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...
Another chance to prove exactly why Arsenal sat at the top of the Premier League and why the rest of Europe had begun paying such close attention.
The anticipation built steadily throughout the week.
Not because Arsenal needed motivation.
Not because Liverpool needed motivation.
Matches like this created their own energy.
Their own atmosphere.
Their own sense of importance.
By the time matchday finally arrived, North London already felt different.
Supporters filled cafés near the Emirates hours before kickoff.
Scarves wrapped around necks.
Conversations dominated by team selections, predictions, and debates that would probably continue long after the final whistle.
Arsenal against Liverpool.
First against one of the most dangerous sides in England.
Wenger against Klopp.
Two philosophies.
Two elite teams.
One massive afternoon.
And everyone knew it.
The Arsenal team bus rolled through North London beneath a cold grey sky.
Thousands of supporters lined sections of the route.
Phones raised.
Scarves waving.
Children shouting names through the crowd.
The atmosphere intensified the closer they got to the stadium.
Inside the bus, however, things remained calm.
Focused.
Professional.
The usual pre-match routines were in full effect.
Headphones covered ears.
Music played quietly.
Some players stared out windows.
Others reviewed clips on tablets.
Sánchez looked like a man preparing for war.
Again.
Which was completely normal.
Kanté sat quietly.
Relaxed.
As if he were heading to a casual kickabout in a local park instead of one of the biggest matches of the season.
Van Dijk remained calm.
Composed.
Almost impossibly calm.
Francesco sat near the front, looking out at the supporters gathering outside the Emirates.
The stadium eventually emerged ahead.
Massive.
Familiar.
Home.
No matter how many times he saw it, there was always something special about arriving here.
Particularly on afternoons like this.
The bus slowed.
Security guided them through.
The vehicle finally stopped.
A brief silence settled over the squad.
That familiar silence.
The one that always came before players stepped into match mode completely.
Then everyone stood.
Bags were collected.
Jackets adjusted.
Focus sharpened.
The doors opened.
Cold air rushed inside.
And Arsenal arrived.
The corridors beneath the Emirates buzzed with activity.
Club staff moved quickly.
Equipment managers checked final preparations.
Medical staff carried supplies.
Television crews hurried through designated areas.
Everything looked chaotic.
Everything worked perfectly.
As always.
The players headed directly toward the dressing room.
Their dressing room.
Their home.
The atmosphere immediately shifted once they entered.
Bags dropped beside lockers.
Players greeted staff.
Boots were unpacked.
Training gear emerged.
For now, match kits remained hanging neatly above each seat.
Waiting.
The transformation into competitors would come later.
First came preparation.
Warm-up.
Francesco sat down and pulled on his training kit.
Around him, teammates did the same.
The sounds of matchday filled the room.
Zippers.
Tape.
Conversations.
Music playing softly from a speaker somewhere in the corner.
Eventually everyone was ready.
The squad emerged from the dressing room together and headed toward the tunnel.
Then the pitch.
The moment they stepped outside, the Emirates opened before them.
Floodlights illuminated everything despite the afternoon sky.
Supporters continued pouring into the stands.
Tens of thousands of people.
A sea of red and white.
The grass looked immaculate.
Bright green.
Perfectly prepared.
Exactly the kind of surface players loved.
Warm-ups began immediately.
Passing drills.
Movement exercises.
Acceleration work.
Finishing routines.
Everything designed to prepare bodies and minds for the ninety minutes ahead.
Francesco felt sharp.
His touch felt good.
His legs felt fresh.
Nearby, Ozil moved through passing patterns effortlessly.
Sánchez looked intense.
Van Dijk won every header.
Kanté somehow covered half the pitch despite the warm-up lasting only minutes.
Liverpool looked sharp too.
Dangerously sharp.
Klopp's side moved with confidence.
Aggression.
Purpose.
This wasn't going to be easy.
Nobody expected it to be.
Eventually the warm-up ended.
Players acknowledged supporters with applause before jogging back toward the tunnel.
The real work was about to begin.
Back inside the dressing room, the mood changed instantly.
The relaxed atmosphere disappeared.
Now came concentration.
Now came focus.
Training kits came off.
Match kits emerged.
The famous Arsenal colours.
Red shirts.
White sleeves.
White shorts.
Red socks.
The transformation always felt symbolic.
Training was finished.
Competition had arrived.
Francesco pulled on his shirt and adjusted the captain's armband.
Across the room, players laced boots.
Secured shin pads.
Applied tape.
Completed final preparations.
Eventually Wenger entered.
Conversations immediately stopped.
The room settled.
Every eye moved toward the manager.
Wenger stood beside the tactical board.
Calm.
Composed.
Experienced.
Exactly as always.
"The starting eleven remains unchanged."
Several players nodded.
Expected.
The board displayed the lineup.
Čech.
Bellerin.
Van Dijk.
Koscielny.
Robertson.
Kanté.
Xhaka.
Özil.
Sánchez.
Gnabry.
Francesco.
The same side that had performed so well recently.
Wenger began discussing tactical details.
Liverpool's press.
Liverpool's transitions.
Liverpool's aggression.
Every instruction carried weight.
Every instruction carried purpose.
"Be brave in possession."
The players listened.
"Move the ball quickly."
More nods.
"Do not allow their press to dictate the game."
Important.
Very important.
Liverpool under Klopp had become one of the most aggressive pressing teams in Europe.
Wenger knew it.
Everyone knew it.
The manager continued.
"They will attack."
He pointed toward several tactical diagrams.
"They will force mistakes."
Then his voice remained calm.
"But they also leave opportunities."
That part generated interest.
Because it was true.
Liverpool's style created danger.
But it also created space.
The key was exploiting it.
Finally Wenger looked around the room.
His gaze settling on each player.
"Trust yourselves."
Silence.
Then one final instruction.
"Play our football."
The room understood.
Time.
The tunnel awaited.
Brightly lit.
Narrow.
Filled with anticipation.
Arsenal lined up.
Across from them stood Liverpool.
Red shirts.
Focused expressions.
Serious faces.
Professional respect.
At the front stood Liverpool captain Jordan Henderson.
Determined.
Ready.
Francesco stood opposite him.
Both captains exchanging a brief nod.
Nothing more needed.
The atmosphere felt electric.
The sort of tension only major matches produced.
Young mascots stood proudly beside players.
Referees completed final checks.
Television cameras moved along the lines.
Millions watching.
Waiting.
Then came the signal.
Time.
The tunnel marshal motioned forward.
The lines began moving.
Step by step.
Toward the pitch.
Toward kickoff.
The Emirates erupted as both teams emerged.
A wall of noise crashed down from every direction.
Supporters rose to their feet.
Scarves lifted.
Voices echoed throughout the stadium.
The players lined up beside the referees.
The pre-match rituals began.
First the formal lineup.
Then handshakes.
Referees.
Opposition players.
Professional respect.
Professional courtesy.
Next came team photographs.
Players arranged themselves.
Standing.
Kneeling.
Photographers shouted instructions.
Cameras flashed repeatedly.
Another tradition completed.
Finally the captains were called forward.
Francesco and Henderson walked toward the centre circle alongside the referee.
The official explained the process.
The coin appeared.
Simple.
Ordinary.
Yet part of football history.
The referee looked up.
"Call."
"Right."
The coin spun through the air.
Dropped.
Landed.
The referee looked down.
Then smiled.
"You win."
Francesco nodded.
"We'll take kickoff."
Decision made.
The captains shook hands.
Returned to their teams.
Everything was ready.
Everything prepared.
The whistle sounded.
And the match began.
Immediately the intensity became obvious.
Neither side wanted to sit back.
Neither side wanted to wait.
Arsenal attacked.
Liverpool attacked.
The game exploded into life almost instantly.
Passes zipped across the grass.
Challenges arrived with force.
The tempo felt relentless.
Every attack looked dangerous.
Every transition felt threatening.
The Emirates loved it.
Supporters roared with every forward movement.
Wenger stood on the touchline watching carefully.
Observing every detail.
And one thing became clear very quickly.
Klopp had transformed Liverpool.
Completely transformed them.
The German manager had built a side capable of competing with anyone.
Their pressing was aggressive.
Their movement intelligent.
Their confidence obvious.
Breaking them down would require something special.
For twenty minutes the match remained balanced.
Exciting.
Fierce.
High quality.
Then Liverpool struck first.
Twenty-third minute.
A quick transition.
One moment Arsenal looked comfortable.
The next Liverpool were attacking at speed.
The ball moved through midfield.
Sharp.
Precise.
Dangerous.
Eventually it found Philippe Coutinho.
The Brazilian drifted inside.
Created half a yard.
Then unleashed a curling effort toward goal.
The strike looked beautiful.
And devastating.
Čech reacted.
Dove.
Stretched.
But not quite enough.
The ball nestled inside the corner.
Goal.
Liverpool.
The away supporters exploded.
Klopp punched the air.
Liverpool players celebrated together.
Meanwhile Wenger remained still on the touchline.
Watching.
Thinking.
Analyzing.
The goal itself frustrated him.
But something else caught his attention too.
Čech had reacted.
Of course he had.
But perhaps not quite as sharply as before.
Not quite as explosively.
For the briefest moment, Wenger felt an uncomfortable thought creep into his mind.
Age.
Reflexes.
Time remained undefeated.
The manager pushed the thought aside.
The match continued.
There would be time for those conversations later.
Not now.
Arsenal responded exactly as top teams should.
No panic.
No desperation.
Just focus.
Just determination.
The pressure increased.
Possession increased.
The attacks became more dangerous.
Liverpool continued pressing aggressively.
But Arsenal began finding solutions.
Gradually.
Patiently.
Then finally the breakthrough arrived.
Thirty-fifth minute.
Kanté won possession.
Naturally.
The Frenchman seemed capable of appearing wherever the ball happened to be.
One second Liverpool looked comfortable.
The next Kanté had stolen possession.
Again.
He immediately looked forward.
Saw Francesco making a run.
And released the pass.
Perfect timing.
Perfect execution.
Francesco accelerated between defenders.
Controlled cleanly.
The crowd rose.
Liverpool's goalkeeper advanced.
The captain remained calm.
One touch.
Then the finish.
Low.
Precise.
Clinical.
Goal.
The Emirates exploded.
Relief mixed with joy.
One-one.
Game on.
Teammates surrounded him instantly.
Kanté arrived smiling.
Rare.
But genuine.
Francesco pointed directly at him.
The assist belonged to the midfielder.
The stadium roared.
Momentum had shifted.
Unfortunately, Liverpool weren't finished.
Not even close.
Klopp's side responded strongly.
The final minutes of the half became increasingly open.
Increasingly dangerous.
Both teams looked capable of scoring.
Then Liverpool found another moment.
Forty-third minute.
The attack developed down the right.
Henderson received possession and lifted his head.
One pass.
One brilliant pass.
The sort of pass captains dream about.
Mohamed Salah exploded into space.
His pace instantly causing problems.
The Egyptian raced forward.
One-on-one.
Danger.
Everyone felt it.
Salah entered the box.
Shifted the ball onto his left foot.
Then finished brilliantly.
Goal.
Liverpool led again.
Two-one.
The away section erupted.
Salah sprinted away celebrating.
Liverpool players chased after him.
Meanwhile Arsenal players gathered near the centre circle.
Frustrated.
Not defeated.
But frustrated.
Because they had worked so hard to equalize.
Only to fall behind again.
The remaining minutes passed quickly.
Neither side found another breakthrough.
Eventually the referee checked his watch.
Then blew for halftime.
A chorus of noise followed.
Supporters discussing the action.
Players heading toward the tunnel.
Arsenal one.
Liverpool two.
An entertaining match.
A difficult match.
A match still very much alive.
Back inside the dressing room, players dropped onto benches.
Breathing heavily.
Sweat-soaked.
Frustrated.
The room remained quiet initially.
Not negative.
Just focused.
Everyone understood the situation.
They weren't playing poorly.
Liverpool were simply very good.
A few moments later Wenger entered.
Immediately the room settled.
The manager moved toward the centre.
Calm as ever.
Measured as ever.
The tactical board already waiting.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Simply letting players recover.
Letting emotions settle.
Then he finally spoke.
"We are still in this match."
Simple.
Direct.
True.
Several players nodded.
The manager pointed toward the board.
"We need to be more aggressive."
More movement.
More attacking intent.
More pressure.
But then came the warning.
An important warning.
Wenger pointed toward Liverpool's attacking shape.
"Salah."
Then another position.
"Mané."
The room paid close attention.
Because everyone knew exactly what those names meant.
Speed.
Danger.
Punishment.
"If we attack recklessly," Wenger said calmly, "they will hurt us."
Nobody disagreed.
The evidence was already on the scoreboard.
The manager continued outlining adjustments.
Attack more.
Move quicker.
Take risks.
But remain cautious.
Remain organized.
Respect Liverpool's press.
Respect Liverpool's counterattacks.
Because one mistake against players like Salah and Mané could change everything.
The players listened carefully.
The second half awaited.
And everyone inside the dressing room understood the truth.
The next forty-five minutes would reveal a lot.
About Arsenal.
About Liverpool.
About two of the best teams in England.
Wenger looked around the room one final time.
His eyes moved from player to player.
Veterans.
Leaders.
Champions.
Footballers who had already experienced pressure at the highest level.
"You know what to do."
That was all.
No dramatic speech.
No shouting.
No theatrics.
Just trust.
The strongest thing a manager could sometimes give his players.
Trust.
The players rose from their seats.
Boots scraped against the floor.
Shirts were adjusted.
Water bottles emptied.
Final preparations completed.
Then Arsenal headed back toward the tunnel.
The roar from the Emirates grew louder with every step.
Forty-five minutes remained.
Arsenal 1.
Liverpool 2.
Everything still possible.
The second half began exactly as Wenger had wanted.
Aggressive.
Purposeful.
Controlled.
Arsenal immediately pushed forward.
Not recklessly.
Not emotionally.
But with clear intent.
They attacked.
Pressed.
Moved the ball faster.
Forced Liverpool deeper.
At the same time, every player remained conscious of the danger waiting behind them.
Because Liverpool's counterattack was lethal.
Salah.
Mané.
Firmino.
One careless pass.
One misplaced touch.
One moment of overconfidence.
And punishment would arrive instantly.
The balance was delicate.
Attack.
But stay organized.
Push forward.
But remain disciplined.
It was exactly the challenge Wenger had described at halftime.
The opening minutes became a tactical battle.
Arsenal controlled possession.
Liverpool remained dangerous.
Every attack felt meaningful.
Every transition carried threat.
The Emirates sensed the tension.
The supporters roared with every tackle.
Every interception.
Every forward run.
Then Liverpool nearly delivered a devastating blow.
Fifty-third minute.
A dangerous Liverpool attack developed through midfield.
Emre Can found space.
Too much space.
The German lifted his head and immediately spotted Roberto Firmino peeling away between Arsenal's defensive lines.
The pass arrived perfectly.
Firmino controlled brilliantly.
Suddenly he was through.
The entire stadium inhaled simultaneously.
Danger.
Real danger.
Firmino drove toward goal.
Čech advanced.
The Brazilian struck first time.
For a split second the away supporters were already celebrating.
Then the ball flashed inches wide of the post.
The Emirates exploded with relief.
Firmino grabbed his head.
Emre Can punched the air in frustration.
Klopp turned away momentarily.
They knew how important that chance had been.
Wenger knew it too.
Because had that gone in?
Three-one.
An entirely different football match.
Instead Arsenal survived.
And champions often needed moments like that.
Moments where fortune gave them one more opportunity.
One more chance.
Arsenal took the warning seriously.
Immediately.
The response arrived only minutes later.
At fifty-sixth minute, Liverpool had been absorbing pressure for nearly ten minutes.
Arsenal kept coming.
Wave after wave.
The move began with Xhaka switching play toward Robertson.
The Scottish fullback surged forward.
The crowd rose.
Robertson fed Gnabry.
Gnabry immediately slipped possession inside to Özil.
One touch.
Two touches.
Patience.
Then brilliance.
Özil spotted Sánchez darting between defenders.
The pass split Liverpool open.
Perfectly weighted.
Perfectly timed.
Sánchez burst onto it.
One touch to control.
Another to create space.
Then the finish.
Low.
Powerful.
Precise.
Goal.
The Emirates exploded.
Absolutely exploded.
Sánchez sprinted away screaming.
Pure emotion.
Pure passion.
Pure Alexis Sánchez.
Teammates chased after him.
Francesco arrived first.
Then Özil.
Then Kanté.
Then everyone else.
Two-two.
Game level.
Momentum shifting.
The stadium believed.
The players believed.
And Liverpool suddenly looked uncomfortable.
For the first time all afternoon.
The noise never really died down.
Not before Arsenal struck again.
Because suddenly Liverpool looked vulnerable.
Arsenal smelled it.
The supporters sensed it.
And they attacked.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then came the breakthrough.
The moment Arsenal took control.
Sixtieth minute.
Another Arsenal attack.
Another wave of pressure.
Kanté recovered possession near midfield.
Naturally.
At this point nobody even reacted anymore.
Kanté winning the ball was simply considered a law of nature.
The Frenchman fed Gnabry.
The German accelerated forward immediately.
Liverpool's defense retreated.
Gnabry drove inside.
Lifted his head.
Then delivered a beautiful pass between defenders.
Özil had continued his run.
The German met it perfectly.
One touch.
Then another.
Liverpool's goalkeeper rushed forward desperately.
Too late.
Özil slid the ball calmly into the corner.
Goal.
Three-two Arsenal.
The Emirates became absolute chaos.
Supporters leaped from their seats.
Scarves flew into the air.
The noise felt deafening.
Özil rarely celebrated wildly.
But even he couldn't hide his smile.
A huge smile.
One that immediately appeared on giant screens around the stadium.
Francesco wrapped an arm around him.
"That's more like it."
Özil laughed.
"You gave me the example."
Three-two.
From behind.
Against Liverpool.
Against one of the best teams in England.
Arsenal had turned the match around.
But they weren't finished.
Not even close.
The game became increasingly physical.
Increasingly emotional.
Every challenge mattered.
Every duel mattered.
Every decision mattered.
The pressure continued building.
Then everything nearly exploded.
Sixty-fourth minute.
Sánchez collected possession near the edge of Liverpool's penalty area.
The Chilean twisted away from one challenge.
Then another.
The crowd roared.
He looked dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Then Dejan Lovren arrived.
Late.
Far too late.
The challenge was ugly.
Studs showing.
Body completely out of control.
Sánchez crashed heavily onto the turf.
Immediately the Emirates erupted with fury.
Arsenal players reacted instantly.
Francesco was the first to arrive.
Followed by Xhaka.
Then Robertson.
Then half the team.
Liverpool players rushed in as well.
Voices rose.
Finger-pointing followed.
The referee sprinted toward the scene.
For several tense seconds it looked like both teams might genuinely clash.
Sánchez remained on the ground.
The crowd booed relentlessly.
Lovren attempted to defend himself.
Nobody in an Arsenal shirt was interested in hearing explanations.
Eventually cooler heads prevailed.
The referee separated everyone.
Yellow card.
Dangerous foul.
Free kick Arsenal.
Excellent position.
Very dangerous position.
And suddenly the Emirates sensed something.
Opportunity.
Around the ball stood four players.
Francesco.
Özil.
Sánchez.
Xhaka.
The sight alone made Liverpool nervous.
The four Arsenal players discussed quietly.
Pointing.
Gesturing.
Planning.
Liverpool organized their wall.
The goalkeeper shouted instructions.
The referee checked the distance.
The tension was enormous.
Then the whistle came.
Francesco started his run.
Then stopped.
Özil moved toward the ball.
Then stopped.
Sánchez followed.
Then stopped.
Three separate feints.
Three separate distractions.
Liverpool's wall hesitated.
The goalkeeper hesitated.
Exactly what Arsenal wanted.
Because none of them were taking the free kick.
Xhaka was.
The Swiss midfielder stormed forward.
Connected perfectly.
And unleashed another missile.
Another absolute missile.
The ball screamed through the London air.
Curving viciously.
Flying beyond the wall.
Beyond the goalkeeper.
Into the net.
Goal.
Four-two.
Pandemonium.
Absolute pandemonium.
The Emirates exploded louder than at any point all afternoon.
Xhaka sprinted away screaming.
Finally allowing himself a proper celebration.
His teammates nearly tackled him to the ground.
Even Wenger couldn't hide his satisfaction on the touchline.
He clapped hard.
Repeatedly.
Four-two.
Against Liverpool.
What a turnaround.
What a football match.
A few minutes later Wenger made his move.
The manager knew another important reality.
The season was long.
Liverpool remained dangerous.
And some players needed protecting.
Sixty-ninth minute.
The fourth official raised the electronic board.
Three Arsenal numbers appeared.
Francesco.
Sánchez.
Özil.
The Emirates rose immediately.
A standing ovation.
Deserved.
Entirely deserved.
The trio had transformed the match.
As they jogged toward the touchline, supporters applauded continuously.
Francesco raised both hands toward the crowd.
Sánchez acknowledged the supporters briefly.
Then immediately started discussing something with the referee.
Naturally.
Özil simply smiled.
Waiting near the halfway line stood their replacements.
Giroud.
Ramsey.
Cazorla.
Quality everywhere.
Fresh legs everywhere.
As Francesco approached Wenger, the manager extended a hand.
"Excellent."
"Still work left."
Wenger smiled.
"Good answer."
Meanwhile Klopp responded with changes of his own.
Philippe Coutinho departed.
Sadio Mané departed.
Replacing them were Georginio Wijnaldum and a familiar face.
Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain.
The former Arsenal player received a mixed reaction.
Applause.
Boos.
Respect.
Competition.
Football emotions rarely stayed simple.
The final twenty minutes remained fiercely contested.
Liverpool refused to surrender.
Klopp's teams never did.
They continued attacking.
Continued pressing.
Continued believing.
And Arsenal knew the game wasn't finished.
Not yet.
Van Dijk and Koscielny defended superbly.
Kanté remained everywhere.
Ramsey brought fresh energy.
Cazorla helped calm possession whenever needed.
Still Liverpool pushed.
Still they searched for another opening.
Eventually they found one.
Eighty-second minute.
Liverpool attacked down the right.
Oxlade-Chamberlain received possession.
The former Arsenal winger accelerated forward.
A dangerous cross followed.
Firmino arrived.
First to the ball.
The Brazilian finished clinically.
Goal.
Four-three.
The away supporters erupted.
Liverpool suddenly had life again.
Klopp roared encouragement from the touchline.
The match wasn't over.
Not remotely.
Eight minutes remained.
Plus stoppage time.
The Emirates grew nervous.
Not panicked.
But nervous.
Because everyone understood Liverpool's quality.
One goal separated the sides.
Anything could happen.
The closing stages felt endless.
Liverpool threw players forward.
Arsenal defended.
Countered.
Fought.
Every tackle received cheers.
Every clearance earned applause.
Every second mattered.
Van Dijk headed away cross after cross.
Koscielny threw himself into challenges.
Bellerin sprinted tirelessly.
Robertson refused to give an inch.
Kanté somehow still looked fresh despite covering what appeared to be the entire city of London.
The clock crawled.
Eighty-seven minutes.
Eighty-eight.
Eighty-nine.
Then stoppage time.
Four additional minutes.
The Emirates groaned collectively.
Liverpool attacked again.
And again.
And again.
But Arsenal stood firm.
The supporters sensed the finish line.
The noise grew louder.
Not celebratory.
Demanding.
Willing the players through the final moments.
Then finally.
At long last.
The referee checked his watch.
Looked around.
And blew the whistle.
Full time.
Arsenal 4.
Liverpool 3.
The Emirates erupted.
Players threw their arms into the air.
Supporters celebrated wildly.
Wenger applauded from the touchline.
Klopp shook his head but smiled slightly.
It had been a brilliant football match.
A brutal football match.
A match worthy of two elite teams.
Near the center circle, Francesco embraced Henderson.
Mutual respect between captains.
Nearby, Sánchez looked exhausted.
Happy.
But exhausted.
Özil exchanged shirts with a Liverpool player.
Van Dijk applauded the supporters.
The crowd responded immediately.
As the Arsenal players eventually made their way toward the home end together, one feeling dominated everything.
Pride.
Because this wasn't merely another victory.
This was a statement.
A comeback victory against a transformed Liverpool side.
A victory earned through courage.
Through quality.
Through resilience.
And as thousands of supporters remained on their feet singing beneath the winter sky, Arsenal's position at the top of the Premier League looked stronger than ever.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
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, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 28
Goal: 35
Assist: 1
MOTM: 4
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
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