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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Supporters refreshed news websites every few minutes hoping for another announcement.
The February air carried a familiar bite as the Arsenal team bus rolled steadily through the streets of North London.
The closer they came to White Hart Lane, the more the atmosphere began to change.
Supporters lined the pavements, wrapped in thick scarves despite the cold.
Some wore red.
Many more wore white.
Police officers guided traffic while television crews stood outside the stadium entrance, waiting to capture the arrival of both teams.
Inside the bus, however, the mood remained calm.
Most players had slipped naturally into their own routines.
Some listened to music through headphones.
Others stared quietly through the windows.
Walker, unsurprisingly, had been talking for almost the entire journey before Robertson finally looked across the aisle.
"You do realise…"
"…it's possible to prepare for a match without speaking?"
Walker grinned.
"I've never tried."
"I can tell."
The players around them chuckled.
Even Wenger allowed himself the faintest smile from the front of the coach.
These little exchanges had become part of Arsenal's identity.
Relax before the battle.
Total focus once the whistle blew.
A few minutes later the bus slowed beneath the stadium entrance.
White Hart Lane stood proudly ahead of them, already buzzing with anticipation.
Supporters greeted the Arsenal players with a mixture of cheers and jeers as they stepped off the coach.
Some Tottenham fans shouted playful remarks.
Arsenal supporters answered with songs of their own.
Francesco adjusted the strap of his kit bag over one shoulder before following the rest of the squad through the tunnel leading into the stadium.
Inside, everything became quieter.
Only the footsteps of players echoed through the concrete corridors.
The familiar scent of freshly cut grass drifted in from the pitch.
It was matchday.
Nothing else mattered now.
The away dressing room was exactly what every footballer expected.
Neat.
Professional.
Every shirt had already been carefully laid out.
Every pair of boots waited beneath each player's seat.
The Arsenal crest decorated one wall.
The tactical board already stood prepared near Wenger's desk.
Francesco walked over to his place.
His captain's shirt rested neatly on the bench.
Number 9.
Freshly pressed.
He ran a hand gently across the badge before beginning to change into his training kit.
Around him, conversations stayed light.
Alexis adjusted his boots.
Özil quietly stretched.
Kanté smiled politely as Walker somehow managed to make everyone laugh again.
"You know what's nice?" Walker said.
Robertson looked up cautiously.
"What?"
"For ninety minutes today…"
"…nobody can call me."
Robertson frowned.
"They could."
"I'll ignore them."
"You ignore most calls anyway."
"Exactly."
Alexis laughed.
"The only calls you answer involve restaurants."
Walker placed a hand on his chest.
"I have priorities."
The room erupted into laughter.
Even Francesco couldn't stop smiling.
Moments like these helped ease the tension before enormous matches.
Eventually fitness coach Tony Colbert stepped inside.
"Five minutes."
The conversations immediately ended.
Training tops were zipped.
Gloves pulled on.
Everyone rose together.
Wenger looked around the room.
"Let's go."
The moment Arsenal emerged from the tunnel for the warm-up, the noise hit them.
Over thirty thousand supporters filled White Hart Lane.
The roar rolled around the stadium like thunder.
Tottenham supporters whistled loudly as the Arsenal players stepped onto the pitch.
The away end answered immediately with chants supporting Wenger's side.
Francesco paused for just a second.
He always loved this part.
The grass looked immaculate.
The floodlights shone brightly despite the afternoon light.
Every major derby carried its own feeling.
North London derbies felt different.
Everything seemed sharper.
Every tackle.
Every chant.
Every mistake.
The warm-up began.
Passing drills.
Short sprints.
Stretching.
Quick finishing exercises.
Goalkeepers worked separately as Petr Čech threw himself from corner to corner, comfortably pushing away shot after shot.
At the opposite end Hugo Lloris looked equally sharp.
Francesco exchanged quick one-touch passes with Özil.
Neither needed many words anymore.
Years together had created almost instinctive understanding.
Alexis joined them.
Then Gnabry.
The ball moved effortlessly between the four attackers.
One touch.
Two touches.
Movement.
Communication.
Everything flowed naturally.
Wenger watched quietly from the touchline.
Satisfied.
Eventually the warm-up came to an end.
The players applauded the travelling Arsenal supporters before disappearing once more down the tunnel.
Back inside the dressing room, the atmosphere transformed completely.
Training kits disappeared.
Match shirts replaced them.
Tape wrapped around ankles.
Boot studs were checked one final time.
The laughter faded.
Game faces appeared.
Francesco pulled the captain's armband over his left sleeve before tightening the laces on his boots.
Across the room Wenger stepped towards the tactical board.
Everyone immediately fell silent.
The Frenchman looked at each player individually before speaking.
"The starting eleven remains unchanged."
Nobody looked surprised.
Recent performances had earned continuity.
He pointed towards the board.
"Petr."
"You're in goal."
Čech nodded calmly.
"As always."
Wenger continued.
"Back four."
"Robertson."
"Van Dijk."
"Koscielny."
"Walker."
Each defender acknowledged him.
"Our midfield."
"Kanté."
"Xhaka."
"Mesut."
The three exchanged quick glances.
Finally Wenger looked towards his attackers.
"Alexis."
"Gnabry."
"You'll start wide."
Both nodded confidently.
Then Wenger's eyes settled on Francesco.
"You'll lead the line."
"Our captain."
Francesco simply replied,
"Yes, boss."
Wenger folded his arms.
"They'll press aggressively."
"They'll attack quickly through Kane, Son, Alli and Eriksen."
He drew several arrows across the tactical board.
"When possession changes…"
"…be organised immediately."
"We cannot allow transitions."
He looked directly at Kanté.
"You protect the space."
Kanté nodded.
"I understand."
"Virgil."
"Laurent."
"Don't allow Kane to turn."
Both centre-backs answered together.
"We won't."
Finally Wenger looked towards his attacking players.
"When we win the ball…"
"…play."
"Don't force it."
"The opportunities will come."
He paused.
Then smiled faintly.
"Trust yourselves."
That was all.
No dramatic shouting.
No theatrical speeches.
Just quiet confidence.
Francesco stood.
"So?"
Walker looked around.
"Ready?"
The room answered almost together.
"Ready."
The tunnel felt colder than usual.
Players from both teams lined up quietly.
Tottenham captain Hugo Lloris stood opposite Francesco.
The two captains exchanged a respectful handshake.
"Good luck."
"You too."
The referee called both sides forward.
The roar that greeted them as they stepped onto the pitch was deafening.
North London had come alive.
The Premier League anthem echoed around White Hart Lane before gradually fading away.
The coin toss finished.
Arsenal gathered together.
Francesco looked around at his teammates.
"Stay together."
"Every minute."
They broke the huddle.
The referee checked both assistants.
Then glanced at his watch.
One sharp whistle.
The North London Derby was underway.
From the opening minutes, the intensity matched the occasion.
Tottenham immediately tried to impose themselves.
Christian Eriksen drifted cleverly into pockets of space.
Dele Alli constantly looked to arrive late inside the penalty area.
Heung-min Son stretched Arsenal's back line with intelligent runs.
Harry Kane occupied both Van Dijk and Koscielny almost every time possession entered Arsenal's half.
Arsenal remained disciplined.
Kanté rarely allowed Eriksen time on the ball.
Robertson and Walker stayed compact whenever Son threatened down either flank.
Van Dijk organised continuously.
"Push up!"
"Stay together!"
"Watch Kane!"
The communication never stopped.
At the other end, Arsenal looked dangerous whenever Özil managed to find space between Tottenham's midfield and defence.
Francesco dropped deep occasionally before spinning behind the defensive line.
Alexis drifted inside.
Gnabry attacked the spaces left behind.
Tottenham defended stubbornly.
Eric Dier screened the defence intelligently.
Mousa Dembélé used his strength to shield possession.
Ben Davies stayed close to Gnabry.
Kieran Trippier tracked Sanchez's overlapping runs.
Jan Vertonghen and Davinson Sánchez remained alert every time Francesco threatened to break through.
Neither side wanted to make the first mistake.
Twenty minutes passed.
Still 0-0.
Then came the breakthrough.
The move began exactly the way Wenger wanted.
Kanté intercepted a loose pass intended for Alli before immediately finding Xhaka.
Xhaka turned smoothly under pressure.
One touch.
Then another.
He spotted Mesut Özil drifting into space.
The German received the pass effortlessly, his first touch taking him away from Dier.
Francesco instantly recognised the opening.
He darted between Vertonghen and Sánchez.
Özil looked up.
For a split second their eyes met.
That was enough.
Without hesitation, Özil threaded a perfectly weighted through ball straight between Tottenham's centre-backs.
Francesco reached it in full stride.
Lloris rushed from his line.
The angle narrowed rapidly.
The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Francesco stayed composed.
One delicate touch carried the ball around the advancing goalkeeper.
Another.
The goal lay open.
With remarkable calm, he rolled the ball into the empty net.
White Hart Lane fell silent.
Only the away supporters exploded.
"GOOOOOAAAL!"
Francesco spread his arms as he sprinted towards the Arsenal fans.
His teammates caught him almost immediately.
Alexis wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
Özil smiled quietly before embracing him.
Walker arrived seconds later shouting louder than anyone.
"I told you!"
"I told you he'd score!"
The scoreboard changed.
Tottenham Hotspur 0-1 Arsenal.
Twenty-three minutes played.
Francesco pointed towards Özil.
"That pass…"
"…only you see it."
Özil smiled modestly.
"You still had plenty to do."
The goal changed the rhythm but not the intensity.
Tottenham responded exactly as expected.
Kane forced Čech into an outstanding save with a powerful header.
Moments later Son curled an effort towards the far corner only for the Czech goalkeeper to fingertip it wide.
Čech was magnificent.
Calm.
Commanding.
Every save lifted Arsenal's confidence.
At the opposite end, Lloris proved equally important.
Francesco almost doubled the lead after exchanging a quick one-two with Alexis before driving low towards the near post.
Lloris reacted brilliantly.
A strong hand pushed the ball behind for a corner.
Soon after, Gnabry combined beautifully with Francesco before slipping another clever pass into the area.
Again Lloris stood firm.
The French goalkeeper denied Arsenal once more.
Tottenham's defenders were working tirelessly.
Dier blocked one effort.
Davies threw himself in front of another.
Vertonghen stayed close to Francesco whenever he drifted into dangerous positions.
Davinson Sánchez matched him stride for stride.
Yet despite all their hard work, they struggled to contain Arsenal whenever Francesco linked with Özil, Alexis and Gnabry.
The combinations became increasingly fluid.
One-touch football.
Quick movement.
Constant rotation.
Every attack forced Tottenham deeper.
Still, they refused to break.
As halftime approached, both goalkeepers continued producing outstanding saves.
Čech denied Kane again after a dangerous counterattack.
Seconds later Lloris reacted brilliantly to tip Xhaka's curling effort over the crossbar.
It had become an outstanding football match.
Open.
Fast.
Fiercely contested.
The referee finally glanced at his watch.
One long whistle echoed around White Hart Lane.
Halftime.
Tottenham Hotspur 0-1 Arsenal.
The Arsenal players disappeared quickly into the away dressing room.
Most headed straight for water bottles.
Others sat quietly, catching their breath after an exhausting forty-five minutes.
Steam rose from tired bodies.
The atmosphere wasn't relaxed.
They knew the match was far from over.
Francesco took a long drink before removing his gloves.
Across the room, Wenger waited until everyone had settled.
Then he stepped forward.
"I've liked much of what I've seen."
His voice remained calm.
"We've defended with discipline."
"We've controlled important moments."
He looked towards the back four.
"Excellent communication."
Van Dijk nodded.
Wenger continued.
"But…"
"We're only one goal ahead."
The room fell silent.
He pointed towards the tactical board.
"Tottenham will take more risks now."
"They have to."
"That creates opportunities."
His marker circled the spaces behind Tottenham's full-backs.
"When we recover possession…"
"…play forward quickly."
He turned towards Özil.
"Mesut."
"Keep finding those pockets."
The German nodded.
Then Wenger looked at Francesco.
"You've occupied their centre-backs brilliantly."
"But don't become isolated."
He pointed towards Alexis and Gnabry.
"Get closer to him."
"Support him immediately."
All three attackers acknowledged the instruction.
Finally Wenger looked around the entire room.
"I don't want us protecting a one-goal lead for forty-five minutes."
"I want another goal."
His words carried quiet conviction.
"Score the second."
"Control the match."
The players exchanged determined looks.
Nobody needed reminding how dangerous Tottenham could become if they were allowed back into the contest.
Francesco stood and clapped his hands once.
"Forty-five more minutes."
"Let's finish the job."
Around the dressing room, heads nodded in agreement.
Then the dressing room slowly emptied as the players rose from their seats.
There was no shouting.
No dramatic speeches.
Everything that needed to be said had already been said.
Now it was simply a matter of execution.
Francesco pulled his gloves back on before adjusting the captain's armband around his left arm. Around him, teammates finished the last of their water bottles, stretched tired legs, and exchanged quiet words of encouragement.
Alexis slapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"One more."
Francesco smiled.
"Let's go and get it."
Özil stood beside them, calm as ever.
"If we score next…"
"…the spaces will become even bigger."
Francesco nodded.
"They'll have to chase."
Walker clapped loudly.
"Right then."
"No gifts."
Robertson grinned.
"And try not to start another debate before kickoff."
"I make no promises."
That earned another round of quiet laughter before the referee's assistant appeared in the doorway.
"Two minutes."
Immediately, every conversation stopped.
The Arsenal players formed a line behind Francesco.
The captain looked around one final time.
"Together."
The response came instantly.
"Together."
The roar returned the moment both teams emerged from the tunnel.
White Hart Lane somehow felt even louder than it had before halftime.
Tottenham knew they had forty-five minutes to rescue something from the derby.
Their supporters made sure the players felt it.
As the referee checked with both assistants, Mauricio Pochettino stood with folded arms near the technical area, urging his players forward with animated gestures.
Across the pitch, Arsène Wenger remained composed.
Hands tucked inside his long coat.
Watching.
Waiting.
The whistle sounded.
The second half began.
Tottenham came out with far greater urgency.
Harry Kane immediately pressed Van Dijk high up the pitch.
Eriksen drifted wider, looking to pull Kanté away from the centre.
Son attacked Robertson repeatedly down the left flank, forcing the Scottish full-back into several difficult defensive situations.
Every loose ball was contested fiercely.
Every challenge carried extra intensity.
Arsenal refused to panic.
Xhaka slowed the tempo whenever possible, switching play from one side to the other.
Özil continued drifting into spaces behind Tottenham's midfield, always offering an outlet.
Francesco worked tirelessly at the front, constantly dragging Vertonghen and Davinson Sánchez out of position.
The match had opened up.
End-to-end football.
Exactly the kind of spectacle both sets of supporters expected from a North London Derby.
In the fifty-second minute, Tottenham came within inches of an equaliser.
Eriksen slipped a clever pass between Arsenal's centre-backs.
Kane met it first time.
Čech reacted instinctively.
The Czech goalkeeper threw himself low to his right, pushing the shot around the post with an outstanding one-handed save.
The home crowd groaned in frustration.
Van Dijk immediately walked over and slapped his goalkeeper on the back.
"Unbelievable save."
Čech simply nodded.
"Stay switched on."
Arsenal answered almost immediately.
Francesco drifted into midfield before exchanging quick passes with Özil and Alexis.
One touch.
Two touches.
Three.
Suddenly Francesco found himself just outside the penalty area.
He curled an effort towards the top corner.
Lloris flew across his goal brilliantly.
Another magnificent save.
Both goalkeepers were producing performances worthy of the occasion.
Neither side looked willing to give an inch.
Then, in the fifty-seventh minute, the match threatened to boil over.
Özil collected possession near the halfway line, turning elegantly away from Dele Alli with one effortless touch.
He had barely taken a second stride before Mousa Dembélé lunged in.
The tackle came late.
Studs showing.
His momentum carried straight through Özil's standing leg.
The German cried out as he crashed onto the turf.
The entire stadium gasped.
The referee's whistle pierced the air immediately.
Before anyone else could react, Xhaka exploded.
"What are you doing?"
He sprinted straight towards Dembélé and shoved the Tottenham midfielder hard in the chest.
Walker arrived a split second later.
"That was ridiculous!"
He also pushed Dembélé backwards.
Dembélé raised both hands innocently.
"What?"
"I won the ball."
"You call that winning the ball?" Xhaka shouted.
Within seconds, white shirts and red shirts surrounded the incident.
Dele Alli rushed across.
"Calm down!"
Alexis immediately stepped between teammates and opponents.
Robertson pulled Walker backwards.
"Leave it!"
Walker tried stepping forward again.
"He could've broken his leg!"
The noise inside White Hart Lane became deafening.
Supporters from both sides roared, each convinced the other team was in the wrong.
For a brief moment, it looked as though the situation might spiral completely out of control.
That was when both captains arrived.
Francesco reached Xhaka first.
He placed both hands firmly against his midfielder's shoulders.
"Granit."
"Enough."
Xhaka was still furious.
"Did you see that tackle?"
"I did."
"The referee saw it too."
Francesco kept his voice calm.
"We don't need anyone sent off."
Across the confrontation, Hugo Lloris grabbed Dembélé by the arm.
"Back away."
"Now."
Dembélé looked ready to argue further.
Lloris didn't give him the opportunity.
"I said enough."
Slowly, both captains guided their teammates away from the centre of the confrontation.
The referee called over the four players most heavily involved.
His decision came quickly.
Yellow card.
Dembélé.
Yellow card.
Xhaka.
Yellow card.
Walker.
Finally, after continuing to argue with opponents, Dele Alli also received a yellow card.
The bookings were greeted by loud reactions from every corner of the stadium.
Some supporters applauded.
Others booed furiously.
Francesco helped Özil back to his feet.
"You alright?"
Özil flexed his ankle carefully before nodding.
"It hurts."
"But I'm fine."
"You sure?"
A small smile appeared.
"It'll take more than that."
Francesco smiled back.
"I thought you'd say that."
The match restarted.
The atmosphere had changed.
Every tackle now drew louder reactions.
Every decision was questioned.
It had become a proper derby.
Despite the emotion, Arsenal remained disciplined.
Kanté continued covering enormous amounts of ground.
Walker recovered quickly from his earlier frustration, producing two excellent tackles on Son.
Robertson began finding more space down the left as Tottenham committed greater numbers forward.
The opportunities Wenger had predicted were beginning to appear.
Tottenham pushed higher.
Arsenal waited patiently.
Then, in the seventy-third minute, everything clicked.
The move began with Robertson intercepting a pass intended for Trippier.
Instead of clearing long, the left-back drove confidently into open space.
Alexis immediately recognised the opportunity and drifted inside.
Francesco dropped deep, taking Vertonghen with him.
That single movement opened a huge channel behind Tottenham's defence.
Robertson spotted it instantly.
He delivered a perfectly weighted low cross into the penalty area.
Alexis arrived at exactly the right moment.
Without breaking stride, the Chilean struck first time.
The ball flew beyond Lloris and nestled inside the far corner.
Goal.
The away end erupted.
Alexis sprinted towards the travelling supporters, punching the air repeatedly.
Francesco reached him first.
"What a finish!"
Alexis laughed.
"What a pass!"
He immediately pointed towards Robertson, who was being mobbed by teammates after producing the assist.
The scoreboard changed once again.
Tottenham Hotspur 0–2 Arsenal.
Seventy-three minutes played.
High above the pitch, Wenger allowed himself a small smile.
That was exactly the second goal he had asked for.
Now Arsenal were firmly in control.
Four minutes later, Wenger looked towards his bench.
He turned to his assistants before making his decision.
"Three changes."
The fourth official raised the electronic board.
77 minutes.
Number 9.
Francesco.
Number 11.
Alexis Sánchez.
Number 10.
Mesut Özil.
All three names appeared in red.
Coming on were:
Olivier Giroud.
Aaron Ramsey.
Alex Iwobi.
The Emirates faithful in the away section applauded loudly as Francesco walked towards the touchline.
Before leaving the pitch, he shook Giroud's hand firmly.
"Finish it."
The French striker smiled.
"We will."
Alexis embraced Iwobi briefly.
"Enjoy it."
"You know I will."
Özil exchanged a quick handshake with Ramsey before making his way towards Wenger.
The Arsenal manager greeted each player personally.
"Excellent work."
Francesco nodded.
"We've got this."
"I know."
Across the pitch, Mauricio Pochettino responded with changes of his own.
He withdrew Heung-min Son and Dele Alli.
Coming on were Erik Lamela and Victor Wanyama, hoping fresh legs could somehow change the direction of the match.
The substitutions briefly slowed the tempo.
Then the game resumed.
From the bench, Francesco wrapped himself in a thick training jacket before sitting beside the other substitutes.
Watching a match after being substituted always felt strangely different.
Every pass suddenly seemed slower.
Every chance made his heart race.
Beside him, Özil smiled quietly.
"I think the boss will be happy."
Francesco watched Giroud immediately begin battling with Tottenham's defenders.
"He should be."
Alexis accepted a bottle of water from one of the medical staff before sitting down.
"They're tiring now."
"They are."
On the pitch, Arsenal managed the final stages professionally.
Ramsey injected fresh energy into midfield.
Iwobi carried the ball confidently whenever space appeared.
Giroud gave Arsenal a reliable outlet, holding up possession and allowing teammates to push further upfield.
Tottenham never stopped trying.
Kane continued battling against Van Dijk and Koscielny.
Lamela attempted to create openings between the lines.
Eriksen searched tirelessly for one decisive pass.
But Arsenal's defensive organisation never wavered.
Robertson and Walker stayed compact.
Kanté seemed to appear everywhere.
Čech remained commanding whenever crosses entered his penalty area.
Minute after minute slipped away.
The home supporters gradually grew quieter.
The away end only became louder.
Ninety minutes approached.
The fourth official indicated four minutes of added time.
Walker glanced towards the clock before shouting,
"Stay focused!"
Van Dijk answered immediately.
"No mistakes!"
Tottenham launched one final attack.
Eriksen delivered a dangerous free-kick into the box.
Čech rose confidently above everyone, catching the ball cleanly.
He held it for a few seconds before rolling it calmly to Ramsey.
Arsenal slowed everything down again.
Professional.
Patient.
Composed.
The final seconds ticked away.
Then came the whistle.
Long.
Clear.
Decisive.
Full-time.
Tottenham Hotspur 0–2 Arsenal.
For a brief moment, Francesco simply stood from the bench and applauded.
Another North London Derby.
Another victory.
His teammates embraced one another on the pitch.
Walker celebrated loudly with Robertson.
Kanté smiled his familiar, humble smile as Xhaka wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
Giroud congratulated Čech for another outstanding clean sheet.
Francesco walked onto the pitch to shake hands with several Tottenham players.
Harry Kane offered a tired smile.
"Well played."
"You too."
Lloris shook Francesco's hand warmly.
"You deserved it today."
"Thank you."
As the Arsenal players made their way towards the away supporters, thousands of travelling fans rose to their feet.
Scarves waved proudly above their heads.
Songs echoed around White Hart Lane.
Francesco stood at the front of the group with the captain's armband still around his arm.
He applauded the supporters for several long moments before raising both hands in appreciation.
They answered by singing even louder.
Behind him, Wenger watched quietly.
His players had delivered exactly what he had asked for.
A disciplined defensive performance.
Clinical finishing.
A second goal to kill the match.
Most importantly, three priceless points away from home against their fiercest rivals.
As the Arsenal squad finally disappeared down the tunnel together, there was a shared feeling running through every member of the travelling party.
This hadn't simply been another league victory.
It had been a statement.
Arsenal had walked into White Hart Lane, handled every challenge Tottenham threw at them, kept their composure during the match's most heated moments, and walked away with a deserved 2–0 victory.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 37
Goal: 44
Assist: 3
MOTM: 5
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