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...
Their first preseason match was about to begin, and the tour was truly underway.
The bus slowed gradually as it approached the massive structure of ANZ Stadium.
Even from a distance the stadium looked enormous.
Concrete arches curved around the outer shell like giant ribs, rising high against the bright blue Australian sky. Flags fluttered along the outer railings, and security barriers lined the surrounding streets where hundreds of fans were already gathering.
Inside the bus, the quiet focus of the players remained.
Most of them had shifted into that familiar pre-match mindset.
Less conversation.
More concentration.
Francesco leaned slightly toward the window, watching the stadium grow larger with every passing second.
There was something special about arriving at a stadium for the first time.
Even if it was only a preseason match.
Football stadiums had their own energy.
Their own heartbeat.
And today, this one was alive.
Fans were everywhere.
Red Arsenal shirts mixed with sky-blue jerseys of Sydney FC.
Some supporters waved scarves.
Others held phones up, recording the moment the Arsenal team bus rolled through the security gates.
Walker glanced out his own window and let out a low whistle.
"Okay," he said. "That's a lot of people."
Across the aisle Robertson smirked.
"Thought you said Australians only cared about kangaroos."
Walker shook his head.
"Football too apparently."
Van Dijk chuckled quietly.
The bus turned slowly through the stadium complex, guided by security staff wearing bright yellow vests.
The engine hummed steadily as they descended toward the underground player entrance.
Francesco could see the tunnel opening ahead.
Dark concrete walls.
Bright floodlights.
Staff members waiting along the side.
Then the bus rolled to a gentle stop.
The engine idled.
For a brief moment, no one moved.
That short pause always happened before matches.
Like the calm breath before stepping onto a stage.
Then the driver opened the doors.
The familiar hydraulic hiss filled the bus again.
"Alright lads," one of the staff members said near the front. "Let's go."
Players stood almost at the same moment.
Training bags lifted from overhead compartments.
Jackets adjusted.
Boot bags slung over shoulders.
Walker stood up and stretched his arms.
"Here we go."
Robertson tapped his shoulder.
"Try not to score an own goal today."
Walker rolled his eyes.
Francesco stood as well, grabbing his bag before stepping into the aisle.
Van Dijk followed beside him.
Together they moved toward the front of the bus.
Outside, stadium staff and media members waited along the concrete corridor. Camera flashes popped the moment the first Arsenal players stepped down.
Walker hopped off the bus first.
"Alright Sydney," he muttered quietly, looking around. "Let's see what you've got."
Robertson followed.
Van Dijk stepped down calmly, towering slightly over several nearby staff members.
Then Francesco stepped onto the pavement.
The underground entrance echoed faintly with footsteps and distant stadium noise.
Even here, far beneath the stands, they could hear the faint roar of the crowd above.
It sounded like distant thunder.
Francesco paused for a moment, looking around.
Large Arsenal banners had been placed along the walls.
Security staff guided the players toward the interior hallway that led to the dressing rooms.
Nearby, a few Sydney FC staff members watched respectfully as the visiting Premier League squad arrived.
Francesco adjusted his bag and began walking with the rest of the team.
Walker leaned closer as they entered the tunnel corridor.
"You hear that?" he asked quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"The crowd."
Walker grinned.
"I missed this."
The group followed the hallway deeper into the stadium.
Concrete walls gradually gave way to brighter corridors with club signage and match-day posters.
A sign pointed toward the away dressing room.
Arsenal.
The squad turned toward it.
The door opened.
Inside, the dressing room was already prepared.
Rows of lockers lined the walls.
Each space neatly arranged.
Training kits folded perfectly.
Boot trays placed underneath benches.
Towels stacked on shelves.
A large tactical board stood near the center of the room.
Players entered one by one, spreading naturally across the benches.
Bags dropped.
Phones placed in lockers.
Music started playing softly from someone's speaker.
The quiet tension of arrival slowly shifted into the familiar rhythm of pre-match preparation.
Francesco walked to his locker and opened it.
Inside hung his red training top.
Black shorts.
White socks.
Boots already cleaned and ready.
He pulled the shirt over his head and sat down to tie his boots.
Nearby, Walker was already halfway dressed.
"You ever think about how weird this job is?" Walker asked suddenly.
Robertson looked up while pulling on his socks.
"How so?"
Walker gestured vaguely around the room.
"One day you're in London."
"Next thing you know you're playing football in Australia."
Robertson shrugged.
"Better than working in an office."
Walker nodded thoughtfully.
"Fair point."
Across the room Van Dijk calmly adjusted his shin guards.
Nearby, Mesut Özil tied his boots with quiet focus while occasionally glancing at the tactical board.
Alexis Sánchez bounced lightly on his toes as he warmed his legs.
Francesco finished tying his boots and stood up.
The shift from travel gear to training kit always felt like crossing a line.
Now it was football time.
A staff member appeared at the door.
"Warm-up in ten minutes."
That was the signal.
Players grabbed water bottles and began heading toward the tunnel that led to the pitch.
The stadium corridor opened ahead of them.
Bright light spilled down the hallway from the tunnel entrance.
As they stepped closer, the noise of the crowd grew louder.
The distant thunder had become a clear roar now.
Thousands of voices echoing through the stadium bowl.
Francesco walked beside Van Dijk as they emerged from the tunnel.
And suddenly the pitch appeared.
The vast field of green stretched across the center of the massive arena.
The stands rose high around them, already filled with fans.
Red Arsenal shirts everywhere.
Sydney FC supporters waving sky-blue scarves.
The atmosphere was electric.
Walker stepped onto the grass and spun slowly in a small circle.
"Okay," he said with a grin. "Now this is a stadium."
Francesco jogged lightly forward, rolling his shoulders.
The grass felt perfect.
Soft but firm under his boots.
Exactly how a professional pitch should feel.
Fitness coaches quickly organized the warm-up drills.
Cones placed along the sideline.
Passing stations arranged near the halfway line.
The squad spread out across the pitch.
The warm-up began with light jogging across the field.
Simple movements.
Muscles waking up.
The players ran in loose lines, gradually increasing their pace.
Francesco could hear the crowd reacting every time the Arsenal players came near their side of the field.
Cheers.
Phones flashing.
Children shouting names.
"FRANCESCO!"
He glanced toward the stands briefly and raised a hand.
The crowd responded with even louder cheers.
Walker jogged beside Robertson again.
"Not bad," he admitted.
Robertson nodded.
"Not bad at all."
The warm-up moved into passing drills.
Short passes.
First-touch control.
Movement between cones.
Van Dijk fired a crisp pass toward Francesco.
Francesco returned it instantly.
The ball zipped across the grass smoothly.
Next came shooting drills.
Giroud struck a powerful shot that rattled the net.
The crowd reacted immediately.
Walker tried another volley.
This one stayed inside the stadium.
Robertson clapped sarcastically again.
"Improvement!"
After nearly twenty-five minutes the fitness coach blew the whistle.
"Alright lads!"
"Back inside!"
The players jogged toward the tunnel again.
Sweat glistened lightly on their foreheads now.
The warm-up had done its job.
Bodies awake.
Muscles ready.
Inside the dressing room the players quickly removed the training tops.
Now it was time for the real kit.
The match jerseys hung inside each locker.
Red and white.
The Arsenal crest shining on the chest.
Francesco lifted his shirt carefully.
His number printed clearly on the back.
He pulled it on and adjusted the captain's armband around his arm.
Nearby, Walker laced his boots again.
Robertson tightened his shin guards.
Van Dijk stood calmly stretching his neck.
Then the door opened.
Arsène Wenger stepped inside.
The room immediately quieted.
He stood beside the tactical board for a moment before speaking.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly.
"This is our first match of the tour."
His voice was steady as always.
"Remember, the objective today is rhythm."
"Understanding."
"Movement."
He turned toward the tactical board and began placing magnetic markers into position.
"We play our familiar shape."
He drew the formation clearly.
"4-2-3-1."
Players leaned forward slightly.
Wenger continued.
"In goal."
He placed the first marker.
Petr Čech.
"Our defense."
He placed four markers across the board.
"From left to right."
"Andrew Robertson."
"Virgil van Dijk."
"Laurent Koscielny."
"And Kyle Walker."
He placed two markers in midfield.
"Defensive midfield."
"N'Golo Kanté."
"And Granit Xhaka."
Another marker moved forward.
"Central attacking midfield."
"Mesut Özil."
Then the wings.
"Left side."
"Alexis Sánchez."
"Right side."
"Serge Gnabry."
Finally he placed the final marker at the top.
He glanced toward Francesco.
"Striker."
"Captain."
Francesco.
The room remained silent.
Wenger folded his arms slightly.
"Play with intelligence."
"Control the tempo."
"And enjoy the match."
He stepped back from the board.
"Alright."
"Let's go."
Players stood almost instantly.
Boots tapped against the floor.
Shirts adjusted.
Francesco took one last breath before stepping toward the exit.
The tunnel waited again.
The squad walked down the corridor together.
As they reached the entrance, another team appeared beside them.
Sydney FC.
Both squads formed their lines.
Francesco stood at the front of Arsenal's line.
Captain's armband visible on his arm.
Beside him stood Sydney FC's captain.
Alex Brosque.
The two captains exchanged a brief nod.
Respect.
Ahead of them the tunnel opened toward the bright stadium lights.
The crowd roared loudly now.
The team bus slowed gradually as it turned into the wide roads surrounding ANZ Stadium.
From inside the bus, the stadium already looked enormous.
Its curved steel structure rose high above the surrounding Olympic Park, catching the afternoon sunlight and reflecting it back across the open plaza outside.
Fans were everywhere.
Thousands of them.
Some wore red shirts with the crest of Arsenal proudly across their chests.
Others wore sky blue colors supporting Sydney FC.
Scarves.
Flags.
Phones lifted into the air as the bus passed.
The moment supporters spotted the Arsenal crest on the side of the vehicle, a wave of excitement rippled through the crowd.
Some fans waved.
Others shouted the names of players.
"FRANCESCO!"
"SANCHEZ!"
"COME ON ARSENAL!"
Inside the bus, the noise filtered through the windows like distant thunder.
Not loud enough to break concentration.
But loud enough to remind every player exactly where they were.
A football stadium.
A big one.
Kyle Walker leaned slightly toward the window as the bus rolled slowly past the entrance gates.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath.
"That's a crowd."
Andrew Robertson gave a small nod beside him.
"Not bad for preseason."
Francesco sat quietly in his seat near the middle of the bus, his gaze fixed out the window.
He watched the fans.
The banners.
The camera flashes.
The atmosphere already building outside the stadium.
It was a strange but familiar feeling.
Even thousands of miles from London, Arsenal still felt like a global club.
Football had that power.
The bus finally turned down a secure lane leading toward the players' entrance beneath the stadium stands.
Security staff stood waiting near the barrier gates.
The driver slowed the bus one final time before pulling to a smooth stop beside the tunnel entrance.
For a brief second, everything inside the bus went quiet.
No one moved yet.
Just the low hum of the engine running.
Then the doors opened with the familiar hydraulic hiss.
Warm air drifted inside.
A stadium air.
Different from training grounds.
Different from hotels.
There was always a subtle electricity to it.
Wenger stood up first near the front of the bus.
"Alright, gentlemen," said Arsène Wenger calmly.
"Let's go."
That was the signal.
Players began standing up one by one.
Training bags came down from overhead racks.
Boots were lifted from the floor.
Francesco slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the others down the aisle.
As he stepped off the bus, the massive structure of ANZ Stadium loomed above him.
Even from the service entrance, its size was impossible to ignore.
Somewhere beyond the concrete walls and corridors, thousands of supporters were already filling their seats.
The distant echo of crowd noise drifted faintly through the stadium tunnels.
Francesco inhaled slowly.
Match day air.
It always felt the same.
Focused.
Electric.
Alive.
Players walked together toward the stadium entrance where security staff guided them inside.
The corridors beneath the stands were wide and brightly lit.
Concrete walls.
Directional signs.
Staff members moving quickly between rooms preparing for kickoff.
The Arsenal squad followed the signs toward their assigned dressing room.
After a short walk down the corridor, they reached the door marked clearly with the club crest.
Inside, the dressing room had already been prepared.
Rows of lockers lined the walls.
Each one carefully arranged.
Training kits folded neatly.
Boots placed beneath benches.
Towels stacked in perfect piles.
Water bottles lined across a long central table.
Players entered gradually, dropping bags onto benches and claiming their spaces.
The familiar routine began again.
Shoes off.
Training shirts on.
Tape wrapped around wrists or ankles.
Francesco opened his locker and lifted the red Arsenal training top.
Light fabric.
Breathable.
Perfect for warm-up.
He pulled it on over his head before sitting down to tie his boots.
Nearby, Virgil van Dijk tightened the laces on his own boots before standing up and stretching his shoulders.
"Nice stadium," said Virgil van Dijk quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"Big one."
Across the room Walker was already bouncing on his toes again like a boxer preparing for a fight.
Robertson shook his head.
"You've got too much energy."
Walker shrugged.
"It's match day."
On another bench, Olivier Giroud calmly adjusted his shin guards while chatting quietly with one of the fitness coaches.
N'Golo Kanté folded his jacket neatly and placed it inside his locker before slipping on his training socks.
Everything about the room felt professional.
Focused.
But relaxed too.
Preseason matches carried less pressure.
Still important.
Still competitive.
But slightly lighter than a league night at the Emirates.
After a few minutes one of the staff members appeared near the doorway.
"Warm-up in five."
Players began standing up.
Boots tightened.
Water bottles grabbed.
The group slowly filed out of the dressing room and into the corridor leading toward the pitch entrance.
As they approached the tunnel opening, the distant sound of the crowd became louder.
A low rumble echoing through the stadium structure.
Walker grinned.
"Now that sounds better."
Francesco stepped through the tunnel entrance first with the group.
Then suddenly the stadium opened up in front of them.
The pitch of ANZ Stadium stretched wide and bright under the afternoon sky.
Green grass glowing under the stadium lights.
The stands already packed with thousands of supporters.
Many wearing red.
Some waving Arsenal flags.
Others cheering loudly the moment the players appeared.
A wave of applause rolled across the stadium.
Phones lifted everywhere.
The Arsenal squad jogged lightly onto the pitch.
The warm-up began almost immediately.
Light jogging first.
A full lap around the pitch.
Francesco ran beside Kanté as they circled the field.
The grass felt fast under his boots.
Perfect surface.
Exactly what players loved.
After the jog, the players gathered near the sideline where cones and balls had already been placed.
Passing drills started quickly.
Short touches.
One-two combinations.
Movement across the grass.
Fans in the stands watched closely, reacting every time a player attempted something impressive.
Walker attempted a flashy backheel pass.
The crowd applauded loudly.
Robertson rolled his eyes.
"Show-off."
Walker bowed toward the stands.
The warm-up gradually increased in intensity.
Shots on goal.
Crossing drills.
Quick finishing.
Francesco received a cross from Robertson and volleyed it cleanly into the net.
The crowd responded with a loud cheer.
Even during warm-up, moments like that energized the stadium.
After nearly twenty minutes, the coaching staff signaled the end of the session.
Players jogged back toward the tunnel entrance.
Sweat darkened the training shirts slightly.
Breathing heavier now.
Match mode activated.
Back inside the stadium corridors, the squad returned to the dressing room.
This time the mood shifted slightly.
Warm-up was over.
Now came the real preparation.
Players removed the training tops and replaced them with the official match kit.
Red shirts.
White sleeves.
White shorts.
Red socks.
The classic Arsenal colors.
Francesco pulled the captain's armband over his left arm before tightening the strap around his wrist.
Boots double-checked.
Shin guards secured.
Across the room, Wenger stepped forward to address the squad.
Everyone gradually gathered around him.
The dressing room grew quiet.
Arsène Wenger looked around at the players calmly.
"This is our first match of the tour," he began.
"Preseason, yes."
"But still important."
His voice remained steady.
"We play with our usual discipline."
"Our usual intelligence."
He walked slowly in front of the group as he continued speaking.
"Formation today will be 4-2-3-1."
Several players nodded immediately.
Familiar system.
Wenger gestured slightly as he explained the lineup.
"Goalkeeper, Petr Čech."
"The back four."
"Left back, Andrew Robertson."
"Center backs, Virgil van Dijk and Laurent Koscielny."
"Right back, Kyle Walker."
Players listened carefully.
Wenger continued.
"Defensive midfield, N'Golo Kanté and Granit Xhaka."
"Central attacking midfield, Mesut Özil."
"Left wing, Alexis Sánchez."
"Right wing, Serge Gnabry."
Then Wenger looked directly at Francesco.
"And striker… our captain."
Francesco nodded slightly.
Wenger finished.
"Play with intelligence."
"Move the ball quickly."
"And enjoy the game."
The speech was simple.
Clear.
Exactly what the players needed.
Francesco stood up and clapped his hands once.
"Alright boys."
"Let's start strong."
The squad responded with quiet determination.
"Come on."
"Let's go."
Moments later the players walked toward the tunnel entrance again.
This time in full match kit.
Referees waited near the front.
The tunnel echoed with footsteps and distant crowd noise.
The players formed two lines.
One for Arsenal.
One for Sydney FC.
Francesco stood at the front of the Arsenal line as captain.
Beside him stood the captain of Sydney FC, Alex Brosque.
Brosque glanced over and smiled politely.
"Good luck."
Francesco returned the gesture.
"You too."
Ahead of them the tunnel opened toward the bright stadium pitch.
The referee looked back briefly.
"Ready?"
Both captains nodded.
The walkout began.
The moment the players stepped onto the pitch, the stadium erupted with noise.
Applause.
Cheers.
Camera flashes everywhere.
The two teams lined up across from each other before kickoff.
Then the match began.
Arsenal started confidently.
The passing rhythm from training immediately appeared in their play.
Özil controlled the tempo through midfield.
Kanté recovered loose balls constantly.
Walker pushed forward aggressively down the right flank.
Only fifteen minutes into the match, the breakthrough arrived.
A quick passing sequence between Özil and Sánchez opened space near the penalty area.
Özil slipped a perfectly weighted through-ball toward Francesco.
Francesco accelerated between the defenders.
One touch.
Then a powerful strike.
The ball flew past the goalkeeper and into the net.
The Arsenal fans inside ANZ Stadium exploded with cheers.
1–0.
Francesco raised his arms briefly before teammates surrounded him.
"Good finish!"
"Captain!"
Minutes later Arsenal struck again.
This time it came through Sánchez.
Gnabry delivered a low cross from the right.
Sánchez controlled it sharply before firing a quick shot into the corner.
2–0.
Arsenal were in control.
But Sydney FC refused to collapse.
They continued pressing.
Battling in midfield.
Testing the defense with quick counterattacks.
Gradually the game settled into a steady rhythm.
Chances came and went.
But no more goals followed before halftime.
When the referee finally blew the whistle, the scoreboard still read:
Arsenal 2
Sydney FC 0
The first half ended in that stalemate.
The whistle echoed sharply through the stadium.
For a moment the sound seemed to hang in the air above the pitch of ANZ Stadium.
Players slowed their runs.
Boots stopped cutting across the grass.
The first half was over.
The scoreboard above the stands glowed clearly:
Arsenal 2 — 0 Sydney FC
A comfortable lead.
But still only halftime.
Francesco wiped sweat from his forehead as he walked toward the tunnel alongside his teammates. The afternoon sunlight was still bright across the stadium, but the air carried the slight coolness of the Australian winter.
Around them the crowd buzzed with conversation.
Many Arsenal supporters were standing and applauding as the players headed off the pitch.
Some shouted encouragement.
"COME ON ARSENAL!"
"FRANCESCO!"
"KEEP IT GOING!"
Francesco raised a hand briefly in acknowledgment before stepping into the tunnel.
The moment the team entered the stadium corridor, the sound of the crowd faded into a distant rumble again.
Boots echoed softly against the concrete floor.
Some players walked quietly.
Others talked briefly about moments from the first half.
Kyle Walker jogged lightly beside Andrew Robertson.
"Not bad," said Kyle Walker with a grin.
Robertson shrugged.
"Still forty-five minutes."
Behind them, Virgil van Dijk exchanged a few quiet words with Laurent Koscielny about Sydney's attacking movement during the last ten minutes.
They had noticed the shift.
Sydney FC had begun pressing higher before halftime.
Nothing dangerous yet.
But still something to stay aware of.
Francesco walked near the front of the group, his breathing steady now as the adrenaline of the first half slowly settled.
Beside him, N'Golo Kanté jogged lightly, still looking like he could easily play another ninety minutes if needed.
They reached the dressing room a minute later.
Inside, the atmosphere was calm.
Professional.
Focused.
Players dropped onto benches.
Water bottles opened immediately.
Some poured cold water over their heads.
Others stretched their legs carefully.
Sweat darkened the red shirts across several backs.
Francesco sat down at his locker and leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees while taking a long drink from his bottle.
Across the room, Arsène Wenger stood quietly near the tactics board.
He allowed the players a moment to recover.
Halftime was always a balance.
Give them time to breathe.
But not too long.
After about thirty seconds he stepped forward and clapped his hands lightly.
"Gentlemen."
The room slowly quieted.
Players turned toward him.
Wenger nodded once.
"Good first half."
His voice was calm as always.
"We controlled possession."
"We moved the ball well."
"And we created chances."
He gestured toward Francesco briefly.
"Good movement for the first goal."
Francesco gave a small nod in response.
Then Wenger continued.
"But we must remain focused."
He tapped the tactics board lightly with a marker.
"Sydney will try to press more in the second half."
"They need a goal."
"So we stay compact."
"Move the ball quickly."
"No unnecessary risks in midfield."
Several players nodded.
Wenger's instructions were simple.
Clear.
Then he glanced toward three players.
"We will make a few changes."
He pointed toward the bench.
"Serge Gnabry, you rest."
Gnabry nodded.
"Kyle Walker, also."
Walker stretched his legs slightly.
"No problem."
Wenger continued.
"And Mesut Özil."
Özil leaned back calmly and nodded.
Then Wenger pointed toward three others.
"Theo Walcott will come on."
Walcott straightened slightly.
"Héctor Bellerín at right back."
Bellerín gave a quick thumbs-up.
"And Santi Cazorla into midfield."
Cazorla smiled slightly.
The players absorbed the adjustments quickly.
Same system.
Fresh legs.
Wenger finished his halftime talk with the same calm tone.
"Continue playing our football."
"Move."
"Support each other."
"And enjoy the game."
He clapped once.
"Alright."
"Second half."
Players stood up again.
Some adjusted their shin guards.
Others tightened their boots.
Francesco rolled his shoulders once and grabbed his water bottle before walking toward the tunnel again with the rest of the squad.
Outside the dressing room the stadium noise had grown louder once more.
Halftime entertainment had ended.
Fans were returning to their seats.
The teams lined up again inside the tunnel.
Moments later the referee signaled.
The second half began.
Sydney FC started the half with clear determination.
Their players pressed forward more aggressively now.
They had nothing to lose.
Within the first few minutes they pushed Arsenal's midfield deeper.
Quick passes moved between their attackers.
One forward attempted a shot from outside the penalty area.
But Petr Čech stepped calmly to his left and caught the ball cleanly.
No danger.
Francesco jogged back toward the halfway line, glancing briefly toward Van Dijk.
Van Dijk nodded slightly.
Communication without words.
Stay organized.
Sydney continued pushing.
But Arsenal's defensive structure remained solid.
Robertson closed down space on the left side.
Van Dijk intercepted a through ball.
Koscielny cleared a dangerous cross.
Kanté seemed to appear everywhere at once, cutting off passing lanes and recovering possession again and again.
After ten minutes the pressure began easing.
Arsenal regained control.
Cazorla, now playing in midfield, began dictating the tempo with short, clever passes.
His movements between the lines immediately caused problems for Sydney's defense.
In the 55th minute, that influence paid off.
It started with a quick recovery from Kanté near the center circle.
He passed the ball toward Cazorla.
Cazorla took one touch.
Then another.
Scanning the field.
Walcott sprinted down the right wing, dragging a defender away.
Space opened slightly near the edge of the penalty area.
Cazorla stepped forward.
And struck the ball cleanly with his right foot.
The shot curved beautifully through the air before dropping just inside the far corner of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted again.
Arsenal supporters leaped to their feet.
Hands raised.
Flags waving.
3–0.
Cazorla smiled as teammates ran toward him.
Francesco clapped him on the shoulder.
"Beautiful."
Cazorla laughed lightly.
"Lucky."
But everyone knew it wasn't luck.
It was technique.
The match continued.
Sydney tried again to push forward.
But Arsenal's defense remained firm.
Then in the 62nd minute Wenger signaled from the sideline.
More changes.
Francesco jogged toward the touchline as the referee prepared the substitution board.
The number appeared.
Francesco's.
He nodded calmly.
Preseason minutes were always shared.
As he reached the sideline, Wenger greeted him briefly.
"Good work."
Francesco shook his hand.
"Thanks, boss."
Three Arsenal players left the pitch.
Francesco.
Granit Xhaka.
Laurent Koscielny.
Three replacements entered.
Olivier Giroud.
Mohamed Elneny.
Shkodran Mustafi.
At the same time, Graham Arnold also made multiple substitutions for Sydney FC, replacing four players to bring fresh energy into the match.
Francesco walked slowly toward the bench.
Sweat cooled on his skin as he sat down beside Walker.
Walker handed him a towel.
"Good goal."
Francesco nodded.
"Nice run earlier too."
Walker grinned.
"Always."
Back on the pitch the match resumed.
Fresh legs gave Arsenal even more attacking energy.
Walcott sprinted repeatedly down the right flank.
Giroud positioned himself centrally, ready for crosses.
Then in the 74th minute it happened.
Elneny played the ball forward to Cazorla.
Cazorla passed wide to Walcott.
Walcott looked up once.
Then delivered a perfect cross into the penalty area.
The ball curled high into the air.
Giroud timed his run perfectly.
He rose above the defenders.
And powered a thunderous header toward goal.
The net rippled instantly.
Goal.
4–0.
Even the neutral fans inside ANZ Stadium applauded the quality of the finish.
Giroud landed heavily before spreading his arms in celebration.
Walcott ran toward him laughing.
"Perfect!"
From the bench, Francesco clapped with the rest of the squad.
"Great header."
The final fifteen minutes passed steadily.
Sydney FC continued fighting.
But Arsenal controlled the tempo comfortably.
Mustafi cleared one final cross.
Čech made a calm save near the end.
Then the referee checked his watch.
And blew the final whistle.
The match was over.
Final score:
Arsenal 4 — 0 Sydney FC
A perfect start to the preseason tour, and also show the world that Arsenal are remain a top club.
______________________________________________
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