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...
Just rest and recovery, as the quiet afternoon before the training began again tomorrow.
The quiet of the hotel room lasted longer than Francesco expected.
For a while he simply stood by the window, watching the unfamiliar skyline of Sydney stretch across the horizon.
It felt strange being this far from home.
London felt like another world now.
Twenty-one hours on a plane had a way of creating that feeling.
Everything familiar suddenly felt very distant.
Below the hotel, traffic moved calmly along wide streets. A few pedestrians crossed intersections slowly, the rhythm of the city relaxed in that uniquely coastal way.
Sydney didn't feel rushed.
At least not from this height.
Francesco rested his hands on the window frame and looked out toward the faint shimmer of water in the distance.
The harbor.
He couldn't see the full view from here, but the sunlight reflecting across the water made it obvious.
For a moment his thoughts drifted.
Preseason always carried a certain energy.
A reset.
A chance to sharpen everything again before the real battles of the season started.
New tactics.
New chemistry.
And the pressure to repeat success.
His phone buzzed lightly in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
A message.
From Leah.
How's Australia?
He smiled slightly.
Francesco typed back.
Hot.
A moment later another message came.
That's not helpful.
How was the flight?
He exhaled slowly and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Long.
Very long.
Another reply appeared almost instantly.
Twenty-one hours, right?
I would have died.
Francesco chuckled quietly.
Walker almost did.
Leah responded with a laughing emoji.
Of course he did.
They exchanged a few more messages.
Nothing complicated.
Just small conversation.
But it helped ground him again after the strange blur of travel.
Eventually he placed the phone on the bedside table and stretched out on the bed.
Wenger had been clear.
Rest.
Hydrate.
Adjust.
Francesco closed his eyes.
The room was quiet.
The thick hotel curtains softened the sunlight.
And despite the unfamiliar time zone, sleep came quickly.
The afternoon drifted by quietly for most of the squad.
Some players slept.
Some ordered room service.
Others wandered briefly around the hotel before returning to rest again.
Jet lag had a way of rearranging everyone's internal clocks.
Walker reportedly woke up at one point convinced it was morning.
It was still afternoon.
Robertson told that story later with great amusement.
By evening, most of the players gathered casually in the hotel restaurant for dinner.
Nothing heavy.
The nutrition staff made sure of that.
Lean protein.
Vegetables.
Hydration.
Everything carefully planned.
Professional football had evolved far beyond simple meals.
Recovery mattered.
Sleep mattered.
Even how players adjusted to new time zones mattered.
Francesco ate quietly with a small group that included Virgil van Dijk and N'Golo Kanté.
Walker arrived late.
"Jet lag," he explained dramatically while sitting down.
Robertson shook his head.
"You've been awake for six hours."
Walker ignored him and grabbed a glass of water.
"Still counts."
After dinner the players returned to their rooms.
No meetings.
No analysis.
Just rest.
Tomorrow would begin the real work.
Morning arrived earlier than Francesco expected.
The sunlight in Australia felt aggressive compared to London's softer mornings.
It pushed through the curtains like it had somewhere important to be.
Francesco stirred slowly in bed, blinking against the light before sitting up.
For a moment he had no idea where he was.
Then memory returned.
Sydney.
Preseason tour.
Training tomorrow.
Or…
He glanced at the clock.
Today.
He stood and stretched his arms above his head.
Despite the long travel the day before, his body felt surprisingly good.
The first night of sleep had helped.
Not perfect.
But enough.
He showered quickly and dressed in training gear before heading downstairs.
The hotel restaurant had already been arranged for the team's breakfast.
As he entered, several teammates were already seated.
The room smelled of coffee, toast, and fresh fruit.
Light breakfast.
Exactly what Wenger had instructed.
Francesco grabbed a plate and walked toward the buffet.
Egg whites.
Oatmeal.
Fruit.
Toast.
Simple.
Effective.
At a nearby table, Kyle Walker sat staring at a bowl of cereal like it had personally offended him.
Robertson noticed Francesco and waved him over.
"You look awake," Robertson said.
"Barely," Francesco replied while sitting down.
Walker pointed a spoon at him.
"What time is it?"
Francesco looked at the wall clock.
"Eight."
Walker squinted.
"Are we sure?"
Robertson nodded.
"Yes."
Walker slowly ate a spoonful of cereal.
"Still feels like midnight."
Francesco chuckled.
Jet lag was hitting him hard.
Across the room, Olivier Giroud sipped coffee calmly while speaking with a member of the coaching staff.
Nearby, Arsène Wenger stood talking quietly with the fitness team.
He always arrived early.
Always.
Van Dijk walked over carrying a plate of fruit and yogurt.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," Francesco replied.
Van Dijk sat down beside them.
"How's the body?"
"Good," Francesco said.
"Better than expected."
Van Dijk nodded.
"Same."
Professional athletes adapted quickly.
Still…
Twenty-one hours in the air wasn't something the body forgot overnight.
Walker leaned back in his chair dramatically.
"I dreamed we were still on the plane."
Robertson didn't look up from his toast.
"That's because you fell asleep watching airplane safety instructions."
Walker pointed.
"Those are soothing."
Francesco laughed again.
Moments like this always reminded him how strange football life could be.
One day you were training in London.
The next day you were eating breakfast on the other side of the planet.
The team finished breakfast gradually.
Nothing rushed.
Nutrition staff monitored portions casually.
Hydration bottles were passed around.
Once finished, players began standing up one by one.
Van Dijk stood first.
"Bus leaves in thirty minutes."
Francesco nodded.
"See you downstairs."
The routine was simple.
Back to the room.
Grab training gear.
Prepare.
Francesco returned to his floor and entered his room again.
The sunlight was even brighter now.
Sydney fully awake.
He packed his training bag quickly.
Boots.
Shin guards.
Extra socks.
Water bottle.
Everything neatly organized.
Professional habits developed over years.
Once ready, he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed back downstairs.
The team bus waited outside again.
Same one from yesterday.
The Arsenal F.C. crest shining along the side.
Players gathered near the entrance.
Some stretching.
Some checking phones.
Walker stepped onto the bus first.
"Round two."
Robertson followed behind him.
"Try not to fall asleep during training."
Walker shrugged.
"No promises."
Francesco climbed aboard and took a seat near the middle.
Van Dijk sat beside him again.
Soon the rest of the team boarded.
Coaches.
Medical staff.
Fitness team.
Once everyone was seated, the driver started the engine.
The bus pulled away from the hotel entrance and merged onto the road.
Morning traffic flowed steadily through Sydney.
Sunlight reflected across glass buildings.
People walked along sidewalks heading to work.
It felt like a normal day for the city.
For Arsenal, preseason preparation had officially begun.
Walker looked out the window.
"So where exactly are we going again?"
Robertson answered without hesitation.
"The training ground of Western Sydney Wanderers."
Walker nodded slowly.
"Right."
"Do they have kangaroos there?"
Robertson stared at him.
"Why would there be kangaroos at a training ground?"
Walker shrugged.
"It's Australia."
Van Dijk laughed quietly.
Francesco shook his head.
The bus continued driving.
Leaving the central city.
Gradually the skyline faded behind them.
The roads widened.
Suburban neighborhoods appeared.
Training facilities were often located outside busy city centers.
More space.
Better pitches.
Better privacy.
After about forty minutes, the bus turned onto a quieter road lined with sports fields.
In the distance, large training complexes appeared.
Multiple pitches.
Training buildings.
Small stands.
Professional facilities.
The driver slowed the bus as they approached the entrance gates.
A sign stood near the entrance.
Western Sydney Wanderers Football Club.
The gates opened.
The bus rolled inside.
Players glanced out the windows.
Perfect green training pitches stretched across the complex.
Ground staff were already preparing equipment.
Cones.
Goals.
Training mannequins.
Everything ready.
Walker leaned forward.
"Well."
Robertson nodded.
"Work begins."
Francesco looked out across the field.
The grass looked perfect.
Bright green under the Australian sun.
A new training ground.
A new country.
But the same objective.
Preparation.
The bus rolled to a stop beside the main training building.
Players stood up slowly.
Training bags grabbed from overhead racks.
Boots ready.
Outside the window, the empty pitch waited.
The bus doors opened with a soft hydraulic hiss.
Warm Australian air drifted inside immediately, carrying with it the smell of freshly cut grass and the faint dryness of the late morning sun.
One by one the players stood up.
Training bags came down from overhead racks.
Boots were slung over shoulders.
Some players stretched their legs as they stepped into the aisle, still shaking off the stiffness from travel.
Outside the windows, the pristine green training fields of Western Sydney Wanderers stretched under the bright sky.
It looked perfect.
Almost too perfect.
The kind of pitch players loved instantly.
Kyle Walker stepped down from the bus first and immediately squinted against the sunlight.
"Okay," he said slowly, looking around. "Now this feels like football again."
Behind him, Andrew Robertson hopped down onto the pavement and stretched his back.
"About time."
Players began unloading bags from the luggage compartment while staff members guided them toward the main building.
Francesco stepped down from the bus and took a slow breath.
The sun was warm but not unbearable.
The sky above was perfectly clear.
Somewhere in the distance a group of local staff were watching quietly from behind a fence, curious eyes observing the arrival of the visiting squad from Arsenal.
Even preseason training attracted attention.
Francesco adjusted the strap of his bag and followed the others toward the facility entrance.
Beside him, Virgil van Dijk looked out across the fields with quiet approval.
"Nice setup."
Francesco nodded.
"Very."
Walker jogged ahead a few steps before turning around dramatically.
"Anyone see kangaroos yet?"
Robertson groaned.
"You're not letting that go, are you?"
Walker shrugged.
"Still possible."
The group entered the main training building.
Inside, the air-conditioning was a welcome contrast to the sunlight outside.
Clean white hallways led deeper into the complex.
Arsenal's logistics staff had already coordinated everything with the host club, so signs had been placed along the corridor directing the squad.
Dressing Room
Players followed the signs down the hallway until they reached a large locker room already prepared for them.
Rows of lockers.
Training benches.
Equipment racks.
Everything neatly arranged.
On each locker hung a freshly prepared training kit.
Red training shirts.
Black shorts.
White socks.
The familiar colors of Arsenal.
Players spread out around the room, claiming their spaces.
Boot bags opened.
Phones placed in lockers.
Music began playing quietly from someone's portable speaker.
The room slowly filled with the familiar rhythm of pre-training preparation.
Walker dropped his bag onto a bench and looked around.
"Alright," he said. "Now it feels normal."
Robertson sat down beside him and began unlacing his shoes.
"You say that every time we enter a locker room."
Walker shrugged.
"Because it's true."
Across the room, Olivier Giroud calmly tied his boots while chatting softly with one of the fitness coaches.
Nearby, N'Golo Kanté quietly folded his travel clothes and placed them neatly into his locker before pulling on his training shirt.
Francesco opened his locker and lifted the training top from its hanger.
The fabric felt light and breathable.
Perfect for the Australian heat.
He pulled it on and tied his boots slowly, focusing on the simple ritual that always helped him shift mentally from travel mode into football mode.
Van Dijk finished tying his boots and stood up, rolling his shoulders.
"First session," he said.
Francesco nodded.
"Let's wake the legs up."
Around them, players finished changing.
Some stretched.
Some bounced lightly on their toes.
Others joked with teammates.
Jet lag still lingered, but the moment boots went on, something shifted in the room.
Muscle memory.
Routine.
Focus.
After a few minutes, one of the staff members appeared in the doorway.
"Alright lads," he said. "Coach wants everyone out on the pitch."
That was the signal.
Players grabbed water bottles and filed out of the dressing room.
The hallway opened directly toward the training fields.
The moment the door opened, sunlight spilled across the entrance.
The grass looked even greener up close.
Perfectly trimmed.
Training cones already laid out across different sections of the pitch.
Portable goals stood ready near the far end.
Fitness staff arranged small hurdles and agility ladders.
Everything prepared.
The squad walked out together.
Boots stepped onto the grass.
The surface felt perfect underfoot.
Francesco rolled the ball of his foot gently across the turf as he stepped forward.
Smooth.
Fast.
Exactly what players wanted.
Several local staff members watched quietly from the sidelines, trying not to stare too obviously.
It wasn't every day that a Premier League squad trained here.
The Arsenal players gathered loosely near the center circle.
Some stretched their hamstrings.
Others rolled their ankles.
Walker bounced lightly on his toes like he had just downed three cups of coffee.
Robertson leaned forward with his hands on his knees, stretching.
"Legs alive yet?" he asked.
Walker shrugged.
"We'll find out."
A moment later, Arsène Wenger walked onto the pitch with several members of the coaching staff.
The players instinctively drifted closer together.
Within seconds the group formed a loose semicircle around him.
Wenger stood calmly with his hands clasped behind his back, the sunlight catching the silver in his hair.
He looked around at the squad for a moment before speaking.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
A few players responded quietly.
"Morning, boss."
Wenger nodded.
"I hope you all rested well."
Walker raised a hand slightly.
"Define well."
A few chuckles passed through the group.
Wenger allowed himself a faint smile.
"Yes, I know the travel was long."
He gestured lightly toward the pitch.
"But this is where we begin again."
The players listened closely.
Wenger's preseason speeches were always calm, but they carried weight.
"This tour is not just about matches," he continued.
"It is about preparation."
"Conditioning."
"Understanding."
He walked slowly across the front of the group as he spoke.
"We have a long season ahead."
"The Premier League."
"The cups."
"And of course the Champions League."
A few players exchanged glances.
Everyone understood what that meant.
Pressure.
Expectations.
Opportunities.
Wenger stopped walking and faced the group again.
"Training sessions like today are important."
"Not because they are difficult."
"But because they rebuild our rhythm."
He pointed briefly toward the far end of the pitch where the cones had been placed.
"Sharp passing."
"Movement."
"Communication."
"Intensity."
His eyes moved across the players.
"We start simple."
"But we work with focus."
Then he glanced toward Francesco.
A subtle signal.
Francesco stepped forward slightly.
As captain of Arsenal, moments like this were part of his responsibility.
He looked around at his teammates.
Some familiar faces.
Some still relatively new.
But all part of the same squad now.
Francesco took a breath.
"Alright," he began.
His voice carried easily across the quiet pitch.
"I know everyone's still shaking off the flight."
A few players nodded.
Walker dramatically stretched his neck.
Francesco smiled slightly before continuing.
"But that's the same for everyone."
He gestured lightly toward the field.
"This is where we get back into it."
"Same standards."
"Same focus."
His gaze moved across the group.
"We're representing Arsenal everywhere we go."
"In London."
"In Europe."
"And now here in Australia."
Several players straightened slightly.
Francesco continued.
"The fans here came to see us play real football."
"So that's what we give them."
Sharp.
Fast.
Professional.
He pointed toward the training area where the cones waited.
"We start today."
"Then we build."
"By the time we face Sydney FC, we're ready."
Van Dijk nodded quietly.
Giroud folded his arms with a small approving smile.
Francesco finished simply.
"Let's work."
The group responded with a collective murmur of agreement.
"Let's go."
"Come on."
Wenger clapped his hands once.
"Good."
He turned toward the coaching staff.
"Warm-up first."
Immediately the players broke formation.
Fitness coaches stepped forward.
"Two lines!"
Players jogged lightly across the grass to form the warm-up formation.
The first exercises began immediately.
Light jogging around the pitch.
Knees high.
Heels up.
Simple movement to wake the muscles.
Walker jogged beside Robertson.
"Alright," he admitted. "Legs are waking up."
Robertson smirked.
"Miracle."
The squad moved through dynamic stretches.
Hamstrings.
Hip flexors.
Calves.
Each movement carefully monitored by the fitness staff.
Francesco felt the stiffness from the long flight slowly melting away.
His body remembered this rhythm.
Training always reset everything.
Soon the warm-up shifted to agility drills.
Small ladders placed on the grass.
Quick footwork.
Short bursts of acceleration.
Kanté moved through the drills with his usual quiet efficiency.
Van Dijk powered through them with controlled strength.
Walker raced through his ladder like someone had challenged him to a sprint.
Robertson shook his head.
"Relax, it's preseason."
Walker grinned.
"Still winning."
After twenty minutes the group gathered again near the central area where cones had been arranged in tight passing grids.
Wenger watched carefully from the sideline.
"Passing drills," he called.
Balls rolled onto the pitch.
The familiar rhythm began.
One-touch passes.
Quick movement.
Triangles forming and dissolving.
Francesco received the first ball from Van Dijk and returned it instantly before rotating to the next position.
The ball moved quickly.
Tap.
Pass.
Move.
Communication began flowing again.
"Man on!"
"Turn!"
"Back!"
Giroud flicked a pass with the outside of his boot.
Kanté intercepted one slightly off-target ball and returned it smoothly.
The tempo gradually increased.
The jet lag faded.
The squad moved like a team again.
Within minutes the pitch filled with the sharp sound of boots striking the ball and teammates calling instructions.
Wenger watched with calm focus from the sideline.
The sharp rhythm of passing continued across the training pitch.
Boots struck the ball in quick, precise touches.
Voices carried across the grass.
"Man on!"
"Switch!"
"Back again!"
The tempo increased with each passing minute.
The players moved instinctively, sliding into positions, rotating between cones, adjusting their body angles to receive and release the ball in a single motion.
From the sideline, Arsène Wenger watched with calm concentration.
One hand rested lightly against his chin.
Every detail mattered.
First touches.
Passing angles.
Communication.
Even during a simple drill, he observed everything.
Near the center of the grid, Francesco received a quick pass from Virgil van Dijk.
One touch to control.
Another to release the ball toward N'Golo Kanté.
The movement was smooth.
Fluid.
Natural.
Jet lag had almost completely disappeared now.
Training had that effect.
The body remembered what it was built for.
Around them the rest of the squad moved through similar patterns.
Kyle Walker accelerated through his grid with surprising energy.
"Quick!" he shouted as the ball reached him.
One touch.
Pass.
Move again.
Beside him, Andrew Robertson shook his head with a smirk.
"You've had too much cereal."
Walker grinned.
"Fuel."
The drill continued for another ten minutes before Wenger raised his voice.
"Good."
The whistle sounded briefly.
"Water."
Immediately the players jogged toward the sideline where water bottles waited in neat rows.
The Australian sun had begun climbing higher in the sky, its warmth gradually intensifying.
Francesco grabbed a bottle and poured a small amount over his head before drinking.
Cold water ran down the back of his neck.
Refreshing.
Van Dijk stood beside him.
"Good pitch," he said again, glancing down at the grass.
Francesco nodded.
"Perfect for passing."
A few meters away Walker lay briefly on the grass with his arms spread wide.
Robertson nudged him with his foot.
"Get up."
Walker didn't move.
"Five seconds."
Robertson rolled his eyes.
Across the field, the coaching staff quickly rearranged equipment.
Cones were moved.
A larger training area was marked out.
Portable goals rolled into position.
Wenger stepped forward again.
"Small-sided games," he announced.
Immediately the players straightened.
Small-sided matches were where intensity returned fully.
Teams were quickly divided.
Francesco found himself placed with Walker, Kanté, and Giroud.
Van Dijk joined the opposing side with Robertson.
The ball was placed in the center.
Wenger blew the whistle.
The game started instantly.
Quick touches.
Rapid transitions.
Giroud dropped deep to receive a pass, flicking it backward toward Francesco.
Francesco turned sharply and threaded the ball toward Walker sprinting down the side.
Walker cut inside and fired a low shot.
Saved by the keeper.
"Good," Wenger called from the sideline.
The pace increased quickly.
Players challenged harder.
Defenders pressed aggressively.
Within minutes the relaxed warm-up atmosphere had transformed into real competition.
Walker slid across the grass chasing a loose ball.
"Mine!"
Robertson intercepted him cleanly.
"Not today."
Francesco laughed briefly before receiving another pass and slipping it wide again.
The drill lasted nearly twenty minutes.
Short bursts of high intensity.
Then recovery.
Then another round.
By the time Wenger finally blew the whistle to end the session, sweat darkened the red training shirts.
The players walked slowly toward the sideline.
Some bent forward with hands on knees.
Others stretched their calves and hamstrings.
The first real training session of the tour was complete.
Wenger gathered the group briefly one more time.
"Good work today," he said calmly.
"This is only the beginning."
He gestured toward the facility buildings.
"Recovery now."
"We continue tomorrow."
The players nodded.
Training bags were collected.
Boots loosened slightly.
And slowly the squad walked back toward the dressing rooms.
The rhythm of preseason began settling into place.
Morning.
Training.
Recovery.
Analysis.
Then rest.
The next few days passed quickly as Arsenal continued preparing for their opening preseason match against Sydney FC.
Each morning the team bus left the hotel and drove back toward the training facilities of Western Sydney Wanderers.
Each day the intensity increased slightly.
Day two focused on tactical structure.
Defensive positioning.
Transitions from defense into attack.
Wenger spent long periods pausing drills to reposition players.
"Closer," he instructed once, guiding Robertson two steps inside.
"Compact."
Francesco listened carefully.
Preseason was always the time to rebuild patterns.
Movement without the ball.
Pressing triggers.
Passing angles.
Even players who had been together for years needed reminders.
Day three added more finishing drills.
Giroud dominated the aerial crosses.
Walker attempted a spectacular volley that sailed twenty meters wide.
Robertson clapped sarcastically.
"Shot of the tour."
Walker bowed dramatically.
"Thank you."
The squad's energy improved daily as jet lag faded.
Sleep patterns normalized.
Muscles adjusted to the time zone.
Francesco noticed the difference clearly by the third training session.
His body felt sharp again.
Explosive.
Focused.
During one finishing drill he struck a clean shot into the top corner.
Even Wenger nodded slightly from the sideline.
Small details like that built confidence.
Meanwhile in Sydney
Word had spread quickly across the city.
Arsenal were in town.
Tickets for the upcoming match at ANZ Stadium had been selling rapidly since the announcement weeks earlier.
Local supporters of Sydney FC were excited to see their club face one of Europe's biggest teams.
But there were also thousands of Arsenal fans in Australia.
Many of them had waited years for this opportunity.
Social media filled with photos.
Fans gathering outside the team hotel.
Children holding red Arsenal shirts.
Francesco noticed them one afternoon while returning from training.
Several young fans stood near the hotel entrance holding signs.
"FRANCESCO PLEASE SIGN!"
He stopped briefly before entering the building.
Just a minute.
A few autographs.
A couple of photos.
The smiles on the fans' faces made the long trip worthwhile.
Football truly connected the world.
The morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains of Francesco's hotel room.
He woke slowly.
For a moment he simply lay still, staring up at the ceiling.
Then he remembered.
Match day.
Their first preseason match of the tour.
He sat up and stretched his shoulders before standing.
Outside the window, Sydney was already awake.
Traffic moved steadily through the streets.
The sky was bright blue again.
Typical Australian winter weather.
Warm and clear.
Francesco showered quickly and pulled on a simple Arsenal training top before heading downstairs.
The team breakfast had been arranged again in the hotel restaurant.
As he entered, several teammates were already seated.
The room smelled of coffee and toast.
Light breakfast.
Exactly what match day required.
Francesco grabbed a plate and walked toward the buffet.
Egg whites.
Oatmeal.
Fruit.
Toast.
Nothing heavy.
Nothing risky.
At a nearby table Walker sat staring at a banana like he was evaluating it for tactical weaknesses.
Robertson looked up as Francesco approached.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Francesco sat down.
Walker pointed his spoon.
"Today we play football."
Robertson nodded.
"That's usually the plan."
Walker leaned back slightly.
"I missed matches."
Van Dijk arrived a moment later carrying yogurt and fruit.
"Good stadium tonight," he said.
Francesco nodded.
"Big crowd."
Indeed, the match would take place at ANZ Stadium, as the massive venue built for the 2000 Olympics.
It could hold over eighty thousand spectators.
Even for a preseason match, the atmosphere would be significant.
Across the restaurant, Wenger spoke quietly with the coaching staff while sipping coffee.
His calm presence set the tone for the entire squad.
No panic.
No pressure.
Just preparation.
Breakfast passed calmly.
Players finished eating one by one before returning to their rooms.
The schedule for the morning was simple.
Rest.
Hydrate.
Stay relaxed.
The match would be played in the afternoon.
Francesco returned to his room and lay down briefly on the bed.
He closed his eyes but didn't sleep.
Instead he visualized the match.
Movement.
Runs.
Finishing chances.
Mental preparation was as important as physical readiness.
Hours passed quietly.
By early afternoon the squad began gathering in the hotel lobby.
Players wore official Arsenal travel gear.
Red jackets.
Black trousers.
White sneakers.
Training bags ready.
The lobby buzzed with quiet energy.
Staff members moved between players confirming details.
Security stood near the entrance doors.
Outside, the team bus waited.
Francesco arrived and greeted a few teammates already seated on the lobby couches.
Walker bounced lightly on his heels.
"Finally."
Robertson glanced at him.
"You've been ready since breakfast."
Walker nodded.
"Correct."
Van Dijk checked his watch.
"Bus in five minutes."
Wenger arrived shortly afterward.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly.
"That's us."
The players stood.
One by one they walked toward the entrance.
Outside the bus door opened again with the familiar hydraulic hiss.
Players climbed aboard.
The seats filled quickly.
Francesco sat beside Van Dijk again.
Walker and Robertson sat across the aisle continuing their endless debate about Australian wildlife.
The engine started.
Slowly the bus pulled away from the hotel.
Sydney passed outside the windows.
Traffic lights.
Bridges.
Parks.
The city felt alive.
As the bus approached the Olympic Park area, the massive structure of ANZ Stadium appeared in the distance.
Walker leaned forward in his seat.
"Big place."
Robertson nodded.
"Very."
Fans could already be seen walking toward the stadium entrances.
Many wearing Arsenal shirts.
Some wearing Sydney FC colors.
Phones lifted as the team bus passed.
Excitement buzzed through the streets.
Inside the bus, the players grew quieter.
Focus returning.
Match mode.
Francesco looked out the window at the stadium growing larger with each passing second.
Their first preseason match was about to begin, and the tour was truly underway.
______________________________________________
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 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