The Rise of Millwal

Chapter 615: Fury Unleashed

The fans in the stands at Elland Road began to stir, murmuring among themselves.

After all, watching football is about watching football, not every spectator has the time or inclination to analyze the tactical details, digging deep into the strategy. What's the use of thinking so much? Brazil claims that every fan is a coach, but these so-called coaches cheer for the Brazilian national team, yet they can't intervene and change the tactics on the pitch.

For Leeds United fans, the most immediate feeling was: passive! The attack lacked any threat!

The measure of whether an attack is threatening is simple: shots on goal.

Since the second half began, Leeds couldn't even get a shot off, and the fans could see it clearly.

Of course, the players on the field wanted to win, but the established tactics had lost their effectiveness. They looked to the sidelines, and O'Reilly hadn't made any adjustments. Now, their attack felt like a headless chicken, aimlessly wandering around. They kept circling back to the dangerous areas, only to have Millwall resolve it each time.

The result: frustration built up, and the weakened attack started to affect the defense as well.

In the 59th minute, Leeds United had just successfully defended a play. Ferdinand intercepted Nedvěd's through ball intended for Henry. Under pressure from Henry's quick attempt to regain possession, Ferdinand calmly passed the ball to Kelly.

Kelly received the ball but found himself face-to-face with Ronaldinho. Panicking slightly, Kelly chose to clear the ball upfield. Ronaldinho extended his leg to block, and the ball ricocheted off his leg, landing in open space.

Cahill, caught off guard by the ball's sudden trajectory, failed to notice the opponent behind him. As he stood still, waiting to receive it, Gattuso pounced decisively, winning possession before Cahill could even take his first touch. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Gattuso controlled the ball and passed it to Pirlo.

Dacourt reacted swiftly, closing down on Pirlo, but Pirlo was quicker, not even taking a touch. With a stylish outside-of-the-foot pass, he sent the ball wide to the left.

Ronaldinho raced onto the ball, his timing perfect. A quick lateral touch, and then he sliced into the penalty area with a burst of energy.

Ferdinand retreated cautiously, Kelly moved inward to block the angle, but Ronaldinho wasn't fazed. He halted abruptly in front of Ferdinand, feinted with a sharp motion, and shifted right. Then came the impact—a vicious sliding tackle from the side, brutal and unrelenting, taking him down hard.

The tackle struck his supporting leg squarely, and there was no time to escape. His ankle twisted violently, the pain immediate. But Ronaldinho's instincts saved him—he leapt just enough to absorb some of the force. Without that, it could have been catastrophic, the kind of tackle that ends careers.

Even so, the pain was blinding. His left ankle throbbed fiercely as cold sweat covered his face. A cry of anguish escaped his lips, echoing across the pitch.

As Ronaldinho fell to the ground, his other leg pressed against the one who had tackled him. The opponent hadn't gotten up yet, but he spoke a line that pushed Ronaldinho past his breaking point.

"Get the hell up! Stop lying on the ground like a monkey!"

Ronaldinho instantly recognized the voice.

Boye!

In today's match, Boye and Kelly had been defending Ronaldinho closely, and physical contact was inevitable. Occasional verbal jabs were normal—after all, who doesn't swear on the pitch? Even the top coaches curse, and beloved figures like Beckham have been known to flip the bird. The football field isn't a classroom; it has gentlemen, but it doesn't try to make gentlemen.

Trash talk is common, but Boye's words went too far.

The key word: monkey.

This was clearly racial discrimination!

Ronaldinho, already in pain from his twisted ankle, was now hit with a racial slur, and the fury inside him exploded. Even if it meant risking his injured leg, he quickly rose to his feet, balancing on one leg. He glared down at Boye and shouted, "Has anyone taught you how to be a decent human being, you piece of shit? You're nothing but a pile of dog shit!"

Boye stood up angrily, butting his head against Ronaldinho's with no hesitation. He sneered, "A decent human being? Did your monkey mother teach you how to be one?"

Ronaldinho's father had passed away, and since then, his mother and brother had been the pillars of the family.

Boye had crossed the line—he had crossed the line!

Ronaldinho clenched his fist, but with gritted teeth, his face contorted in rage, he couldn't bring himself to strike. He knew that throwing that punch, regardless of whether Boye had meant it or not, would come at a high cost. It would affect the team greatly.

Ronaldinho couldn't hold back anymore. Seeing Bowyer's disdainful sneer and mocking gaze, he spat directly in Bowyer's face.

Before Bowyer's verbal insults, the referee hadn't blown the whistle yet. Bowyer saw Ronaldinho writhing on the ground, screaming in pain, and thought it might influence the referee's judgment. His plan was to provoke Ronaldinho, to make him stand up and stop lying in the penalty area.

As Ronaldinho rose to his feet, the referee's whistle finally blew. Yet, the official hadn't pointed to the penalty spot. Instead, he broke into a sprint toward the confrontation now escalating between Ronaldinho and Bowyer.

"Ronaldinho was brought down in the penalty area by Bowyer with a reckless tackle from behind. It should've been a penalty, but the referee hesitated, and now the situation has spiraled out of control! Ronaldinho is visibly furious, and—oh wow—he just spat in Bowyer's face!"

The spit hit Bowyer squarely. Enraged, Bowyer made a move toward Ronaldinho, only to be pushed back by Henry, who quickly turned to shield Ronaldinho. Henry noticed Ronaldinho was standing on one leg—his left foot was clearly injured.

Bowyer's words soon exposed the true reason for the clash. As he wiped his face, he shouted, "Get over here, you damn monkey! I'll beat the crap out of you! You should just go back to the jungle!"

Ronaldinho turned his head away, closed his eyes, and clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles seemed ready to bleed.

The referee heard Bowyer's slurs loud and clear. Without hesitation, he stormed over and brandished a red card.

Even as Bowyer continued his hateful rant, he suddenly found himself surrounded.

Gennaro Gattuso, Materazzi, Pirlo, Southgate, Zambrotta, Larsson, Schneider, Nedvěd, and Pagliuca—all of them closed in, forming a two-layered circle around him.

Henry supported Ronaldinho, while Millwall players stood firm, keeping Leeds United's players at bay. Gattuso, Materazzi, and Southgate pointed fingers at Bowyer, shouting insults and stern warnings of their own.

Looking around, Bowyer realized something shocking: many of his teammates seemed to have no intention of backing him up.

Ferdinand stood nearby, hands on hips, showing no interest in getting involved. Dacourt, meanwhile, had turned his back, tilted his head skyward, and closed his eyes, his expression full of bitter frustration.

The reason was no secret. Everyone on the team knew Bowyer was a racist.

Sure, Alan Smith had a reputation too—a fiery temper and a knack for stirring things up during matches. But even Smith kept it within the lines. Bowyer was different. His behavior off the pitch was just as despicable as it was on it. For the team's Black and mixed-heritage players, being his teammate wasn't just awkward—it was a disgrace.

Leeds United had another infamous troublemaker in their squad—a young man named Woodgate. Alongside Bowyer, the two were often referred to as the "Leeds United Duo." Last year, Woodgate had caused a public uproar after assaulting a non-white student, an incident that even led to protests on the streets.

While Woodgate had since been frozen out of the team, Bowyer remained a player O'Leary had no choice but to rely on. Yet today, Bowyer still managed to stir up trouble on the pitch.

From the sidelines, Aldrich didn't initially understand what had happened. He couldn't hear Bowyer's taunts from so far away.

But when he noticed some Leeds United fans in the stands near the scene imitating monkey sounds and saw tensions escalating, he quickly realized the truth. Ronaldinho had been subjected to racial abuse—that was the trigger for his outburst.

It was a bitter reality.

Aldrich's heart grew heavy.

He wasn't standing on the sidelines, nor was he just feeling pity for Ronaldinho or trying to protect him.

Too many still thought racism was only about white versus black. But Aldrich knew better—it didn't stop at skin color. Even those with yellow skin could fall victim to it.

It was this realization that saddened him. If he didn't have the privilege of a white complexion, he knew that his journey in European football—whether in England or across foreign stadiums—would have been fraught with the same discrimination. There could be no illusions about it. Even someone as prestigious as Luis Aragonés, the head coach of the Spanish national team, once openly referred to Thierry Henry as a "black bastard" and "black filth" in front of his entire squad.

Years ago, Claude Makélélé endured it. Today, Ronaldinho was living through the same nightmare.

A disturbance erupted in the stands. The Millwall fans who had traveled to support their team—true diehards—reacted furiously. Despite being from East London, an economically disadvantaged area, Millwall's community had long embraced diversity due to waves of immigration since World War II. Over decades, this melting pot had led to a unique cultural blend, free from collective racial prejudice. Foreign and Black players were widely accepted here.

That said, Millwall's supporters weren't saints. Known for their infamous hooliganism, their reputation as troublemakers preceded them. But now, seeing one of their own subjected to racial abuse—punctuated by mocking monkey chants from a section of Leeds United fans—they exploded in outrage.

Without hesitation, Millwall supporters surged towards the Leeds section. Security personnel scrambled to block the stairways but struggled to contain the ferocity of the Millwall contingent. Though vastly outnumbered, their sheer aggression overwhelmed the Leeds fans nearest to them—fans who weren't even responsible for the abuse. For Millwall's supporters, there was no time to differentiate between the guilty and the innocent. They weren't there to police the stands but to unleash their fury.

Chaos spilled over into the match, bringing it to a halt.

Aldrich didn't bother confronting O'Leary, the Leeds manager. Such incidents were beyond a coach's direct control. O'Leary had enough to worry about—Lee Bowyer, his volatile player, had just ignited a bomb on the pitch during one of the most crucial games of their season.

If the situation spiraled any further, Leeds might very well lose the game by forfeit, a humiliating 3–0 ruling against them on their home turf.

Walking onto the field, Aldrich observed as Bowyer was dragged away from a heated confrontation by his teammates—Smith, Kelly, Harte, and Martin. The referee had already brandished a red card at him, leaving Leeds' coaching staff to physically haul him off the pitch.

Aldrich approached Ronaldinho. The referee followed close behind, holding a red card in hand.

With a measured calm, Aldrich spoke to the official. "You saw everything that happened. I won't protest or appeal the red card for my player. We won't comment on it post-match. But let this remain a straightforward red card. If the disciplinary committee escalates this incident or tries to extend the punishment, Millwall will formally accuse them of enabling racism. You know the implications."

The referee studied Aldrich in silence. He had no desire to entangle himself further in an incident with racial overtones. His job was to document the events in his match report and let the disciplinary committee handle the fallout.

Ronaldinho, flanked by the medical staff, limped off the field, red-carded for spitting at Bowyer. While indefensible, his reaction was born of deep anger and humiliation.

Aldrich strode to the edge of the pitch and looked up at the Leeds supporters who had been making the monkey chants. The jeering intensified, as if they were celebrating their ability to provoke.

He smiled faintly.

Idiots, he thought.

Did they not realize that their actions might cost Leeds the match with a default 3–0 loss?

In a way, it was almost impressive. During this Champions League semi-final, broadcast not just across Europe but globally, they had succeeded in disgracing themselves entirely.

The shame wasn't just Leeds United's—it belonged to all of them.