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...
They had come to Russia dreaming of this moment and now it was real, as England were world champions.
Then, as the celebrations continued across the pitch, the chaos slowly became something more personal.
The first wave of pure adrenaline was beginning to settle.
Players were still shouting.
The supporters were still singing.
Flags continued to move through the stands.
But now, families and loved ones were being allowed onto the field.
One by one, familiar faces began appearing among the England shirts.
Wives.
Girlfriends.
Parents.
Children.
Brothers and sisters.
People who had spent weeks watching from the stands, waiting for this exact moment.
FIFA staff were already working nearby, assembling the presentation podium for the trophy ceremony.
But nobody on the pitch seemed particularly interested in the podium yet.
The World Cup could wait another few minutes.
For now, the players wanted their families.
Francesco stood near the edge of the celebration, still holding his captain's armband in place.
His shirt was soaked.
His hair was damp with sweat.
There was grass on his socks.
His legs felt like they might give way at any moment.
But he couldn't stop smiling.
He looked across the pitch.
And then he saw them.
His parents.
Mike and Sarah.
They were walking through the crowd together.
And beside them were Leah, her parents David and Amanda, and her brother Jacob.
For a second, Francesco simply stared.
The noise around him seemed to fade.
His expression softened immediately.
He had spent the last two hours fighting for every ball, shouting at his teammates, celebrating goals and trying to keep himself focused.
But seeing his family changed everything.
He started walking toward them.
Sarah reached him first.
She didn't say anything at first.
She simply wrapped both arms around her son.
Francesco closed his eyes.
His mother held him tightly.
Then she pulled back just enough to look at his face.
"I'm so proud of you."
Her voice trembled.
Francesco smiled.
"Thanks, Mum."
Sarah shook her head.
"No. You don't understand."
She touched his face.
"I'm so proud of you."
Francesco laughed softly.
"I think I understand."
She hugged him again.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.
They didn't need to.
Mike stepped forward.
He looked at his son.
For a moment, he seemed completely overwhelmed.
Then he embraced Francesco tightly.
Francesco wrapped his arms around his father.
Mike's eyes were wet.
He tried to hide it.
He failed.
England had just won the World Cup.
After fifty-two years.
And his son had captained them.
Had scored three goals in the final.
Had stood at the centre of the biggest moment English football had experienced in generations.
Mike pulled away slightly.
He wiped his eyes.
"I can't believe it."
Francesco smiled.
"We did it."
Mike looked at him.
"Yeah."
He laughed through the tears.
"You actually did it."
Francesco hugged him again.
Mike's eyes dropped briefly toward the captain's armband.
He stared at it.
Then he smiled.
There was an enormous amount of pride in that smile.
He placed a hand on Francesco's shoulder.
"Captain."
Francesco laughed.
"Don't start."
Mike laughed too.
Sarah came back beside them.
She put an arm around Francesco.
"We believed in you from the beginning."
Francesco looked between his parents.
"I know."
"You'd better."
"I know."
Sarah kissed his cheek.
"We always did."
Francesco nodded.
For a moment, he simply stood between them.
The noise of the stadium continued around them.
But it felt strangely peaceful.
Then David and Amanda approached.
David smiled broadly as he reached Francesco.
"Congratulations."
Francesco shook his hand.
"Thank you."
Amanda immediately hugged him.
"You were incredible."
Francesco laughed.
"I don't even know what happened."
Amanda smiled.
"Three goals happened."
That made him laugh again.
Jacob stepped forward.
He looked at Francesco for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief.
"Three."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Three goals."
Jacob pointed toward him.
"In the World Cup final."
Francesco laughed.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"I think so."
Jacob shook his head.
"You're ridiculous."
They embraced.
Francesco laughed against his shoulder.
"Thanks."
"Seriously, though."
Jacob stepped back.
"That was unbelievable."
Francesco looked around the stadium.
"It really was."
Then he saw Leah.
Everything else seemed to disappear again.
She stood a few steps away.
Their eyes met.
Neither moved immediately.
They had been through the entire tournament together in different ways.
The travel.
The pressure.
The expectations.
The difficult matches.
The celebrations.
The exhaustion.
And now this.
Francesco walked toward her.
Leah smiled.
He smiled back.
Then they embraced.
Tightly.
Francesco held her close.
For a while, neither spoke.
He simply rested his face against her shoulder.
Leah whispered into his ear.
"I'm so proud of you."
Francesco closed his eyes.
"Thank you for being here."
"Of course I'm here."
He pulled back slightly.
Leah looked at him.
"You were incredible."
Francesco laughed.
"I was exhausted."
"So was everyone else."
She smiled.
"But you."
He shook his head.
"Three goals."
Leah laughed.
"Three goals."
They looked at each other again.
Then they shared a tender kiss.
It wasn't dramatic.
It didn't need to be.
It was simply two people sharing a quiet moment in the middle of one of the loudest celebrations in the world.
When they separated, both were smiling.
Francesco touched her hand briefly.
Then the noise of the celebration pulled them back into everything else.
Around them, similar reunions were happening everywhere.
Kane was surrounded by his loved ones.
Henderson was hugging his family.
Rooney stood surrounded by relatives.
Sterling was celebrating with those closest to him.
Across the pitch, England players were laughing, crying and embracing.
Nobody seemed capable of fully processing what had happened.
Every few seconds someone would look at the scoreboard.
England 4–2 Croatia.
Then they would look at each other.
And laugh.
As if seeing the score again somehow made it more real.
Some players took photographs.
Others posed with family members.
Some simply stood together with their arms around one another.
The trophy ceremony was coming.
Everyone knew it.
But nobody seemed particularly eager to leave these moments behind.
Francesco eventually noticed someone approaching him.
It was the referee.
The official was carrying the match ball.
Francesco looked at it.
Then looked at the referee.
The referee smiled.
He held it out.
"For your hat-trick."
Francesco's expression changed.
He accepted the ball with both hands.
"Thank you."
He looked down at it.
The same ball that had been kicked around Luzhniki for ninety minutes.
The ball that had carried three of his goals into the Croatian net.
The ball that had now become part of one of the greatest performances of his young career.
Kane spotted it immediately.
"Oh, you're keeping that."
Francesco laughed.
"Absolutely."
Henderson walked over.
"You'd better."
Rooney pointed at the ball.
"Don't lose it."
Francesco smiled.
"I'm never giving this away."
Sterling laughed.
"Put it in a museum."
Francesco looked down at the ball.
"Maybe one day."
Kane shook his head.
"Three goals in a World Cup final and now you're already thinking about museums."
Everyone laughed.
Another round of photographs followed.
Francesco stood with his parents.
Then with Leah.
Then with Kane.
Then with Henderson.
Then with the entire team.
The match ball appeared in several of the photographs.
Eventually, the FIFA staff began calling everyone toward the presentation area.
The podium was ready.
The ceremony was about to begin.
The players gradually gathered.
The families moved toward designated areas.
The coaching staff stood nearby.
The stadium remained deafening.
England supporters were still singing.
Flags continued waving.
The atmosphere was almost impossible to describe.
The refereeing team were called forward first.
They walked onto the podium and received their commemorative medals from FIFA president Gianni Infantino.
The applause was respectful.
Then came Croatia.
The Croatian players began walking forward.
Modrić led his teammates.
Rakitić followed.
Perišić.
Mandžukić.
Kramarić.
Pjaca.
Vida.
Lovren.
Subašić.
And the rest of the squad.
Zlatko Dalić walked alongside his coaching staff.
They received their silver medals from Infantino and Croatia's president Kolinda Grabar-Kitarović.
The Croatian delegation accepted the awards with dignity.
There was heartbreak on their faces.
Of course there was.
They had come so far.
They had fought through the tournament.
And now they had lost the final.
Francesco watched from nearby.
He understood what the moment meant.
Only minutes earlier, he had stood in front of those same players and shaken their hands.
Now he watched them receive their silver medals.
Modrić walked past.
Francesco gave him a small nod.
Modrić returned it.
There was still respect between them.
Then the attention shifted.
The individual awards were about to begin.
The stadium announcer spoke.
The first major announcement was the Golden Boot.
Francesco already knew there was a possibility.
But hearing his name still felt strange.
"Francesco…"
The rest of the announcement was almost swallowed by the noise.
The England supporters erupted.
Francesco looked toward his teammates.
Kane pushed him forward.
"Go on."
Francesco laughed.
He walked onto the podium.
The Golden Boot was presented to him.
Ten goals.
Ten goals throughout the World Cup.
He accepted it with both hands.
For a moment, he simply stared at it.
Then he raised it slightly.
The cameras immediately began flashing.
Francesco looked toward his family.
Sarah was crying again.
Mike was smiling.
Leah was applauding.
Francesco smiled back.
Then came another announcement.
The FIFA Young Player Award.
Once again, his name was called.
The reaction was enormous.
Francesco shook his head in disbelief.
He walked forward again.
The award recognized everything he had done throughout the tournament.
Not just the final.
Not just the goals.
His consistency.
His performances.
His ability to handle the pressure despite his age.
He accepted the award.
Then briefly looked toward his family.
Another cheer rose from the England supporters.
Francesco held the award close.
Two major individual honours.
And there was still more.
The Golden Glove was announced next.
Jordan Pickford's name echoed through Luzhniki Stadium.
The England goalkeeper stepped forward.
The supporters applauded loudly.
Francesco joined in.
Pickford had been crucial throughout the tournament.
His saves had kept England alive in difficult moments.
Now he received his reward.
The Golden Glove.
Pickford raised it.
Francesco shouted from nearby.
"Yes, Pickers!"
Pickford laughed.
Then came the final individual award.
The Golden Ball.
The stadium seemed to know before the announcement finished.
Francesco's name came again.
The reaction was deafening.
Francesco froze.
For a second, he simply stared.
His teammates were shouting.
Kane was pointing toward him.
Henderson was applauding.
Rooney was smiling.
The England supporters were completely losing themselves.
Francesco walked forward.
The Golden Ball was placed into his hands.
He looked down at it.
Then back toward the crowd.
Three major individual awards.
Golden Boot.
Young Player Award.
Golden Ball.
He raised the Golden Ball slightly.
The noise became even louder.
Francesco laughed.
He looked almost embarrassed by the attention.
Then he lifted the award higher.
The England supporters responded immediately.
"FRANCESCO!"
He lowered it slightly and looked toward his teammates.
Kane raised both arms.
Henderson shouted something he couldn't hear.
Francesco smiled.
Finally, the presentation reached its end.
But the cameras weren't finished.
Francesco and Pickford were asked to stand together for an official photograph.
Francesco held the Golden Boot in one hand.
The FIFA Young Player Award in the other.
The Golden Ball was held proudly against his side.
Pickford stood beside him with the Golden Glove.
Both players smiled.
Cameras flashed.
Again.
And again.
Behind them, their teammates gathered.
The England players stood together.
Victorious.
Exhausted.
Emotional.
The England supporters filled the background.
Flags moved through the stands.
The noise continued.
Francesco looked briefly toward Pickford.
Pickford grinned.
"What a night."
Francesco laughed.
"What a night."
They turned back toward the cameras.
Another flash.
Another photograph.
And somewhere in that moment, the image became more than a celebration.
It became a snapshot of an entire tournament.
The goalkeeper who had stood behind England through every difficult moment.
And the young captain who had scored ten goals, won the Golden Boot, won the Young Player Award, won the Golden Ball, and then scored a hat-trick in the World Cup final.
Then the presentation reached its defining moment.
The individual awards were behind them now.
The silver medals had been collected.
The Golden Boot had been handed to Francesco.
The Young Player Award.
The Golden Glove for Pickford.
The Golden Ball.
All of those moments had already given the England supporters something to celebrate.
But everyone knew there was one moment still missing.
The moment they had come to Russia for.
The moment every England player had imagined from the first day of the tournament.
The World Cup.
The stadium announcer's voice echoed across Luzhniki Stadium.
The presentation was continuing.
Gareth Southgate and his coaching staff were called forward first.
Southgate straightened his jacket.
He looked toward his players.
For a second, he smiled.
Then he walked onto the podium.
The England coaching staff followed him.
One by one, they received their gold medals from FIFA president Gianni Infantino and Prince William.
Each handshake was followed by another round of applause.
Some of the coaches smiled.
Others looked completely overwhelmed.
Southgate accepted his medal and stepped toward the centre of the platform.
He looked back at the players.
"Come on, lads."
The next group was called.
The England players began walking forward.
Kane.
Henderson.
Rooney.
Sterling.
Alli.
Pickford.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Trippier.
And the rest of the squad.
One by one, they received their gold medals.
Infantino shook their hands.
Prince William congratulated them.
The players smiled, nodded and moved toward the centre.
Some raised their medals toward the supporters.
Others simply stared at them.
Kane held his medal in his hand and shook his head.
He looked toward Henderson.
"We actually did it."
Henderson laughed.
"I know."
Rooney stood nearby.
He looked around the stadium.
"This is mad."
Sterling was still smiling.
"Absolutely mad."
The players kept gathering.
The podium became increasingly crowded.
England shirts filled the platform.
Gold medals hung around necks.
The coaching staff stood together.
Southgate looked around at his squad.
There was laughter everywhere.
Players were still taking in the sight of the trophy.
It stood there.
Waiting.
Only a few steps away.
Francesco was among the final players still waiting.
He stood slightly behind the others.
His captain's armband was still wrapped around his arm.
His shirt was still soaked from the match.
His hair was still damp.
The Golden Ball had already been placed safely nearby.
The Golden Boot sat beside it.
The match ball was there too.
But Francesco barely looked at them.
His eyes kept returning to the World Cup.
He had seen it from a distance all evening.
Now it was right there.
Close enough to touch.
The announcer called another name.
Then another.
Finally, there was only one player left.
The stadium seemed to recognize what was happening.
The England supporters began making more noise.
Francesco looked toward them.
Then the announcement came.
"Francesco…"
The rest was drowned out.
The England end erupted.
Francesco took a breath.
He looked at Kane.
Kane grinned.
"Go on, captain."
Francesco laughed.
Then he stepped forward.
His boots touched the centre of the podium.
Infantino extended his hand.
Francesco shook it.
"Thank you."
Infantino smiled.
"Congratulations."
Francesco nodded.
Then Prince William stepped forward.
He shook Francesco's hand before warmly embracing him.
The moment caught Francesco slightly off guard.
Prince William smiled.
"Congratulations. It's wonderful to see England lift the World Cup again."
Francesco smiled.
"Thank you."
William placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You've made the country very proud."
Francesco looked down for a moment.
Then back up.
"Thank you, sir."
He stepped away.
The gold medal was now around his neck.
He touched it briefly.
Then looked toward the trophy.
Infantino turned toward it.
For one final second, the World Cup remained on its stand.
Then Infantino picked it up.
He turned toward Francesco.
And placed it into his hands.
Francesco froze.
The weight of it settled into his arms.
The gold surface reflected the lights of Luzhniki Stadium.
The England supporters saw it.
And the stadium erupted.
The roar was enormous.
Francesco looked down at the trophy.
His fingers tightened around it.
He had imagined this moment so many times.
Maybe every footballer did.
But imagining it and actually feeling the weight of the World Cup were two completely different things.
He looked up.
The England players were already shouting.
Kane had both arms raised.
Henderson was clapping.
Rooney was laughing.
Sterling was jumping.
Alli was pointing toward Francesco.
Pickford was screaming something from behind them.
Francesco smiled.
Then he carried the trophy toward the centre of the podium.
His teammates immediately gathered around him.
Kane.
Henderson.
Rooney.
Sterling.
Alli.
Pickford.
Maguire.
Stones.
Walker.
Rose.
Trippier.
Everyone.
Southgate stood nearby with the coaching staff.
For a moment, nobody moved.
They simply looked at one another.
As if they all understood that the next few seconds were going to stay with them forever.
Francesco looked around.
He saw exhausted faces.
Sweaty faces.
Smiling faces.
Faces that had been through every match together.
Japan.
Brazil.
France.
Croatia.
Every step had led them here.
He looked down at the trophy.
Then at his teammates.
Kane nodded.
"Go on."
Henderson laughed.
"Lift it."
Francesco smiled.
He took a breath.
Then raised the World Cup above his head.
The reaction was immediate.
The entire stadium exploded.
A massive shower of golden confetti poured down from above.
It fell over the players.
Over Southgate.
Over the podium.
Over the trophy.
At almost the same instant, explosive bursts of fireworks erupted from the roof and perimeter of Luzhniki Stadium.
Bright flashes lit up the night sky.
The England supporters screamed.
Flags waved wildly.
Scarves were held above heads.
The familiar chant returned.
"It's coming home!"
"It's coming home!"
Francesco laughed beneath the falling confetti.
Kane jumped beside him.
Henderson threw his arms around Rooney.
Sterling grabbed Alli.
Maguire pulled Stones into another embrace.
Pickford was shouting toward the supporters.
The entire podium had become chaos.
Beautiful, impossible chaos.
Francesco lowered the trophy for a moment.
Then raised it again.
Another wave of cheers followed.
The fireworks continued above them.
The golden confetti stuck to the players' hair and shirts.
Some landed inside the trophy.
Nobody cared.
They had waited too long to worry about anything now.
Kane grabbed Francesco around the shoulders.
"WE'RE WORLD CHAMPIONS!"
Francesco shouted back.
"WORLD CHAMPIONS!"
Henderson joined them.
Rooney came running over.
Sterling jumped into the group.
Alli wrapped an arm around Francesco.
The trophy was passed around briefly before Francesco took it back.
Everyone wanted to touch it.
Everyone wanted to feel it.
Everyone wanted proof that it was real.
After the first wave of fireworks faded, the players began moving around the platform.
They ran.
They danced.
They posed for photographs.
Some jumped.
Others simply stood laughing because they had no idea what else to do.
Kane tried to start another chant.
Sterling interrupted him.
Everyone laughed.
Maguire grabbed Stones again.
"Come here!"
Stones laughed.
"We're never going home."
"We are absolutely never going home."
Nearby, Southgate was trying to enjoy a quiet moment with his coaching staff.
It lasted about five seconds.
One player spotted him.
Then another.
Francesco turned.
He saw Kane and Henderson approaching Southgate.
"Oh no," Francesco laughed.
Southgate noticed.
"What?"
Kane grabbed him.
"Come on, boss!"
Southgate immediately understood.
"No, no, no."
The players surrounded him.
Southgate laughed.
"Lads!"
It didn't help.
They lifted him.
The England manager went into the air.
The players shouted.
Southgate laughed and protested.
"Put me down!"
They lowered him.
For approximately two seconds.
Then they lifted him again.
The entire squad erupted.
Southgate's protest became laughter.
Again.
They lifted him a third time.
Then a fourth.
And finally a fifth.
By the fifth, Southgate had stopped trying to escape.
He simply raised his arms and laughed.
The coaching staff were applauding around him.
One of them shouted.
"Again!"
Southgate pointed at him.
"Don't encourage them!"
The players laughed.
Eventually they put him down.
Southgate straightened himself.
He looked at his players.
"You're all idiots."
Kane grinned.
"World champion idiots."
Southgate shook his head.
But he was smiling.
There was no hiding it.
He was as happy as everyone else.
Francesco watched the scene for a moment.
Then he looked toward the cameras.
There were photographs everywhere.
He began moving from group to group.
First, he joined Kane, Henderson and Rooney.
The trophy was raised between them.
Flash.
Another photograph.
Then Sterling and Alli joined.
Another photograph.
Pickford came over with the Golden Glove.
More photographs.
Then Maguire and Stones.
Then Walker, Rose and Trippier.
The photographs kept coming.
Everyone wanted one.
Everyone wanted to remember the moment exactly as it was.
Eventually Francesco looked toward his family.
Mike and Sarah were standing nearby.
He immediately called them over.
"Mum! Dad!"
Sarah looked at him.
Francesco waved.
"Come here!"
They walked toward him.
Francesco held the World Cup in front of them.
The Golden Boot was placed beside it.
The Golden Ball.
The FIFA Young Player Award.
And the match ball from his hat-trick.
Mike stared at everything.
He shook his head.
"This is unbelievable."
Francesco laughed.
"Come on, Dad."
Mike stepped beside him.
Sarah stood on his other side.
Francesco put an arm around each of them.
The World Cup rested in his hands.
His father looked at him.
Then at the trophy.
Then back at his son.
He smiled.
Sarah's eyes were already filling with tears again.
The cameras began flashing.
One.
Two.
Three.
Francesco smiled.
Mike smiled.
Sarah smiled through her tears.
The photograph captured everything.
The trophy.
The awards.
The match ball.
And the family that had been there long before the lights of Luzhniki Stadium.
Afterward, Francesco looked toward David, Amanda and Jacob.
"You three. Come on."
Jacob laughed.
"Another photo?"
"Of course."
They walked over.
Francesco made sure Leah's family had their moment too.
David stood beside him.
Amanda smiled proudly.
Jacob put an arm around Francesco.
"Still can't believe you scored three."
Francesco laughed.
"You've mentioned that a few times."
"Because it's ridiculous."
They posed together.
The World Cup between them.
Another flash.
Another memory.
Then Francesco looked across the podium.
He found Leah.
She was smiling at him.
He held out a hand.
"Come here."
Leah walked toward him.
Francesco reached for her.
The noise of the stadium continued around them.
Confetti still drifted through the air.
Fireworks occasionally flashed above the roof.
The England supporters were still singing.
But for a moment, Francesco's attention was entirely on her.
He took the World Cup in one hand.
The Golden Ball rested alongside it.
Leah carefully picked up the FIFA Young Player Award.
Then the Golden Boot.
Then Francesco's match ball.
She looked at everything in her arms and laughed.
"This is a lot."
Francesco laughed.
"I know."
They stood together at the centre of the celebration.
Leah held the awards carefully.
Francesco held the World Cup and Golden Ball.
They looked toward the cameras.
Both smiled.
The golden confetti continued falling around them.
Behind them stood their families.
Their teammates.
The coaching staff.
The victorious England delegation.
And beyond all of them were the England supporters.
Thousands of them.
Still singing.
Still waving flags.
Still celebrating a moment they had waited fifty-two years to experience again.
The cameras kept flashing.
Francesco glanced toward Leah.
She looked back at him.
Neither needed to say anything.
They both knew what the night meant.
England had conquered Croatia.
Four goals to two.
England had finally lifted the World Cup again.
Fifty-two years after 1966.
And at the heart of it stood their young captain.
Francesco.
Captain's armband still around his arm.
World Cup in his hand.
Golden Ball beside it.
Golden Boot.
Young Player Award.
Match ball from a hat-trick in the final.
Everything was there.
Every award.
Every memory.
Every piece of the journey.
The stadium announcer's voice echoed once more through Luzhniki.
But nobody was really listening anymore.
The players were too busy celebrating.
Southgate was laughing with his coaching staff.
Kane was still shouting toward the supporters.
Henderson had an arm around Rooney.
Sterling and Alli were dancing together.
Pickford was showing off his Golden Glove.
Maguire and Stones were posing for another photograph.
Families stood together.
Children waved flags.
Parents cried.
Friends embraced.
And Francesco remained at the centre.
He looked once more toward the England supporters.
The chant rose again.
"It's coming home!"
The players joined in.
Francesco laughed.
He lifted the World Cup slightly.
The crowd responded with another roar.
He looked at the trophy.
Then at his teammates.
Then at his family.
And finally at Leah.
The moment felt almost impossible.
They had come to Russia dreaming.
They had survived Japan.
They had overcome Brazil.
They had beaten France.
They had defeated Croatia in the final.
And now there was nothing left to chase.
No next match.
No next opponent.
No next flight.
No next training session.
Only this.
The World Cup.
The gold medal around his neck.
The captain's armband around his arm.
The Golden Boot.
The Young Player Award.
The Golden Ball.
The match ball.
His family beside him.
His teammates surrounding him.
And an entire nation celebrating beneath the lights of Luzhniki Stadium.
For fifty-two years, England had waited.
Tonight, the wait was finally over.
England were world champions.
And their young captain stood at the centre of it all, smiling beneath a storm of golden confetti, holding the trophy he and his teammates had spent the entire tournament chasing.
__________________________________________________
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, FA Cup 2016/2017, 2016/2017 Champions League, 2017/2018 Carabao Cup, Premier League 2017/2018, FA Cup 2017/2018, Champions League 2017/2018, and 2018 World Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 11
Goal: 14
Assist: 1
MOTM: 6
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