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A Champions League semi-final, another ninety minutes from another European dream.
Then the day of the semi final arrived with an unmistakable feeling that no league fixture could ever quite replicate.
There was no need for anyone at London Colney to remind the players what was at stake.
The Champions League did that on its own.
The journey to the training ground had been quieter than usual. Even those who normally filled every silence with jokes seemed content to save their energy. Staff moved with calm efficiency, final preparations having been completed long before the players arrived.
By early afternoon, the squad gathered for lunch.
The menu was familiar.
Lean protein.
Rice.
Pasta.
Fresh vegetables.
Fruit.
Every meal had been carefully planned by the nutrition staff, ensuring nobody stepped onto the Emirates pitch carrying unnecessary fatigue.
Conversation drifted naturally from football to family before inevitably circling back to Roma.
"They're going to press us," Walker said between bites.
Van Dijk nodded.
"They'll make every duel feel like a final."
"They're Italian," Robertson added with a grin. "Defending is practically a religion."
Francesco smiled.
"So we'll make them defend."
That earned several approving nods.
Sometimes football really could be that simple.
As evening approached, Arsenal's coach rolled through North London beneath clear spring skies.
Long before it reached the Emirates Stadium, supporters had already filled the surrounding streets.
Scarves stretched proudly above heads.
Children leaned over barriers hoping to glimpse their heroes.
Blue and white UEFA banners fluttered beside enormous Arsenal flags hanging from nearby buildings.
Every café and pub echoed with conversations about one subject.
Roma.
Semi final.
Ninety minutes.
The coach turned into the stadium entrance.
Thousands of supporters immediately erupted.
The sound washed over the vehicle like a wave.
Francesco glanced through the window.
Smoke from red flares drifted above the crowd.
Supporters beat drums against the barriers.
Someone held a banner that simply read.
BELIEVE.
Walker let out a low whistle.
"That's… loud."
Robertson laughed.
"You expected anything else?"
The coach eased beneath the stadium before stopping beside the players' entrance.
Club staff were already waiting.
Security quickly formed a corridor while photographers captured every arrival.
One after another the Arsenal players stepped off the coach.
Supporters somehow became even louder.
Francesco looked up briefly at the towering Emirates.
European nights always made the stadium feel different.
Bigger.
Brighter.
Almost alive.
Inside, familiar routines settled everyone's nerves.
Players exchanged greetings with kit staff before walking into the home dressing room.
Everything had already been prepared.
Each locker displayed a perfectly folded training kit.
Boots sat neatly beneath the benches.
Recovery drinks waited inside coolers.
Shirts for later hung untouched.
For now, they belonged to the warm-up.
Nobody spoke particularly loudly.
There wasn't tension.
There was focus.
Francesco changed into his training gear before carefully tightening the laces on his boots.
Nearby, Özil adjusted his shin guards with his usual quiet concentration.
Kanté smiled softly while helping Walker untangle the cords of his GPS vest.
Alexis bounced lightly on his toes.
He always looked impatient before kick-off.
Almost restless.
Steve Bould entered briefly.
"Five minutes."
The room immediately became busier.
Training tops zipped up.
Water bottles collected.
Music that had been quietly playing was switched off.
Wenger walked through once, saying nothing.
He simply looked around the room.
Every player met his eyes, and that was enough as they head to the tunnel that opened toward brilliant floodlights.
The instant Arsenal emerged onto the pitch, an enormous roar swept around the Emirates.
Over sixty thousand supporters rose together.
The stadium looked magnificent.
Champions League branding surrounded every advertising board.
Massive European flags covered sections of the stands.
Supporters sang continuously.
Francesco paused for a second near the touchline.
Even after everything he had experienced, Champions League semi finals never became ordinary.
The warm up began immediately.
Passing triangles.
Short sprints.
Dynamic stretching.
Crossing drills.
Finishing practice.
The coaching staff kept everything sharp but controlled.
Čech worked separately with the goalkeeping coaches.
One low save after another.
High claims.
Quick distribution.
Everything precise.
At the opposite end, Francesco joined Alexis, Gnabry and Özil for finishing exercises.
Özil slipped one delicate through ball.
Francesco finished first time.
Then another.
Outside of the boot.
Another finish.
Alexis curled one into the top corner.
Gnabry responded by smashing his effort off the underside of the bar.
The supporters applauded every goal despite knowing none of them counted.
Roma eventually emerged to begin their own warm-up.
The visitors received respectful applause before polite whistles followed.
Their players looked composed.
Focused.
Exactly as Arsenal expected.
After twenty-five minutes the officials signalled for both teams to return inside, and now the dressing room carried a different atmosphere now.
The warm up was finished.
The match was next.
Training gear disappeared into kit bags.
Fresh towels lay scattered across the benches.
Players showered quickly before changing into their match shirts.
Francesco pulled the captain's armband firmly into place around his left arm.
The famous red shirt felt somehow heavier on European nights.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
One by one everyone finished dressing.
Čech stood first.
Gloves secured.
Boots tied.
Ready.
Wenger stepped into the centre of the room.
Silence arrived instantly.
He glanced once around the dressing room before speaking.
"The team remains unchanged."
His eyes moved naturally across every player.
"Petr."
"Robertson."
"Koscielny."
"Van Dijk."
"Walker."
"Kanté."
"Xhaka."
"Mesut."
"Alexis."
"Serge."
He looked at Francesco.
"And our captain."
He picked up a magnetic tactics board.
"They stay with the three at the back."
Magnets shifted into position.
"Alisson Becker in goal."
"Juan Jesus."
"Federico Fazio."
"Kostas Manolas."
He continued arranging Roma's shape.
"Daniele De Rossi."
"Kevin Strootman."
"Aleksandar Kolarov."
"Alessandro Florenzi."
"Radja Nainggolan."
"Cengiz Ünder."
"And Edin Džeko."
The formation settled into a clear 3-4-2-1.
"Džeko gives them an aerial outlet."
"Nainggolan arrives late into the box."
"Ünder wants to attack inside onto his stronger foot."
"Kolarov and Florenzi provide width."
He tapped De Rossi's magnet.
"This man controls their rhythm."
Then Fazio.
"They're powerful defending crosses."
Then Manolas.
"And very quick recovering space."
Wenger looked around again.
"They're here because they're an outstanding football team."
"No semi final is reached by accident."
He paused.
"So respect them."
"But do not fear them."
His voice remained calm.
"When we have the ball, move it quickly."
"Stretch them."
"Be patient."
"When we lose it…"
Everyone answered together.
"Win it back."
He smiled.
"Exactly."
"We stay brave."
"We stay disciplined."
"We play our football."
"And remember."
He pointed toward the stadium above them.
"Those supporters believe in you."
"Give them a performance worthy of this occasion."
No shouting.
No dramatic speech.
Just quiet conviction.
It somehow carried even greater weight.
Then the knock came.
"Time."
Players rose together.
Francesco adjusted the captain's armband once more.
Then Arsenal walked toward the tunnel.
Roma were already waiting.
Blue tracksuits lined one side.
Red and white occupied the other.
The officiating crew stood between them completing final checks.
There was mutual respect.
De Rossi walked across first.
"Good luck."
Francesco smiled.
"You too."
The referee checked both captains before signalling everyone forward.
The tunnel opened.
Noise exploded.
The Emirates shook beneath sixty thousand voices.
Children carrying Champions League pennants joined each player.
The two teams formed their lines beside the referees.
Then the familiar music began.
The UEFA Champions League anthem echoed around the stadium.
Every supporter stood.
Scarves lifted once again.
Players looked ahead.
For a few moments nobody moved.
The anthem ended beneath thunderous applause.
Handshakes followed.
Officials first.
Then every Roma player.
Francesco exchanged brief greetings with Alisson.
Then Manolas.
Nainggolan.
Finally De Rossi once more.
The official photographers quickly arranged Arsenal's starting eleven.
Front row crouched.
Back row stood.
Flash after flash illuminated the pitch.
Then Roma posed for theirs.
Everything complete.
Only one tradition remained.
Francesco and De Rossi walked toward the centre circle alongside the referee.
The coin spun into the evening sky.
It landed.
"Heads."
The referee smiled.
"You've won."
Francesco looked toward the Clock End.
"We'll take the right."
"And kick-off?"
"We'll start."
The referee nodded.
Players returned to their positions.
The whistle reached his lips.
One final glance around the Emirates.
Then kick off start, as Roma began aggressively.
Exactly as Wenger had predicted.
Nainggolan closed Kanté almost immediately.
Strootman followed Xhaka everywhere.
Džeko challenged every aerial ball.
The opening ten minutes became a series of physical battles.
Walker and Kolarov collided chasing one loose pass.
Van Dijk won a towering header against Džeko.
Robertson recovered brilliantly after Ünder burst inside.
Neither team settled easily.
Gradually, however, Arsenal's passing rhythm emerged.
Özil drifted into little pockets between Roma's midfield and defence.
Kanté intercepted repeatedly.
Xhaka switched play from side to side.
Roma chased.
Arsenal circulated possession patiently.
The crowd sensed momentum changing.
Every completed passing sequence drew louder applause.
In the twenty-first minute, the breakthrough finally arrived.
It began with Van Dijk calmly stepping forward from defence.
He found Xhaka.
Xhaka immediately released Kanté.
One touch.
Then Özil.
The German turned elegantly between two Roma midfielders.
Suddenly space appeared.
Francesco recognised it before anyone else.
He darted between Fazio and Manolas.
Özil saw the run instantly.
His pass was weighted perfectly.
Neither too hard.
Nor too soft.
Just enough.
Francesco met it inside the penalty area.
Alisson rushed forward.
The captain never panicked.
One composed touch.
Then a precise finish rolled beyond the goalkeeper into the far corner.
Goal.
The Emirates erupted.
Francesco spread his arms before turning toward the North Bank.
His teammates surrounded him almost immediately.
Alexis reached him first.
Then Gnabry.
Walker sprinted nearly the length of the pitch.
One-nil.
Exactly the start Arsenal wanted.
Roma responded impressively.
Nainggolan struck narrowly wide from distance.
Ünder forced Čech into a sharp save.
Džeko headed over following a dangerous Florenzi delivery.
Yet Arsenal never lost their composure.
Possession remained theirs.
Tempo remained theirs.
Control steadily returned.
The second goal arrived in the thirty-seventh minute.
Again it came through intelligent movement rather than individual brilliance.
Gnabry collected possession wide on the right.
Rather than forcing an early cross, he drove directly toward Juan Jesus.
One quick feint created half a yard.
His low delivery flashed across the penalty area.
Francesco anticipated it perfectly.
Escaping Manolas by a single step, he met the cross first time.
Alisson reacted.
Too late.
The finish crashed into the roof of the net.
Two-nil.
The Emirates exploded even louder than before.
Francesco pointed immediately toward Gnabry.
The young winger grinned before embracing him.
Another European brace.
Another unforgettable night.
Roma refused to collapse.
They continued fighting.
De Rossi dictated possession.
Kolarov delivered dangerous crosses.
Nainggolan remained relentless.
Arsenal answered every challenge.
Koscielny blocked brilliantly from Džeko.
Čech claimed a difficult cross under pressure.
Walker recovered superbly to deny Ünder another shooting opportunity.
At the opposite end, Alexis nearly added a third after cutting inside, only for Alisson to produce an outstanding save.
The contest remained fiercely competitive.
Neither side relaxed for a second.
Eventually the referee glanced at his watch.
One final Roma attack broke down as Van Dijk headed clear.
The whistle sounded.
Half-time.
Arsenal 2.
Roma 0.
The players applauded the supporters before walking steadily back toward the tunnel.
There were smiles.
But no celebrations.
Everyone understood.
Forty-five minutes remained.
Inside the dressing room, players reached immediately for water bottles.
Physiotherapists moved quickly between benches.
Wenger allowed them a minute before speaking.
"You've been excellent."
His praise was genuine.
"Your concentration."
"Your movement."
"Your discipline."
He looked around the room.
"That is why we're leading."
Then his expression became firmer.
"But listen carefully."
He pointed toward the tactics board.
"This tie is not won."
"Not tonight."
"And certainly not after forty-five minutes."
Nobody spoke.
"They will take more risks."
"They will attack with greater numbers."
"That creates opportunities."
"But only if we stay intelligent."
He looked directly at the front four.
"Keep attacking."
"Choose the right moments."
"No forcing."
Then toward the defenders.
"Communication."
"Stay compact."
"One mistake can change momentum."
Finally he faced everyone together.
"No complacency."
"Respect the score."
"But don't protect it."
"Go and earn the second half."
The room answered with quiet determination.
The interval was over.
One half separated Arsenal from taking a commanding advantage into Rome.
As the dressing room remained silent for a few seconds after Wenger finished speaking.
Nobody felt the need to add anything.
Every player understood the message.
They were leading by two goals.
That was an advantage.
Nothing more.
Francesco looked around the room.
There was confidence in every face.
Not overconfidence.
Just belief.
He stood first.
"Forty-five more."
Walker slapped him lightly on the shoulder as he walked past.
"Let's finish the job."
One by one the players rose from the benches.
Water bottles were emptied.
Shirts were adjusted.
Boot laces checked one final time.
Outside the dressing room, the familiar knock arrived.
The referee's assistant.
"Two minutes."
The tunnel felt noticeably different from before kick-off.
The anticipation had been replaced by determination.
Roma emerged from their dressing room looking far more animated than they had before the first half.
Eusebio Di Francesco could be heard giving final instructions in Italian, his hands moving emphatically as he spoke to his players.
They knew exactly what was required.
An away goal.
One goal could completely change the complexion of the tie before the return leg in Rome.
Francesco glanced towards De Rossi.
The veteran captain met his eyes briefly before looking away.
There would be no friendly smiles this time.
Only football.
The officials led both teams back onto the pitch.
The Emirates greeted Arsenal with another deafening roar.
Scarves spun overhead.
Supporters bounced in unison behind both goals.
The atmosphere somehow felt even louder than it had before kick-off.
The referee checked both assistant officials.
A glance at his watch.
One sharp whistle.
The second half began.
As Wenger had demanded, Arsenal refused to retreat.
Instead of dropping deep to protect their advantage, they continued pressing high whenever Roma attempted to build from the back.
Özil drifted between the lines.
Kanté harassed every second ball.
Xhaka continued switching play from flank to flank with remarkable composure.
Roma, however, had clearly altered their approach.
Florenzi and Kolarov pushed significantly higher.
Nainggolan abandoned caution, joining Džeko almost every time possession entered Arsenal's half.
Strootman began driving forward with the ball instead of recycling possession.
The visitors were taking risks.
They had little choice.
The opening exchanges became frantic.
Walker intercepted one dangerous cross before immediately launching Arsenal into a counterattack.
Moments later Robertson blocked a low effort from Ünder before Van Dijk cleared the loose ball.
At the opposite end, Gnabry forced Alisson into another excellent save after cutting inside onto his stronger foot.
The pace refused to slow.
Every tackle carried weight.
Every challenge echoed around the stadium.
Every misplaced pass was punished instantly.
It felt less like a football match and more like two heavyweights exchanging blows.
Then came the moment that ignited the entire stadium.
The clock showed fifty-one minutes.
Özil collected possession near the halfway line and turned elegantly away from Strootman.
He had barely taken his second touch when De Rossi charged across.
The challenge arrived late.
Studs low.
Shoulder through the body.
The German crashed heavily onto the turf.
The ball rolled harmlessly away.
The whistle sounded immediately.
For half a second there was silence.
Then Xhaka exploded.
"What are you doing?"
He stormed straight towards De Rossi before anyone else could react.
The Roma captain refused to back away.
"I played the ball."
"You never touched the ball!"
Within seconds players from both teams flooded towards the confrontation.
Walker arrived first, pulling Xhaka backwards.
Nainggolan stepped between De Rossi and the Arsenal midfielder.
Alexis rushed over.
So did Manolas.
Voices rose.
Fingers pointed.
The Emirates whistled furiously.
Francesco reached the scene moments later.
He looked down at Özil, who was still receiving treatment from the medical staff, before turning sharply towards the referee.
"That's a red!"
The official raised both hands.
"Enough."
Francesco refused to stop.
"He knew exactly what he was doing!"
"He could have injured him."
"That's dangerous play!"
The referee remained calm.
"I've seen it."
"And I've made my decision."
He reached into his pocket.
Yellow card.
De Rossi accepted it without complaint.
Then another yellow emerged.
Xhaka.
The Swiss midfielder shook his head in frustration but eventually stepped away after Kanté quietly placed a hand on his shoulder.
Francesco still looked unconvinced.
"That's never just a booking."
The referee met his eyes.
"Captain."
"It's dealt with."
"Let's play football."
After another glance towards Özil who had slowly climbed back to his feet, the Arsenal captain nodded reluctantly.
The match resumed.
The atmosphere, however, had changed.
The challenge had added another layer of intensity.
Every duel now felt personal, but rather than losing their composure as Arsenal responded exactly as champions often do.
With football.
Seven minutes later they produced their finest move of the evening.
Kanté intercepted another attempted pass into Nainggolan before immediately feeding Xhaka.
One touch.
Then Özil.
Despite the earlier tackle, the German looked completely unfazed.
He drifted into space with effortless elegance.
Francesco pulled Fazio away towards the near post.
Alexis darted inside from the left.
Özil spotted the movement instantly.
His pass dissected Roma's defence.
Perfectly weighted.
Alexis met it without breaking stride.
Alisson rushed from his line.
The Chilean waited.
One composed touch.
Then a calm finish beyond the goalkeeper into the far corner.
Three-nil.
The Emirates erupted once again.
Alexis sprinted towards the corner flag before being swallowed by celebrating teammates.
Özil arrived smiling.
"Nice run."
Alexis laughed.
"Nice pass."
Francesco wrapped an arm around both of them.
"Exactly what the boss wanted."
Continue attacking.
Don't protect the lead.
They had done precisely that.
Roma gathered around De Rossi near the centre circle.
Their captain spoke firmly.
Hands moved constantly.
Heads nodded.
They were refusing to surrender.
Four minutes later Eusebio Di Francesco made his first change.
The fourth official raised the electronic board.
OFF: Cengiz Ünder.
ON: Patrik Schick.
A striker replacing an attacking midfielder.
An unmistakably aggressive decision.
Roma shifted shape almost immediately.
Schick partnered Džeko more closely.
Nainggolan drifted wider.
Crosses began arriving into Arsenal's penalty area from both flanks.
One delivery forced Čech into an excellent punched clearance.
Another was headed away by Koscielny under immense pressure.
Still Arsenal remained composed.
Every successful defensive action drew enormous applause from the home crowd.
As Roma committed more bodies forward, spaces inevitably appeared behind them.
Arsenal waited patiently.
The opportunity finally came in the sixty-eighth minute.
Robertson anticipated a loose pass near his own penalty area before stepping confidently in front of Florenzi.
Instead of clearing long, he accelerated.
Past one challenge.
Then another.
The Scottish full-back surged beyond the halfway line with remarkable determination.
The crowd sensed the counterattack immediately.
"Go!"
Thousands of voices rose together.
Robertson continued his run before slipping a perfectly timed pass into the path of Gnabry.
The German winger cut inside Manolas.
Alisson rushed out again.
This time Gnabry kept everything wonderfully simple.
A composed finish rolled low beyond the goalkeeper.
Four-nil.
The Emirates exploded.
Robertson punched the air before Gnabry embraced him tightly.
"What a ball!"
The full-back laughed.
"You still had plenty to do."
Walker arrived moments later.
"I suppose defenders are getting assists now."
Robertson grinned.
"Trying to keep up with you."
With the scoreline becoming increasingly comfortable, Wenger turned towards his bench.
He exchanged a few quiet words with Steve Bould before making his changes.
The fourth official lifted the electronic board in the seventy-second minute.
Number nine.
Francesco.
Number seven.
Alexis Sánchez.
Number eleven.
Mesut Özil.
All leaving together.
Replacing them came Olivier Giroud.
Santi Cazorla.
Aaron Ramsey.
The entire Emirates rose to its feet.
Applause echoed from every corner of the stadium.
Francesco clapped towards the supporters as he walked slowly across the pitch.
The captain's armband passed to Koscielny.
Near the touchline Wenger greeted each player individually.
"Excellent."
He shook Francesco's hand firmly.
"You've led them brilliantly."
"Thank you, boss."
Alexis received a warm embrace.
Özil simply smiled before taking his place beside the substitutes.
Across the technical area, Roma responded with changes of their own.
Juan Jesus departed.
So did De Rossi.
Diego Perotti entered.
Maxime Gonalons followed.
Fresh legs.
Fresh energy.
One final attempt to rescue some pride before the return leg.
The substitutions subtly changed the rhythm of the contest.
With Arsenal protecting fresh legs for the weeks ahead and Roma throwing everything forward, possession gradually swung towards the visitors.
Wave after wave of attacks arrived.
Perotti immediately tested Walker with clever footwork.
Schick flashed a header narrowly wide.
Nainggolan struck from distance, only for Čech to gather comfortably.
Yet Arsenal's defensive organisation never disappeared.
Van Dijk marshalled the back line superbly.
Koscielny anticipated danger before it fully developed.
Robertson recovered tirelessly despite his earlier attacking contribution.
Kanté seemed to appear wherever the ball landed.
The crowd appreciated every interception as loudly as they had celebrated the goals.
Whenever Arsenal regained possession, they broke quickly.
Not recklessly.
Intelligently.
Waiting for the right opportunity.
It arrived with eight minutes remaining.
Roma had committed almost everyone into Arsenal's half.
A hopeful cross was claimed confidently by Čech.
Without hesitation the goalkeeper rolled possession towards Ramsey.
The Welsh midfielder turned instantly.
Space stretched before him.
He accelerated through midfield.
Giroud ran centrally.
Cazorla drifted left.
Gnabry sprinted down the opposite flank, dragging defenders away.
Ramsey delayed his pass until the perfect moment.
Then he slipped the ball between Fazio and Manolas.
Giroud met it in stride.
One touch.
Then a powerful finish beyond Alisson.
Five-nil.
The Emirates erupted into absolute bedlam.
Giroud slid across the turf with both arms spread wide before Ramsey caught him in celebration.
The substitutes leapt from the bench.
Even Wenger allowed himself a broad smile before applauding quietly.
The French striker pointed towards Ramsey.
"Outstanding."
Ramsey laughed.
"You made it easy."
Then the final minutes belonged almost entirely to Roma.
Not because Arsenal had lost control.
Because the Italian side simply refused to stop trying.
Perotti forced Čech into another sharp save.
Schick headed narrowly over.
Kolarov delivered dangerous free-kicks into crowded areas.
Each time Arsenal answered.
Walker cleared one cross.
Van Dijk won another towering header.
Koscielny threw himself into a block that brought another roar from the stands.
The discipline Wenger had demanded at half-time never disappeared.
No unnecessary risks.
No panic.
Just concentration.
Every player worked for one another.
As the ninety minutes approached, the home supporters rose once more.
They knew what was coming.
The fourth official indicated three minutes of added time.
The Emirates sang louder than ever.
Francesco stood near the bench with a jacket over his shoulders, applauding every clearance alongside the substitutes.
One final Roma corner.
Alisson even ventured forward.
The delivery curled dangerously into the six-yard box.
Čech punched clear.
Ramsey completed the clearance.
The referee looked at his watch.
Then raised the whistle.
A long, piercing blast echoed beneath the floodlights.
Full-time.
Arsenal 5.
Roma 0.
For a moment, the Emirates simply erupted.
Players embraced one another across the pitch.
Supporters celebrated one of the greatest European performances the stadium had witnessed in years.
Francesco walked back onto the field to congratulate every teammate individually.
"Outstanding," he said to Robertson.
"Huge game."
The Scot smiled.
"Not bad yourself, skipper."
He hugged Gnabry.
"Great finish."
The winger laughed.
"Thanks for setting the standard."
Nearby, Giroud exchanged shirts with Fazio while Čech shared a respectful handshake with Alisson.
Across the pitch, De Rossi approached Francesco once more.
This time there was no anger.
Only respect.
"Tough night."
Francesco nodded honestly.
"We know it's only the first leg."
The Roma captain managed a tired smile.
"So do we."
Neither man needed to say anything else.
Football had taught them both that knockout ties could change quickly.
Arsenal gathered in front of the Clock End together.
The entire squad applauded the supporters, who answered with deafening cheers and chants that rolled around the stadium long after the final whistle.
Wenger remained a few steps behind his players, quietly taking in the scene before gesturing for them to enjoy the moment.
They did.
But only briefly.
As they disappeared down the tunnel, nobody inside the Arsenal camp spoke as though the job had already been finished.
They had produced a magnificent performance.
They had earned a commanding five-goal advantage.
Yet Rome still awaited.
And everyone understood that European dreams were only completed when the final whistle of the second leg had finally been blown.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, and 2017/2018 Carabao Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 52
Goal: 66
Assist: 6
MOTM: 6
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 4
Goal: 4
Assist: 1
MOTM: 2
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9