"Crystal Palace are still looking for a moment to respond," Martin Taylor said on Sky Sports. "They're waiting for the right window to break."
Beside him, Alan Smith paused for a beat before replying, measured as ever.
"They're trying," he said, "but Arsenal aren't really allowing them to breathe."
Off-mic, they could only shake their head. From the first goal, the direction of the match had felt inevitable.
Arsenal's tempo was suffocating.
Even the new arrivals—Di Maria and Sanchez—looked fully plugged into the system. There wasn't a rigid pattern yet, but the intent was obvious. The movement, the spacing, the understanding—it was already there.
This Arsenal side was built on a cohesive structure.
Individually, there weren't many players who screamed superstardom. But Arsène Wenger had assembled a unit that amplified strengths and quietly masked weaknesses. Each player knew their role, trusted the system, and trusted one another.
The result was a team that had added attacking sharpness without sacrificing last season's defensive solidity.
If this version of Arsenal had faced last season's Champions League semi-final opponent, Real Madrid, the outcome would've been far less predictable.
Football always allows room for chaos, of course. Upsets happen.
But Arsenal's discipline—season after season—made those moments rare. Over the past three years, no team in the Premier League had suffered fewer unexpected defeats.
They won the games they were supposed to win.
And that, more than anything, came down to structure.
Crystal Palace, by contrast, were chasing shadows.
Unless something extraordinary happened, there was no clear path back into this match.
Then suddenly—
"Interception!" Martin Taylor raised his voice.
Cazorla had lingered a touch too long on the ball near the flank, and Crystal Palace swarmed him. The ball was poked free, and immediately, they went long.
A classic English counter.
One ball forward. No hesitation.
Fraser Campbell sprinted after it at full pace.
Flamini read the drop perfectly and moved across to block the space. The two collided shoulder to shoulder, neither giving an inch, both glancing toward where the ball would fall next.
Campbell leaned in harder, growing impatient.
The ball bounced awkwardly, skipping beyond the first contact. Campbell reacted quicker, his face lighting up.
This was it.
Then a red-and-white blur cut across his path.
Kai.
With one sharp sidestep, he placed his body between Campbell and the ball. Strong, balanced, immovable. Campbell ran straight into him and bounced off.
"Ah—!" Campbell yelped, clutching his face, trying to bait a foul, but was ignored by the referee.
Kai slowed deliberately, shielding the ball just long enough.
Koscielny stepped in, clean and calm, and took possession.
The danger was gone.
Koscielny immediately moved it on, and Arsenal surged forward again.
"That's it," Alan Smith sighed. "That was probably their best chance."
Martin Taylor nodded. "And they couldn't even get a shot away."
Arsenal resumed their pressure as if nothing had happened.
Just before halftime, they struck again.
A corner. A near-post run. Suarez rose first.
Header. Net.
"Two-nil," Martin Taylor confirmed. "Arsenal in complete control."
The second half offered little relief for Crystal Palace.
Wenger began rotating early.
In the 67th minute, two substitutions were made.
Flamini came off.
N'Golo Kanté came on.
Suarez made way for Joel Campbell.
Joel Campbell stepped onto the pitch with quiet confidence. He'd been on Arsenal's books for years, loaned out again and again, waiting for this moment—his first appearance at the Emirates.
If Kai could rise from prospect to captain in four years, why couldn't he?
Kanté, meanwhile, looked tense.
He kept repeating it in his head: don't mess up, don't mess up.
Then—smack.
A sharp slap landed on his back.
He flinched and turned, eyes wide.
Kai was grinning.
"Encouragement," Kai said. "Still nervous?"
Kanté blinked, then shook his head. "No… no. It's okay now."
"Good," Kai replied. "Go play."
Kanté took a deep breath, jaw tightening with focus.
Martin Taylor filled the air again.
"Two substitutions for Arsenal here in the sixty-seventh minute."
Alan Smith followed smoothly.
"Managing minutes, experimenting a bit. They're very comfortable."
The camera cut to the bench.
Suarez sat relaxed, legs crossed. Joel Campbell lounged nearby, sipping an energy drink, casually flicking a ball with his foot.
Both commentators fell silent for a moment.
"…Yes," Martin Taylor finally said. "Comfortable indeed."
The message was clear—even without words.
For Crystal Palace fans, it was hard not to feel it as an insult.
The game had become a rehearsal.
Arsenal pressed on, unrelenting.
Kai pushed higher now, drifting into the opposition half, occasionally stepping into the penalty area.
Some fans wondered if Arsenal were easing off defensively.
That illusion lasted all of ten seconds.
Crystal Palace broke again.
Fraser Campbell spotted Kai higher up the pitch and took off immediately.
But Kanté was already there.
Campbell tried to test him—quick feints, changes of direction—and slipped past.
For a moment, it looked promising.
Then Kanté reappeared.
A quick heel tap. A sharp turn.
Ball won.
Kanté burst forward, eyes locked ahead, legs pumping.
Campbell stared after him, stunned.
Where did he come from?
Kanté dribbled on, heart racing, one thought pounding in his head.
Must do well. Must show.
Kanté's tackle immediately caught the eye of both the commentators and the Arsenal crowd.
In a way, it felt familiar—very much like Kai's early days. More precisely, Kai's first season. Back then, Kai was still coming off the bench, his physique not fully developed yet, so he relied heavily on timing, anticipation, and sudden bursts to win the ball.
That was exactly what Kanté was doing now.
Steal.
Quick.
Clean.
Absolutely ruthless.
Crystal Palace barely had time to react. By the time they realized what had happened, the ball was already gone—and Kanté was sprinting away with it.
Of course, one interception doesn't define a player. Consistency still matters.
But Kanté didn't wait long to make another statement.
Arsenal's aggressive pressing inevitably left space, and Crystal Palace finally found an opening to counter. Fraser Campbell surged forward with the ball again—only to be stopped head-on.
The moment Campbell tried to shift direction, Kanté slid in, perfectly timed, poking the ball away.
The Emirates lit up.
Campbell's expression afterward drew laughter from the stands—it said everything.
Martin Taylor's voice rose in the commentary booth.
"N'Golo Kanté—signed from Caen in Ligue 2, helped them win promotion last season. And you have to say, Alan, for a debut, this is very impressive."
Alan Smith sounded genuinely surprised.
"It is. He can already see the independence in his defending."
That was the key point.
So far, among Arsenal's midfielders, only Kai and Kanté showed real autonomy defensively—the ability to read danger and act without instruction.
For Arsenal, that was massive.
Some fans were already dreaming. If Kanté could one day reach Kai's level—no, even if he reached just Kai's defensive level—that would be enough.
Two midfield shields.
Left and right.
Like titanium alloy gates.
When opponents attack, and Arsenal shut the door—that would be something special.
Kanté's two steals were genuinely eye-catching.
Even Kai looked surprised. He hadn't seen Kanté operate with this kind of efficiency in training.
Then Wenger's voice rang out from the touchline.
"Kai! Drop!"
Kai turned instantly and tracked back into his own half.
Wenger clearly wanted to test the midfield chokehold of Kai and Kanté together.
Kai was more than happy to oblige.
Crystal Palace attacked again, but now frustration was creeping in. It almost felt as if Arsenal were inviting them forward—only to crush them the moment they crossed midfield.
Fraser Campbell, in particular, was furious. Nothing was working.
Campbell and Chamakh pushed up together. Ledley and Jedinak followed.
Kai glanced sideways at Kanté, who was already locked in, eyes fixed ahead.
Kai pressed.
The moment Kai stepped forward, Campbell panicked and released the ball.
Reputation matters in this league. Too many players had been broken by Kai's dominance—Campbell wanted no part of that duel.
The pass went toward Chamakh.
Chamakh leaned in to receive it—
—and then suddenly accelerated.
But he wasn't the fastest man to the ball.
A blue blur flashed across his vision.
Kanté stabbed the ball away before Chamakh could even react.
"Good!" Kai shouted instinctively.
Perfect timing.
Kanté didn't celebrate. He barely looked up. He simply moved the ball to Cazorla and dropped back into position.
On the touchline, Wenger smiled, nodding repeatedly, eyes narrowing with satisfaction.
Pat Rice leaned over.
"Happy?"
Wenger laughed.
"How could I not be?"
Pat smiled.
"Arsenal hasn't had defensive midfielders like these since Vieira."
Wenger nodded. That problem had haunted them for years.
Now, not only had they solved it—they might have solved it twice over.
"We've struck gold," Pat said, clenching his fist.
As the minutes passed, Crystal Palace's resistance faded.
By the 80th minute, the fight was gone.
In the 79th minute, Di Maria scored his first goal for the club.
Arsenal 3.
Crystal Palace 0.
All three forwards—Sanchez, Suarez, and Di Maria—were on the scoresheet.
Exactly what Wenger wanted.
Soon after, Wenger made his final substitution, bringing on Ferdinand to close things out.
The remainder of the match drifted into formality.
At full time, the whistle blew.
Martin Taylor wrapped it up on Sky Sports.
"And that's it! Arsenal begin the 2014–2015 Premier League season with a commanding 3–0 victory over Crystal Palace. Complete control, total dominance—Palace never stood a chance. A perfect start for Arsène Wenger's side."
For Arsenal fans, it was a dream opening.
Attack when needed.
Defend when required.
Disciplined. Fluid. Ruthless.
The Premier League is never easy—but Arsenal looked ready.
. . .
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