Millwall was a strange, almost magical club — at least in Aldridge's eyes.
Despite being based in Southeast London, the club's fiercest hatred was reserved not for nearby Charlton or West Ham United, but for Chelsea, far off in West London. Historically, geography never determined Millwall's rivalries. West Ham was technically closer, yet a century-old feud rooted in dockworker and industrial union disputes had turned the East London derby into one of England's most violent and notorious. Charlton, awkwardly wedged between Millwall and Crystal Palace, never inspired the same level of animosity in anyone. Palace, on the other hand, had become a true rival — the South London derby had teeth.
So it was with no small irony that Aldridge brought Millwall's newly formed transfer team south of the Thames, just weeks after Crystal Palace had been relegated from the Premier League. In two months, they'd be sharing the First Division with Millwall — at least on paper. On the pitch, Aldridge had very different ambitions.
Their target: Gareth Southgate.
Millwall's first offer was £1 million — a respectable figure for 1994. But Crystal Palace didn't even respond, reportedly laughing it off behind closed doors. Southgate was only 23, already one of the most trusted players in Palace's system. Though deployed in midfield, he had the discipline and composure of a central defender, and more importantly, he was one of their own. A product of the club. A leader.
A second offer followed quickly: £2 million.
This time, the silence didn't last. Within half an hour, Palace faxed back a counter: £5 million.
Aldridge chuckled when he read the reply. He wasn't frustrated — he was relieved. A counteroffer meant Palace were willing to talk. And if they were willing to talk, they'd be willing to sell.
Negotiations went back and forth before finally settling at £2.8 million — a huge sum for the era. In 1994, only top strikers commanded fees above £2 million. Andy Cole had scored 41 goals for Newcastle and was valued at just £1.75 million; it would take a move to Manchester United next spring to push that to £6 million and break records. But centre-backs? They rarely crossed the £2 million threshold.
Aldridge wasn't overpaying blindly. He had his reasons. First, Southgate was young, experienced, and future England material. Aldridge knew — because he'd seen the future — that Southgate would captain the national team in a World Cup. Having a local, high-IQ player like him in the dressing room would add enormous credibility. Second, prying a leader from a rival club sent a clear message to Millwall's fans: they weren't just rebuilding — they were raiding the neighbourhood.
Later that week, Aldridge and Andrew personally visited Southgate at his flat in South London.
Southgate knew Andrew — they had mutual acquaintances — but he was hardly warm. His wife offered the guests tea before excusing herself, leaving the men alone in the modest living room.
Aldridge kept things direct. After briefly introducing himself, he pulled out a contract and placed it on the table.
Southgate didn't even glance at it.
"You should go," he said flatly. "I'm not interested in Millwall. There's not even a head coach. I don't see a future there."
Aldridge replied without blinking. "There is a head coach. It's me."
Southgate raised an eyebrow. For a moment, he looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh.
Then Aldridge opened the contract and calmly pushed it forward.
"Weekly salary: £6,000. Automatic increase to £8,000 after your first contract renewal. From there, a 10% raise every year. End-of-season bonuses tied to the club's final league position. Five-year term."
Southgate stared at the paper. That kind of money? In 1994? It was outrageous. He wasn't earning half that at Palace.
He hesitated. Professional footballers didn't get long careers. Injuries, form, coaching decisions — everything was fragile. He'd never imagined a pay package like this.
Still, the doubt lingered.
"You're seriously the head coach?" he asked.
Aldridge folded the contract and met his gaze.
"Gareth, I'm not here to beg. Crystal Palace accepted our £2.8 million bid. I don't pretend that players are priceless — everyone has a value. You're worth at least £15 million in my eyes. I know what you're capable of. This contract is fair.
"I have my coaching license. I don't need to prove anything here. If we had time, I'd show you twenty different corner routines, dozens of set-piece patterns, entire phases of attacking play and defensive transitions. But right now? I'm the owner. I'm the manager. And this is my team.
"Millwall is going to be the most successful English club of the next era. That might sound insane to you — I don't care. The opportunity is in front of you. If you walk away, you won't get it again. Your loss."
Andrew kept smiling politely, but inside he was sweating. The way Aldridge delivered those words — so arrogant, so sure of himself — felt risky. But Southgate didn't scoff or leave.
Instead, he looked again at Aldridge. This wasn't a clown or a rich boy playing football manager. There was something serious in him. Focused. Cold, even. It wasn't a façade.
"What position do I play?" Southgate finally asked.
Aldridge answered without hesitation.
"You'll be captain. You'll also move to central defence. I know you've played midfield at Palace, but I've studied your tape — all of it. Your instincts, reading of the game, decision-making, communication — it's what I want at the back."
Southgate didn't respond for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
...
When leaving South London and boarding the bus, Andrew sat in a daze and muttered, "That's the first time I've seen that kind of negotiation."
From the passenger seat, Aldridge replied matter-of-factly, "I'm the boss. I'm the head coach. I don't need to look at anyone's face. If I start begging players to join my team, what authority would I have left?"
Andrew chuckled. "So, where to next?"
"Back to the club," Aldridge said casually. "I'll be staying there full-time from now on. You, on the other hand, can run around. Your agency should seize this opportunity to sign a few players. I'm giving them high salaries—you just connect the dots. Win-win."
Andrew grinned with satisfaction. Though Southgate had already been on his radar before, their connection was flimsy at best. But now, with the list Aldridge provided—composed almost entirely of young, undervalued players Andrew had contacted in the past two years—he finally had leverage to begin shaping a serious client base. It was the real beginning of his life as an agent.
Back at the Millwall club offices, Aldridge immediately began firing off transfer offers by fax across Europe.
With a total squad overhaul underway, every position needed addressing.
The goalkeeper position already had Kasey Keller—capable, no doubt, but not quite the calibre needed for a Premier League future. Aldridge turned his attention to Germany and made an initial offer to Oldenburg for a little-known 20-year-old keeper: Hans-Jörg Butt. Butt had only two appearances in the 2. Bundesliga and was still largely untested. For a club like Oldenburg, £100,000 was serious money.
The counteroffer came back at £150,000—and Aldridge accepted it without hesitation.
Southgate now anchored the defence, but at 1.80 meters, he wasn't exactly built for air dominance. Aldridge sent a £200,000 offer to Cambuur, who had just been relegated to the Eerste Divisie, for a towering Dutch centre-back—Jaap Stam.
After negotiations, Millwall increased their offer to £350,000, and Stam was given permission to discuss terms. Aldridge dispatched the negotiating team to the Netherlands.
Then came a £100,000 bid to AS Cannes for 18-year-old Patrick Vieira. The club was struggling financially, and Aldridge acted quickly.
He moved again—£300,000 for a gritty young Italian midfielder recently signed by Perugia: Gennaro Gattuso. The Serie B club, desperate for funds, accepted the deal with open arms. Their chairman, Sharani, even mocked Aldridge in the Italian press, calling him "a mad Englishman throwing money at untested kids." Perugia had signed Gattuso for free only a month prior, and they now pocketed £300,000 in pure profit.
Meanwhile, Andrew personally convinced 17-year-old Michael Ballack—who hadn't even signed a formal pro contract yet—to board a plane to London. He was enticed by a £3,000-a-week wage. It was more than he could've imagined earning at that stage of his career.
Across in the Czech Republic, Aldridge submitted a stunning £1 million offer for Sparta Prague's Pavel Nedvěd. Eastern European transfers rarely saw those figures. Sparta, taken aback, countered with £1.2 million. Aldridge accepted.
It helped that Andrew had made early contact with Nedvěd back when he was still fighting for a spot in Sparta's first team. That relationship proved crucial.
Still, Aldridge didn't stop there. He called Nedvěd himself to express his ambition and promised to insert a clause allowing an automatic contract termination if Millwall failed to gain promotion next season. That assurance—combined with a massive pay raise—was enough to get Nedvěd to commit. For him, it was worth taking the leap: one year in England, big money, and an escape clause if things went south.
Metz received a £500,000 offer for Robert Pirès.
Carl Zeiss Jena were approached for 20-year-old winger Bernd Schneider—signed for £300,000.
Modena, a Serie C club in Italy, couldn't believe their luck when Millwall offered £100,000 for 18-year-old Luca Toni. They accepted immediately.
Den Bosch were next: £350,000 was enough to prise away 18-year-old Ruud van Nistelrooy.
And from Platense in Argentina, Aldridge brought back 17-year-old French striker David Trezeguet for £200,000—repatriating the young talent to Europe with a lucrative offer.
Then, just as Aldridge was packing for France, Andrew arrived at the club with another surprise: 17-year-old Gianluca Zambrotta had agreed to fly to London and sign. He had been on the verge of joining Como—but the moment Millwall stepped in with their terms, he changed his mind.