In a country where even the Prime Minister and the Queen will inquire about football, the sport is an indispensable topic of conversation in every setting—whether you are a high-ranking dignitary or a backstreet trader.
Taylor knew that Aldridge was both the owner and head coach of Millwall, and there was no hint of condescension in his eyes. For decades—indeed, for over a century—football in England had been intertwined with the nation's identity. It was woven into the national spirit. Sir Bobby Charlton leading his teammates to victory in Europe while still carrying the grief of Munich had moved the world. The Hillsborough tragedy had shaken the country to its core. Even Paul Gascoigne's tears at Italia '90 had left an imprint on every Englishman.
Their conversation naturally turned to football, and Taylor expressed his curiosity about the future development of the Premier League.
When the Premier League was founded, the naming rights were immediately put up for bidding. Barclays Bank had shown strong interest, but in the end, Carling Beer secured the title sponsorship. It wasn't that Barclays lacked the resources to compete—far from it. Their financial strength was unquestionable. Rather, the decision came at a time of social transformation in Britain. Margaret Thatcher had just stepped down, English football was still under the shadow of Hillsborough, and the country's best players were heading to Italy. Even among the fans there was a popular saying: "When the soul flies to heaven, it will pass through Italy to watch the best players in the world and the most exciting football."
The Barclays consortium, unsure whether the newly formed Premier League would thrive or continue to stagnate, hesitated—and ultimately withdrew from the sponsorship race.
On the pitch, England's return to European competition had highlighted a painful truth: a significant gap had emerged between English clubs and the top teams on the continent. The years of isolation in the late 1980s had taken their toll. Liverpool had fallen in the qualifiers against a Benfica side led by Portuguese stars. Leeds United had been knocked out by Rangers before even reaching the group stage. Manchester United had been eliminated by Galatasaray the previous season, and in the current campaign, defending champions United were squeezed out of the group stage by Barcelona after IFK Göteborg of Sweden had claimed first place.
England had been back in the Champions League for five years, yet not a single club had reached the quarter-finals.
As they discussed the Premier League's future, Aldridge laid out his view of its development model. English football, he said, was becoming increasingly European in character. The number of foreign players was rising, clubs were becoming more market-driven, and—especially since the Premier League's formation—broadcasting revenue had brought unprecedented financial power.
By contrast, although Serie A was undeniably the world's top league at present, its flaws could one day hinder its progress. The foreign player quota rules were a barrier. The family-run, inward-looking nature of many Italian clubs discouraged outside investment. And while Serie A boasted a galaxy of stars and breathtaking attacking football, it also carried a brutal edge. Too often, moments of flowing brilliance ended in crude, cynical fouls. In the mid-to-late 1990s, Aldridge noted, Serie A would come to suffer from a long injury list featuring some of its biggest names—a reflection of its unforgiving style. Fans wanted to see their heroes on the pitch, not recovering in treatment rooms across Italy.
"If the teams representing the Premier League cannot achieve strong results in Europe, then neither the world's eyes nor even Europe's attention will be fixed on England. In that case, the Premier League's value remains purely domestic, and the risk of sponsoring the competition becomes disproportionate to the return."
Taylor's words made Aldridge nod in agreement.
"Exactly," Aldridge replied. "England is a major footballing nation with enormous potential influence. But take some of the smaller European countries—no matter how well their clubs perform in the Champions League, they will struggle to generate long-term growth because their domestic football environment places a ceiling on what they can achieve. By contrast, the traditional European powers—Britain, Italy, West Germany, France—can create a huge ripple effect once they achieve sustained success on the continental stage. In today's fast-growing media age, look at the attention Italian football commands. If Premier League teams can generate the same effect, they could surpass Italy in impact. And we've already discussed why that's possible."
Aldridge spoke with conviction, and as their conversation drew to a close, Taylor said with deliberate emphasis, "I've spoken with Barnett about a potential collaboration. Barclays Bank is considering sponsoring a Premier League club. I've heard Millwall is on the rise. If you win promotion next season, we'd be willing to become your shirt sponsor. What do you think?"
Aldridge was taken aback. Barclays Bank wanted to sponsor a Premier League club? That was hardly surprising—but to choose Millwall?
Millwall's reputation as one of the most notorious clubs in England was infamous. Even if the team's image had improved drastically this season, decades of stigma would not disappear overnight.
Then Aldridge realised this was less about football and more about strategic alliances. This was a gesture of goodwill between Barclays and the Hall family. For a consortium with European and even global ambitions, such allies were valuable. The Hall family was already a significant force in London's business circles, and Barnett's investments in North America and Southeast Asia had yielded impressive returns. With those credentials, Barclays was eager to strengthen ties.
He smiled and asked, "What sponsorship fee are we talking about?"
"Three years, one million pounds a year."
Aldridge shook his head. "No. One-year deals only. You can sign for one million this summer—or eight hundred thousand if you prefer—but next summer, if you still want to sponsor us, we'll renegotiate the fee."
In truth, given Millwall's reputation, most shirt sponsors would hesitate to offer more than £500,000 a year. Only a handful of Premier League clubs could command a seven-figure deal.
Taylor raised an eyebrow. "All right. If Millwall wins promotion and we pay a million this summer, why not sign for three years now?"
"It's simple," Aldridge replied. "I believe in my team. Our commercial value will grow rapidly. If I lock us into a three-year deal now, we'll be undervalued. As you said yourself, any Premier League team that reaches Europe sees a huge economic boost."
Taylor chuckled. "You're as confident as your brother. It's admirable."
They shook hands formally, ending the meeting on good terms.
No sooner had Taylor departed than Barnett approached Aldridge with another guest.
"Aldridge, this is Mr. Jochen Zeitz, marketing director of Puma Germany. Andrew introduced him, and he's here to discuss next season's kit sponsorship. I'll leave you to it."
Barnett smiled, made the introduction, and walked away.
Aldridge shook hands with the well-dressed German, nodding politely. "A pleasure to meet you."
Zeitz exchanged a few pleasantries before getting straight to the point: Puma wanted to become Millwall's exclusive kit supplier, offering £800,000 per year for five years.
Aldridge didn't hesitate. "Impossible. I know sponsors aren't lining up to invest heavily in Millwall, but I won't sell our future short. My proposal is this: a one-year deal at £800,000 this summer, and we revisit next year. If our commercial value rises—or if we happen to be relegated—this arrangement protects both sides."
Zeitz frowned slightly. From his perspective, a club like Millwall should be grateful for attention from a global brand.
Unperturbed, Aldridge continued, "Mr. Zeitz, do you know how many shirts we've sold this season compared to last year? Thirteen times more. Why? Because we've got players the fans see as stars—talents who've quickly become the most exciting figures on the pitch. I suspect you wouldn't be here if it weren't for Schneider."
Zeitz nodded reluctantly. The young German midfielder had developed rapidly, possessing both quality and charisma. After speaking with his agent, Andrew, Puma had been convinced that sponsoring Millwall could be mutually beneficial.
"My squad is full of international talent," Aldridge went on. "These players have the potential to become key figures for their national teams and to shine on the biggest stage—the World Cup. You may think I'm dreaming, and that's fine. Even if we don't reach an agreement today, I value relationships. We can lay the groundwork now so that in future, even if your competitors approach us, I'll give priority to friends under equal terms."
Zeitz hesitated. He promised to think it over before leaving.
Aldridge smiled as they parted.
...
Millwall's profile in the Premier League was modest, and their shirt sponsorship income reflected that—pitifully small compared to the established clubs. Yet with Sky Sports making a fortune from broadcasting rights, the Premier League's brand value was bound to grow. If Millwall could secure promotion, their sponsorship revenue might not leap dramatically, but even a modest increase would be better than nothing.
In the coming months, the club's pitchside advertising would also move into a new phase. Aldridge planned to hand those commercial operations over to Adam, a responsibility that traditionally fell under the CEO's remit.
As Jochen Zeitz departed, Barnett reappeared, wrapping Aldridge in a warm embrace and grinning mischievously. "Come with me—I've got a gift for you."
Aldridge gave a faint, resigned smile and followed him to a quiet corner of the lobby. Barnett's assistant handed over a folder, which Barnett opened in front of him.
Glancing at the pages, Aldridge saw diagrams and figures more reminiscent of a property developer's proposal than anything football-related.
"On the east side of Millwall's ground, south of the Thames, I've bought a parcel of land," Barnett explained. "I'm going to develop it into a residential area. Eighty of those houses are for you."
Aldridge frowned, studying his brother. "Why are you giving me this?"
Property prices in East London hadn't yet exploded, and Millwall's new stadium already occupied a large plot. By Aldridge's quick calculation, the land purchase plus construction would come to about £15 million, with the cost of the housing itself around £10 million.
Barnett tossed the folder over his shoulder without even looking to see if his assistant caught it. Hugging Aldridge again, he said with a grin, "No reason—you deserve it. Technically, my company is 51 percent mine, 30 percent yours, and 19 percent Andrew's. Don't tell anyone or you'll get yourself kidnapped. Brother, I live in a mansion; I can't have you living in some shabby place. And you're a grown man now. When friends come to visit, you shouldn't have to worry about hosting them. Giving away a house or two is nothing."
Aldridge muttered, "I've been away for years. I don't know anything about your company. What exactly did I do to deserve this?"
In Europe and America, even among family, property and wealth were usually divided clearly. Aldridge wasn't motivated by money; he had more than £3 million in his personal account—enough, in his view, to last a lifetime. And with Millwall operating steadily, turning a profit wasn't an unrealistic goal.
Barnett narrowed his eyes and said slyly, "Remember when you told me Premier League broadcasting was going to be a goldmine? Especially for Sky TV? I bought shares in Murdoch's company. Now the Yanks are trying to buy them back from me every day. Am I stupid? I'm not selling."
Aldridge was stunned. He had no idea Barnett had acted on that casual conversation.
Rupert Murdoch already had enormous influence in the UK, with controlling stakes in The Sun, The Times, and The News of the World. But in the late '80s and early '90s, his most disastrous investment in Britain had been Sky TV, which was losing tens of millions annually.
Just before the Premier League's formation, the breakaway clubs had openly challenged the FA's authority. The conflict had been headline news at the time, and Aldridge had mentioned his thoughts on it to Barnett in passing. It was just his way—once he started talking, he didn't always filter how much he said.
With the "big five" clubs leading the charge, the FA's old guard at odds with the breakaway league, and the BBC and ITV unwilling to meet their demands, Murdoch saw his chance. Sky struck a private deal with the Premier League, ushering in a new era.
Barnett had bought into Sky TV in 1991, before Murdoch's agreement with the league was finalised. At the time, Sky had bled money for years. The American-born mogul had misread the British market, assuming people would pay for the same kind of entertainment as in the US. In reality, the only thing most Britons were willing to pay for at home was football—first, second, and third on the list.
When Sky won the Premier League rights, the turnaround was staggering. From annual losses of tens of millions, the network swung to more than £40 million in profit each year.
Barnett was justifiably proud. By the end of the season, dividends alone would clear the bank loans he had taken to buy in. In less than four years, his 20 percent stake in Sky would be debt-free.
And the idea had all come from his younger brother's offhand comment. Barnett's affection for Aldridge was mixed with something bordering on superstition—he believed his brother had a knack for spotting the future.
Of course, Barnett's version of events painted Murdoch as a "big fool." In reality, few in Britain could match Murdoch's business acumen.
"Fine," Aldridge said at last. "I'll accept the gift."
Barnett raised his eyebrows with a smile. "Good. Now, I'll leave you be—the pretty girl over there has been staring at you. Between the three of us brothers, you're the one who's least… experienced."
"No matter how jealous you are, I'm just better-looking than you," Aldridge shot back.
"Hahaha, then enjoy yourself."
Barnett walked away laughing.
Aldridge stood with a glass of champagne in hand, chuckling to himself, when Melanie Chisholm—who had been watching him from across the room—finally approached. Tilting her head and speaking with a teasing tone, she asked, "Aren't you a football coach?"
"What's so suspicious about that?" Aldridge replied, half laughing, half exasperated.
"Uh… never mind. Nice to meet you, Aldridge."
It looked as if she was about to leave. The other members of the Spice Girls were already waiting by the door, all of them glancing over with knowing smiles.
Aldridge shook her hand again and returned the smile. "Me too. Bye."
Melanie turned away, still smiling, but when she rejoined her group, they immediately began teasing her.
Aldridge's gaze lingered on the group as they walked away. Just before stepping out, Melanie glanced back and offered a shy smile that stayed with him long after.
With the FIFA international break giving Millwall two days off, Aldridge changed into casual clothes and headed for Bond Street in West London—the city's most fashionable shopping district, lined with high-end international brands far beyond the reach of most people.
He wore a sporty casual outfit with a cap pulled low, looking rather out of place among the well-dressed shoppers in tailored suits and leather shoes.
Holding a glass of juice, he strolled slowly, scanning the shop windows. He was looking for a mobile phone.
Only a few years earlier, mobile phones were still bulky "brick" models, but Motorola's success in Germany in the early 1990s had led the way toward smaller, lighter designs. At a party at his home the night before, Aldridge had noticed several female guests holding sleek, compact handsets. The sight had convinced him it was time to retire the old, clumsy models.
It wasn't about chasing fashion—he simply needed something practical for work.
With Britain lacking a top-tier mobile phone manufacturer, the domestic market was dominated by foreign brands. Aldridge wandered into one shop at random… and stopped short. A pair of familiar figures stood at the counter, speaking with the shop assistant as they tried out different models.
"What a coincidence," Aldridge said, walking up to them with a smile.
Both women turned in surprise.
Victoria Adams looked him up and down with open curiosity, while Melanie broke into a grin. "Aldridge, what are you doing here? Did you take a wrong turn? Shouldn't you be at the training ground, Mr. Coach?"
Aldridge shrugged. "I'm on holiday today. Just doing a bit of shopping. No need for formal wear—comfort is what matters."
"Oh, fair enough. Are you here to buy a phone too?"
"Yes." He glanced at the display case, pointed to a sleek black model, and said to the assistant, "I'll take this one. I've tried it, it's fine."
He pulled out his wallet, handed over his bank card, and even tipped the assistant £10.
The assistant was pleasantly surprised. The man in sportswear had spent less than a minute from walking in to completing the sale—by far her easiest customer of the day.
Aldridge had no interest in fussing over specifications. He wanted something functional, nothing more. As long as it worked, he wouldn't think about it again.
Then, noticing the two women still testing their phones, he smiled at the assistant. "Add their two phones to my bill as well."
Melanie's eyes went wide. "You can't do that!"
For them, a handset costing several hundred pounds was still a luxury.
Aldridge turned to her, held her gaze for three seconds, and when she hesitated—lips almost brushing the edge of her red lipstick—he said seriously, "All right then. Pay for them yourself."
Her mouth fell open again. "Why didn't you hold your ground? I might have agreed."
Aldridge raised an eyebrow. "And how many times should I insist?"
"Once," Victoria cut in with a smirk before Melanie could answer.
Aldridge gave a mock frown. "Fine. I'll insist once. Ladies, buying you each a phone isn't a big deal for me. It's just a gift between friends. And if one day you send me a Ferrari, I promise I'll accept it without a second thought."
Melanie and Victoria exchanged glances, caught between amusement and disbelief at his easy generosity.
Aldridge left the shop with his purchase in hand. Behind him came Melanie's mock-accusing voice: "Aldridge, you big liar!"