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And beneath the Wembley arch, surrounded by his teammates, coaching staff and thousands upon thousands of jubilant supporters, Francesco lifted the Carabao Cup into the afternoon sky as Arsenal were officially crowned the 2017–18 Carabao Cup champions.
The roar inside Wembley refused to disappear even after the trophy had been lifted.
If anything, it became even louder.
The confetti still drifted lazily through the air, settling across the stage, the grass and the shoulders of players who had already forgotten about trying to stay composed.
Everywhere you looked there were smiles.
Photographers moved frantically around the presentation platform, shouting for players to look in different directions.
"Over here!"
"Captain!"
"One more with the trophy!"
Francesco barely knew where to look.
The Carabao Cup was still in his hands, although by now almost everyone wanted a turn holding it.
Walker appeared beside him first.
"My turn."
Francesco laughed.
"You've been waiting thirty seconds."
"I've actually been waiting ninety-five minutes."
"Fair point."
He carefully handed the silver trophy across.
Walker immediately lifted it over his head with exaggerated effort.
"Oh…"
He pretended to stagger backwards.
"Someone tell the gym staff this thing weighs more than a defender."
Ramsey burst into laughter.
"You've carried heavier shopping bags."
"I've never carried history."
That earned another round of laughter from everyone nearby.
The trophy quickly began making its way around the group.
Holding lifted it.
Mustafi posed for photographs.
Giroud kissed one of the ribbons before raising it toward the supporters.
Kanté held it almost shyly, smiling quietly while Alexis insisted on standing beside him for every picture.
"C'mon, N'Golo."
"Smile."
"I am smiling."
Alexis looked closely.
"Bigger."
Kanté's smile widened by perhaps half a centimetre.
Alexis threw both hands into the air.
"There!"
"Now everyone knows you're happy."
The photographers laughed.
So did Kanté.
It was one of those rare moments where football simply became joy.
No pressure.
No tactics.
No expectations.
Just celebration.
As the official photographs continued, Wembley staff gradually opened one of the access gates beside the stage.
Stewards began guiding dozens of family members onto the pitch.
Children ran first.
Some sprinted towards their fathers without hesitation.
Others slowed down halfway across the grass, suddenly overwhelmed by the size of the stadium.
Partners followed behind them, many carrying phones already recording every second.
Parents.
Brothers.
Sisters.
Grandparents.
People who had supported these players long before packed stadiums and television cameras became part of everyday life.
The atmosphere somehow became even warmer.
Ramsey's young family reached him first.
He immediately crouched to scoop one of the children into his arms before balancing his winner's medal around the little one's neck.
"It's yours for five minutes."
The child looked down at the oversized medal before laughing.
Holding's parents embraced him tightly near the touchline.
Giroud's family surrounded him almost instantly, while Cazorla's wife smiled proudly as photographers captured another emotional reunion.
Even Wenger's family made their way quietly across the pitch.
The Arsenal manager accepted warm embraces before immediately introducing them to members of his coaching staff.
For once, the football itself no longer mattered.
The afternoon belonged to everyone who had helped make it possible.
Francesco remained standing near the presentation stage, chatting with Walker and Robertson as families continued arriving through the tunnel.
Walker nudged him.
"You keep looking over there."
Francesco smiled.
"I'm waiting."
"For Leah?"
"And my parents."
"They'll be here."
Almost as if on cue, he spotted three familiar faces emerging from the tunnel.
His expression changed instantly.
Leah.
Behind her walked Mike and Sarah.
Even from the other side of the pitch, Francesco recognised them immediately.
Leah wore a broad smile that somehow seemed even brighter than the Wembley sunshine.
She had exchanged the Arsenal training top she'd worn that morning for one of his match shirts, slightly oversized on her frame.
Around her neck hung an Arsenal scarf.
Mike wore a club jacket zipped almost all the way up despite the excitement.
Sarah had tears in her eyes before she had even reached the halfway line.
For a moment, Francesco simply stood there.
The noise around him faded into the background.
Walker followed his gaze.
"There they are."
Francesco nodded quietly.
"There they are."
Without another word, he started walking towards them.
Leah saw him first.
"There he is!"
Sarah looked up.
The second she saw her son walking across the grass wearing a winner's medal and still carrying traces of gold confetti in his hair, the tears she had been trying to hold back finally escaped.
Mike smiled wider than Francesco had ever seen.
"There he is…"
They met just a few yards outside the centre circle.
Before Francesco could say anything, Sarah wrapped both arms around him.
"Oh…"
She held him tightly.
"I'm so proud of you."
Francesco hugged her back just as firmly.
"Thanks, Mum."
"You were unbelievable."
"I wasn't alone."
"I know."
"But I'm still proud."
Mike stepped forward next.
Father and son embraced without saying anything for several seconds.
Mike patted him twice on the back before stepping away just enough to look at him properly.
"You've grown up."
Francesco laughed.
"I hope so."
"No."
Mike shook his head with a smile.
"I don't mean physically."
He glanced briefly towards the captain's armband still visible beneath the sleeve of the commemorative shirt.
"I mean that."
Francesco followed his father's eyes.
"The armband?"
"The responsibility."
Mike smiled proudly.
"You handled it."
Francesco looked down at the medal around his neck.
"I just tried to help."
Mike rested a hand on his shoulder.
"That's what leaders say."
Sarah gently brushed a few pieces of confetti out of Francesco's hair.
"You've still got gold everywhere."
"I think it's impossible to avoid."
"I hope you never wash it out."
He laughed.
"I think the kit staff might disagree."
The three stood together for another quiet moment, taking everything in.
The singing.
The celebrations.
The thousands of Arsenal supporters who still refused to leave.
Sarah looked around Wembley.
"I've watched you play since you were a little boy."
She smiled through fresh tears.
"I never imagined…"
She couldn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Francesco simply hugged her again.
A couple of steps away, Leah had waited patiently, allowing Francesco a few private moments with his parents.
She watched the reunion with a smile that mixed happiness with pride.
When Sarah finally stepped back, she looked towards Leah.
"Go on."
Leah laughed softly.
"I didn't want to interrupt."
"You never could."
Francesco turned towards her.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
There wasn't much to say.
She had been there through the difficult weeks.
The injuries.
The pressure.
The criticism whenever football inevitably became difficult.
She had celebrated the victories.
She had helped him through the disappointments.
This afternoon belonged to both of them in different ways.
"You won another one," Leah said quietly.
"We did."
She stepped closer.
"I know."
Then she reached up and straightened his winner's medal where it rested against his chest.
"You look good with gold."
Francesco smiled.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
He laughed.
"I've been hearing that a lot today."
"Well…"
She tilted her head slightly.
"They're right."
Without another word, Leah gently placed a hand against his cheek before kissing him softly.
The kiss lasted only a few seconds.
Long enough to make the world around them disappear.
When they separated, applause suddenly broke out nearby.
Walker.
Robertson.
Alexis.
Ramsey.
Apparently several teammates had noticed.
Walker clapped dramatically.
"There it is!"
"The real celebration!"
Leah immediately covered her face, laughing.
"Oh no…"
Francesco shook his head.
"Ignore them."
Walker refused.
"I've been waiting all afternoon."
Robertson folded his arms.
"You've actually been waiting all season."
Alexis grinned.
"He finally scored the winning goal."
Walker nodded.
"And then immediately upgraded the celebration."
Leah laughed harder.
"You lot are impossible."
Walker pointed proudly towards himself.
"That's what makes us charming."
"No," Robertson replied.
"That's what makes you annoying."
Even Mike couldn't stop himself laughing.
Sarah looked towards Leah before pulling her into a warm hug.
"Congratulations."
Leah smiled.
"Thank you."
"I know how much you've supported him."
Leah glanced towards Francesco.
"We support each other."
Sarah nodded warmly.
"That's exactly how it should be."
A nearby photographer spotted the group.
"Francesco!"
"Can we get one with the family?"
"Of course."
The four of them stood together.
Mike and Sarah either side of their son.
Leah beside him.
Francesco still wearing the captain's armband beneath the commemorative shirt, his winner's medal resting against his chest.
"Perfect."
"Now one with the trophy."
Walker immediately appeared carrying the Carabao Cup.
"I've brought the important family member."
Everyone laughed.
"Thanks, Kyle."
"I know."
"I'm very thoughtful."
He carefully handed the trophy over before stepping out of frame.
The silver cup sat between Francesco and Leah as the photographer captured another series of pictures.
"Brilliant."
"One more."
"Smile."
Click.
Click.
Click.
Moments that would eventually hang on walls.
Appear in newspapers.
Be framed inside family homes.
Memories that would last forever.
As the photographer thanked them and moved away, Mike looked around the stadium once more.
"I still can't believe this."
Francesco followed his gaze.
"It's special."
Mike smiled.
"I remember taking you to local pitches."
"You'd refuse to leave."
Sarah laughed.
"He'd make us stay until the floodlights went off."
Leah looked at Francesco.
"I'm not surprised."
Mike continued.
"You used to tell us…"
He smiled at the memory.
"…'One day I'll play at Wembley.'"
Sarah shook her head gently.
"You didn't just play here."
She looked at the medal.
"You captained Arsenal."
"And scored the winner."
Francesco rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed by the attention.
"It still doesn't feel real."
Leah slipped her hand into his.
"It will."
"When?"
She smiled.
"Probably tomorrow."
Walker shouted from across the pitch.
"Captain!"
"We're doing one last team photo!"
Francesco looked over.
"Coming!"
He turned back to his family.
"I've got to go."
Mike nodded.
"We'll be right here."
Sarah hugged him one more time.
"We love you."
"I love you too."
Leah squeezed his hand gently before letting go.
"Go."
"They're waiting for their captain."
Francesco smiled at the word.
Captain.
Even if only for the final twenty minutes, it was something nobody could ever take away.
He jogged back towards his teammates, glancing over his shoulder once.
Leah was standing between Mike and Sarah now, all three waving as he disappeared back into the crowd of white commemorative shirts gathering around the Carabao Cup.
Behind them, nearly forty thousand Arsenal supporters were still singing.
Above them, Wembley remained bathed in red and white.
Francesco jogged back toward the gathering of white shirts, weaving between photographers, television crews and children chasing pieces of golden confetti across the grass.
His teammates were already assembling near the presentation stage for one final official photograph.
The Carabao Cup rested proudly at the centre of the group, its silver surface reflecting the floodlights that had begun to glow as the winter afternoon slowly faded into evening.
"Captain!"
Walker waved him over again.
"We're waiting for the handsome one."
Robertson looked at Walker.
"Then why are you calling yourself?"
Laughter immediately spread through the group.
Walker placed a dramatic hand over his chest.
"You know…"
"I've been bullied all day."
Alexis shook his head.
"No."
"We've simply been honest."
Even Wenger smiled quietly from a few yards away.
The official club photographer raised his camera.
"Everyone together."
"Coaches as well."
Steve Bould stepped in beside Wenger.
Tony Colbert and Vic Akers joined the back row.
The medical staff squeezed in wherever they could find space.
Francesco stood in the middle, the Carabao Cup resting comfortably against his hip.
"Look here."
Click.
"One more."
Click.
"And one with the trophy raised."
Francesco looked around.
"Everyone ready?"
Walker grinned.
"Always."
Together they lifted the trophy once more.
Another explosion of cheers rolled down from the Arsenal end.
The supporters simply refused to stop celebrating.
It felt less like a football crowd now and more like one enormous family enjoying the happiest afternoon imaginable.
When the photographer finally lowered his camera, he smiled with satisfaction.
"Perfect."
"Those will be remembered for a very long time."
The formal photographs gradually came to an end, but nobody seemed eager to disappear down the tunnel.
The stadium announcer had long since finished his duties.
The television interviews were over.
Most of the Manchester City supporters had already applauded their players before making their way home.
The Arsenal end, however, remained almost completely full.
Thousands upon thousands of supporters were still singing.
Some had been standing for nearly three hours.
Nobody complained.
Nobody looked tired.
They wanted one last chance to celebrate with the team.
Francesco looked towards Wenger.
The manager was quietly speaking with Steve Bould while watching the supporters.
Then he turned towards the players.
"I don't think they're leaving."
Walker looked at the packed stands.
"I don't think we are either."
Ramsey suddenly snapped his fingers.
"We should thank them."
Several players nodded immediately.
Giroud smiled.
"They've stayed all afternoon."
"They deserved this as much as we do," Holding added.
Alexis pointed towards the trophy.
"So let's take it to them."
Francesco looked around the group.
"What do you think?"
The answer arrived instantly.
"Let's do it."
"Absolutely."
"Come on."
Walker pointed dramatically towards the captain.
"You're leading."
Francesco laughed.
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
"You've got the armband."
"And the trophy."
"You can't escape."
He looked towards Wenger.
The Frenchman simply smiled.
"Go."
"They've supported you all season."
"Share this moment with them."
That was all the encouragement the players needed.
Francesco bent down and picked up the Carabao Cup once more.
Despite already lifting it countless times over the previous twenty minutes, it somehow felt different now.
This wasn't for cameras.
It wasn't for television.
It wasn't for history books.
This was for the people who had travelled across England.
The people who had filled Wembley with songs from the first whistle until long after the last.
The people who had believed.
He looked over his shoulder.
"Ready?"
A chorus answered him.
"Come on!"
"Let's go!"
With Francesco leading the way, Arsenal's players began walking slowly around the perimeter of the pitch.
The trophy rested high above his shoulder.
Behind him came Cazorla, Ramsey, Giroud, Holding, Mustafi, Bellerín, Monreal, Raya, Kanté, Alexis, Walker and every other member of the squad.
The coaching staff followed a few yards behind.
The moment the Arsenal supporters realised what was happening, another deafening roar erupted around Wembley.
"They're coming over!"
Thousands of scarves rose into the air again.
Children leaned dangerously far over barriers before parents gently pulled them back.
Phones appeared everywhere.
The players walked slowly, making sure every section of the Arsenal support felt included.
Francesco lifted the trophy high above his head.
The silver reflected the stadium lights.
The supporters answered with an enormous chant.
"Arsenal!"
"Arsenal!"
"Arsenal!"
The rhythm echoed beneath the famous arch.
Francesco smiled from ear to ear.
Then he began applauding the supporters.
Not a polite clap.
A genuine, heartfelt one.
Every Arsenal player joined him.
For almost an entire minute, the footballers simply applauded the fans.
The supporters responded by singing even louder.
One chant gradually rose above all the others.
"We love you Arsenal, we do…"
Thousands of voices became one.
The players looked at one another.
Several quietly sang along.
Alexis placed a hand over his heart.
Ramsey pointed towards the supporters before applauding again.
Giroud blew kisses towards the crowd.
Holding threw his shirt into the front rows, earning another explosion of cheers.
Walker looked around dramatically.
"I think they're happy."
Robertson shook his head.
"What gave it away?"
"The forty thousand people singing."
"Sharp observation."
Walker bowed theatrically.
"Thank you."
When they reached the goal in front of the Arsenal supporters, Francesco stopped.
He turned to face the stand completely.
The rest of the squad naturally formed a line beside him.
For a few seconds, nobody moved.
The supporters continued singing.
Francesco slowly raised the Carabao Cup towards them.
The reaction was immediate.
The noise somehow became even louder.
Many supporters mirrored the gesture, lifting their scarves towards the players.
Others simply stood applauding.
Some older supporters wiped tears from their eyes.
A father sitting near the front row lifted his young daughter onto his shoulders.
She couldn't have been older than six.
She held a small Arsenal flag with both hands and waved it as enthusiastically as she possibly could.
Francesco noticed her.
He smiled before pointing the trophy gently in her direction.
The little girl gasped before waving even harder.
Her father laughed.
It was a tiny interaction.
One that neither of them would probably ever forget.
Nearby, Cazorla leaned towards Ramsey.
"This…"
He looked around the sea of smiling faces.
"…this is why we play."
Ramsey nodded quietly.
"Not just for medals."
"For moments like this."
Kanté stood silently taking everything in.
Alexis looked across at him.
"You happy now?"
Kanté smiled.
"Very."
"There."
Alexis laughed.
"That's a proper smile."
The players continued around the remaining sides of the stadium, refusing to rush.
Every section received the same appreciation.
Every supporter was applauded.
Whenever Francesco lifted the trophy, another wave of cheers followed.
Even Wembley staff paused from clearing the confetti just to watch.
It felt wonderfully natural.
Club.
Players.
Supporters.
Everyone sharing one final celebration before the day finally came to an end.
Eventually, the squad drifted back towards the centre circle.
Most believed the celebrations were beginning to wind down.
They were wrong.
Walker suddenly looked towards Wenger.
His eyes lit up.
"Oh…"
Robertson immediately recognised that expression.
"No."
Walker ignored him.
"I've had an idea."
"That's exactly why I'm worried."
Walker looked around at Ramsey, Alexis, Holding and Bellerín.
"You know what we haven't done?"
Ramsey raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
Walker pointed discreetly towards Wenger, who was chatting peacefully with Steve Bould and Boro Primorac, completely unaware of the conversation taking place behind him.
"We haven't celebrated the boss."
Alexis grinned immediately.
"Oh…"
"I like this."
Holding laughed.
"He'll never expect it."
Bellerín rubbed his hands together.
"We're actually doing this?"
Walker looked towards Francesco.
"Captain."
"We need your approval."
Francesco followed Walker's gaze towards Wenger.
The manager was still speaking with members of the coaching staff, smiling modestly whenever anyone congratulated him.
He had spent the entire afternoon making sure everyone else received attention.
Typical Wenger.
Francesco smiled.
"I think…"
"…he deserves it."
Walker punched the air.
"Right then."
"Operation Boss."
Robertson sighed dramatically.
"Why does everything you organise sound like a military mission?"
"Because it's more exciting."
The small group quietly spread out.
Walker approached from Wenger's left.
Ramsey from the right.
Holding and Mustafi drifted behind him.
Alexis tried and failed to hide his grin.
Francesco walked directly towards the manager.
Wenger looked up.
"Yes?"
Francesco smiled innocently.
"We just wanted to say thank you."
The Frenchman looked slightly confused.
"You already have."
"I know."
"But…"
Before Wenger could ask another question, Walker shouted,
"Now!"
Everyone moved at once.
Steve Bould burst into laughter the instant he realised what was happening.
"Oh no…"
Wenger tried taking one step backwards.
"Gentlemen…"
"I don't think—"
Too late.
Walker and Holding carefully lifted one side.
Ramsey and Mustafi took the other.
Francesco supported from the middle while Alexis made sure the manager remained balanced.
Wenger's eyes widened.
"What are you doing?"
"Celebrating!" Walker answered.
"You've completely lost your minds."
"Probably!"
Around them, the Arsenal supporters immediately realised something unusual was happening.
Curious cheers spread across the stadium.
Then…
"One!"
The players launched Wenger gently into the air.
The Frenchman instinctively folded his arms before laughing despite himself.
He landed safely back in their hands.
Walker looked around.
"Again!"
"Two!"
Higher this time.
Wenger couldn't stop smiling now.
"You are all impossible!"
Steve Bould wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
"I've been waiting years to see this."
The players caught Wenger once more.
Walker wasn't finished.
"One last time!"
Everyone counted together.
"Three!"
For the third and final time, Arsène Wenger rose above his players beneath the Wembley arch.
This time the Arsenal supporters understood exactly what was happening.
An enormous roar echoed around the stadium.
Thousands applauded their manager.
Many began singing his name.
"Arsène Wenger!"
"Arsène Wenger!"
When the players gently set him back on the grass, Wenger took a moment to straighten his commemorative shirt.
He looked around at the smiling faces surrounding him.
Walker tried to keep a straight face.
"Everything alright, boss?"
Wenger looked directly at him.
"I shall remember this."
Walker grinned.
"Hopefully in a positive way."
The Frenchman paused deliberately.
"I haven't decided yet."
Everyone laughed.
Then Wenger looked around at every member of the squad.
At Francesco still wearing the captain's armband.
At Cazorla smiling proudly.
At the young players celebrating beside experienced veterans.
At the supporters still singing despite the match having ended nearly an hour earlier.
His smile became softer.
"Gentlemen…"
He spoke quietly, but every player heard him.
"Thank you."
There was no long speech.
There didn't need to be.
The players understood exactly what he meant.
Together, they had won another trophy.
Together, they had given their supporters another unforgettable Wembley afternoon.
And as the celebrations slowly continued beneath the famous white arch, manager and players stood side by side, applauding the Arsenal faithful one final time before leaving the pitch as Carabao Cup champions.
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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: 42
Goal: 49
Assist: 6
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