanged glances, looking at Aldrich's stern face, and some lowered their heads in shame, for many had indeed thought that way.

After all, they had double-teamed England's traditional top three and recently thrashed the La Liga giant Barcelona in the European Winners' Cup. If you asked a thousand neutral fans the same question: who's stronger, Chelsea or Barcelona? Over nine hundred would say Barcelona, and the rest would ask: who is Chelsea?

The answer was obvious. If Millwall could beat Barcelona 4:1, dominating Chelsea should be a walk in the park.

Yet Aldrich's expression showed no signs of ease. He knew there were many disadvantages for Millwall today. The scattered cheers from the fans in the stands were one thing, but the competitive factors counted too, like the players just returning from the Netherlands. They were likely to be fatigued, just like Barcelona, and after a big match, especially one they had won, their mindset could easily be carried away.

"I'll give you two more minutes. Erase the thought of defeating Chelsea from your minds and instead think of the two league losses and one cup game we faced this season, not to mention the seven disappointing draws! Reflect on those matches—were those opponents truly stronger than us? Why didn't we win?"

By this time, the players understood Aldrich's intention. They straightened up, their expressions serious, shedding all notions of disdain.

Aldrich continued, "You've mostly experienced the thrill of holding two cup trophies last season. Do you remember the mindset we had then? We almost let Aston Villa snatch the trophy from us because our anxiousness clouded our performance. Today is no different. Chelsea's last trophy was the European Winners' Cup 26 years ago; it's been years since they last held an FA Cup. They've been starved for success for nearly thirty years, and their desperation is palpable. They want to prove they are better than us, and they yearn for their club to return to glory. But we won't grant them that opportunity! That brings me to my second point: our demeanor!"

The players looked up at Aldrich earnestly, nodding in agreement.

Although this was a final, Aldrich didn't resort to clichés about honor and spirit.

Repetitive speeches aren't always effective and don't resonate the same way.

Millwall was the defending champion of the FA Cup, and the players were already familiar with the honor. They had two trophies under their belts this season and a favorable record against Chelsea. If Aldrich merely attempted to boost their morale with barren rhetoric, it wouldn't have much impact.

Similar to his tactical approach, Aldrich patiently led the players in understanding why he chose this strategy and the effects it could have. Only when they grasped it could they truly implement his tactical philosophy.

"We are undoubtedly more fatigued than Chelsea. There's no point in denying it. Just two days ago, we played a fierce match, and you performed magnificently. If you're looking to replicate that performance today, it's simply impossible in terms of physical exertion. Don't think I'm trying to bring you down; I'm just stating facts. I don't want you to feel pressured or force yourselves; that could lead to injuries. There are countless teams capable of attacking, and our tactical system is already mature; you've practiced our attacking strategies. But I expect to see a more mature side from you today, a more composed team overall!"

Upon hearing this, the players grew curious. Nedved asked, "Boss, how do we go about that?"

Being more mature means becoming better, and who doesn't aspire to improve?

Aldrich replied calmly, "A team that can attack is not scary; what's scary is a team that has the freedom to attack but chooses to be patient. What I mean is, we want to control the game from a broader perspective, not just chase after momentary bursts of energy. That's dominance! When we are in peak physical condition, we can pressure our opponents for the entire match. But when we lack that advantage? We still have to win—and make our opponents despair. You might think my tactical arrangements this morning were overly cautious, but I don't see it that way. It's high time you understood what a true top team is. We can't rely solely on raw energy to win, or on explosive plays. What constitutes a true powerhouse? It's a team that excels in good form and wins beautifully, but also manages to secure victories even when playing poorly! That's genuine strength—power that instills fear and despair in all opponents, a strength that can still triumph even from a disadvantaged position!"

In the locker room, every player felt a jolt.

Looking at Aldrich's resolute expression, they felt a mix of disbelief and awe, a peculiar sensation surging within them.

When in form, winning beautifully is splendid; even when out of sorts, they still need to secure the win.

What kind of strong player would anyone want to be?

There was no need to delude themselves into thinking that every game would feature them at their best; player performances fluctuate due to physical states or personal matters—there are countless reasons for being off form.

However, winning even when not in peak condition would certainly make them more refined and dominant on the field.

"Today, you must play with this kind of dominance, and I firmly believe you can achieve it."

Having said this, Aldrich turned and left the locker room.