Chapter 755: 718. Three Times Ballon d'Or Winner
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(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel named “From Couch To The Inquisitor”, be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
…
Old Trafford remained loud around them, but the noise no longer belonged entirely to Manchester United as tonight, Arsenal had taken their share of it with them.
Then the morning after the victory at Old Trafford arrived without giving Francesco much time to enjoy it.
There had been the usual post-match recovery, the journey back, the messages from teammates and family, and the brief satisfaction that came with knowing Arsenal had taken three points from one of the most demanding away grounds in the country.
But by the following morning, football had already changed shape.
There was no training session at London Colney waiting for him.
No boots beside a dressing-room bench.
No tactical board.
Instead, Francesco was travelling to Paris.
Leah was going with him.
So was Jonathan Barnett.
The reason was considerably different from anything Francesco had dealt with on the pitch.
The Ballon d’Or ceremony was the following evening.
For someone whose life had become so closely connected to football, the occasion should have felt familiar by now.
It didn’t.
A match gave Francesco something concrete to focus on.
A ball.
A pitch.
Opponents.
A ninety-minute problem that could be solved through movement, decision-making and work.
An awards ceremony was different.
There was nothing he could control once he walked through those doors.
Jonathan seemed perfectly aware of that.
As they made their way through the airport, the agent glanced toward Francesco.
“You know you don’t have to prepare for this like it’s a match.”
Francesco looked at him.
“I know.”
“You’re thinking about it like it’s a match.”
Leah laughed softly.
“He has been.”
Francesco shook his head.
“I haven’t.”
“You have,” Leah said.
Jonathan smiled.
“Thank you.”
Francesco looked between them.
“You two are very supportive.”
“That is what we’re here for,” Jonathan replied.
They boarded the plane without much fuss.
Their luggage was taken care of, and once everyone was settled, the atmosphere became quieter.
Francesco sat beside Leah while Jonathan took a seat nearby.
The aircraft began its departure, and London slowly disappeared below them.
For several minutes, none of them spoke.
Leah eventually looked across at Francesco.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That answer means nothing.”
Francesco smiled.
“I’m tired.”
“That’s better.”
“Yesterday was a long day.”
“It was.”
Leah rested her head against the seat.
“And tomorrow will probably be another one.”
Francesco looked out through the window.
Paris was only a short flight away, but the evening ahead already felt distant.
Jonathan eventually joined the conversation.
“There’ll be media when we arrive, but nothing you need to worry about. The important thing is the schedule. Hotel, fitting, rest, then tomorrow we leave at six.”
Francesco nodded.
“Six exactly?”
“Six.”
Leah smiled.
“Jonathan has probably told the driver three times already.”
“Four,” Jonathan corrected.
Francesco laughed.
The conversation moved naturally from logistics to football.
They talked about the Old Trafford match, the way United had changed after the substitutions and how Arsenal had managed the final stages.
Then Jonathan brought the conversation back toward the ceremony.
“You’ve had an extraordinary year,” he said.
Francesco shrugged slightly.
“So have a lot of players.”
Jonathan looked at him.
“That’s not false modesty, is it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Leah smiled.
“He genuinely thinks that.”
Francesco looked toward her.
“What?”
“That you’re just one of the players.”
“I am.”
“You’re also sitting on a plane to Paris for the Ballon d’Or.”
Francesco laughed quietly.
“Fair point.”
The rest of the flight passed comfortably.
When they arrived in Paris, the change was immediately noticeable.
The city felt different from London.
The architecture, the streets, the rhythm of traffic and the people moving through them gave the journey a different character.
Their car took them directly to the hotel.
Once inside, Jonathan checked the arrangements with the staff while Francesco and Leah went upstairs.
The hotel was elegant without feeling excessive.
Soft lighting ran through the corridors.
The reception area had been arranged with the discretion expected when numerous high-profile guests were staying in the city for the same event.
Francesco entered his room and placed his phone on the desk.
He looked around.
“This is nicer than my first flat.”
Leah laughed from the doorway.
“Your first flat wasn’t exactly difficult to beat.”
“I know.”
They had barely settled before the Armani team arrived.
Several garment bags were brought into the room.
Everything had been organized carefully.
There was no last-minute improvisation.
The clothing had been prepared in advance, but the team still wanted to check every detail personally.
Francesco’s suit was removed first.
The jacket was dark and sharply tailored, with a clean silhouette designed specifically around his measurements.
One of the stylists placed it carefully on a hanger.
“The shoulders are correct,” she said.
Another member of the team checked the sleeves.
“Half a centimetre adjustment here.”
Francesco looked at Jonathan.
“Half a centimetre?”
Jonathan nodded.
“Apparently that’s important.”
“It is,” the stylist replied, smiling.
Leah laughed.
Her own dress was brought out next.
The fabric caught the light subtly rather than shining excessively.
The cut was elegant, clean and deliberately understated.
She ran her fingers lightly along the material.
“It’s beautiful.”
The stylist smiled.
“We wanted something that would work with the setting without overwhelming you.”
Leah nodded.
“I like that.”
Francesco watched her for a moment.
“It suits you.”
She looked at him.
“You haven’t even seen it on.”
“I can tell.”
Jonathan glanced toward the Armani team.
“I think we have approval.”
The fitting began.
Francesco changed and stood while the team checked the jacket, trousers and shirt.
The tailor adjusted the sleeve length and checked the trouser break.
The collar was inspected.
The cuffs were measured.
Even the position of the buttons was considered.
Francesco stood patiently through all of it.
“This is more complicated than getting ready for a match,” he said.
The tailor laughed.
“On the pitch, you only need your boots.”
“Exactly.”
Leah’s fitting followed.
Her dress was adjusted carefully around the waist and shoulders.
The hem was checked.
The team discussed shoes and accessories, making sure everything worked together rather than competing for attention.
Francesco watched from the other side of the room.
Leah turned slightly.
“Well?”
He smiled.
“Perfect.”
She looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
Jonathan nodded.
“He’s right.”
Leah laughed.
“You two are unusually agreeable.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Jonathan said.
The Armani team continued checking the final details.
Francesco’s shoes were selected.
His shirt was prepared.
The accessories were placed alongside the suit so nothing would be forgotten the following evening.
Leah’s shoes and accessories were arranged with her dress.
Everything had a place.
Everything had a time.
Eventually, the team was satisfied.
The garments were carefully stored for the following evening.
Jonathan reviewed the schedule one final time.
“Tomorrow. Six o’clock. You change. Six-thirty, we leave. We don’t rush.”
Francesco nodded.
“Understood.”
Jonathan looked toward Leah.
“And you.”
Leah smiled.
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good.”
After they left, the room became quiet again.
Francesco sat beside Leah for a while.
There was something almost amusing about the contrast.
Less than twenty-four hours earlier, they had been inside a football stadium with Francesco wearing an Arsenal shirt, covered in sweat, shouting instructions and competing for three points.
Now a carefully tailored suit was hanging nearby.
Leah looked toward it.
“Strange.”
“What?”
“Yesterday was Old Trafford.”
“And tomorrow is this.”
She smiled.
“Your life is slightly ridiculous.”
Francesco laughed.
“Sometimes.”
The following day passed steadily.
Paris moved around them.
The hours disappeared through lunch, preparations and rest.
As evening approached, the city outside began changing.
The light softened.
Traffic became heavier.
The ceremony drew closer.
At exactly 6:00 p.m., Francesco and Leah began getting ready.
The suit was taken from its garment bag.
The shirt was prepared.
Francesco buttoned it carefully before putting on the jacket.
He adjusted the cuffs.
Then the collar.
He checked his reflection.
The final appearance was polished without being excessive.
The tailoring sat naturally across his shoulders.
His shoes were immaculate.
Leah emerged shortly afterward.
Her dress fit exactly as it had during the fitting.
She paused in the doorway.
Francesco looked up.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Leah smiled.
“What?”
“You look incredible.”
She looked at him from head to toe.
“So do you.”
Francesco smiled.
“Thank you.”
She stepped closer and adjusted the front of his jacket.
“There.”
“Was it crooked?”
“A little.”
He looked at her.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to notice.”
He laughed.
Jonathan appeared shortly afterward.
He stopped when he saw them.
“Excellent.”
Leah smiled.
“That’s the official approval?”
“From me, yes.”
Francesco picked up his phone.
“Ready?”
Jonathan checked his watch.
“Exactly on time.”
They left the hotel together.
The car was waiting outside.
Francesco and Leah climbed into the back while Jonathan sat nearby.
Paris had taken on a different appearance by then.
Streetlights illuminated the roads.
Buildings passed in soft reflections across the windows.
The traffic was busy but moving.
Neither Francesco nor Leah spoke constantly.
They didn’t need to.
Occasionally they looked out at the city.
Jonathan checked the time.
“We’re fine.”
Francesco smiled.
“You’ve said that twice.”
“I’ll probably say it again.”
Leah laughed.
Eventually the Grand Palais appeared ahead.
The scale of the event became obvious before the car even reached the entrance.
Photographers stood behind barriers.
Television crews occupied designated areas.
Reporters held microphones.
Security personnel controlled access points while event staff moved between arriving vehicles.
Fans waited behind barriers, hoping to catch sight of the players and other guests.
The car slowed.
Francesco looked through the window.
“This is something.”
Leah smiled.
“Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The door opened.
Francesco stepped out first.
The cameras immediately began firing.
Then Leah stepped out beside him.
The reaction intensified.
Photographers called their names.
“Francesco!”
“Leah, over here!”
“Look this way!”
“Together, please!”
They stopped at the designated point.
Francesco turned slightly toward the cameras.
Leah stood beside him.
They posed together before moving forward.
Another group of photographers called from the side.
Francesco turned.
A few more photographs.
Then another request.
He smiled politely and acknowledged them.
Reporters asked questions as they moved.
“How does it feel to be here?”
“Francesco, what does tonight mean to you?”
“Are you nervous?”
He answered briefly.
“It’s a special evening. I’m happy to be here.”
Another reporter asked about Arsenal’s victory.
Francesco smiled.
“That was yesterday. Tonight is different.”
Leah glanced at him.
He continued moving along the carpet.
There was no need to turn the evening into a football press conference.
The formal greetings continued.
Event staff guided them toward the entrance.
Once inside the Grand Palais, the atmosphere changed again.
The noise from outside became distant.
The interior was elegant and carefully arranged for the ceremony.
Tables and seating had been positioned facing the stage.
Lights were directed toward the main presentation area.
Large screens displayed the event branding while staff quietly moved between rows, checking names and seating arrangements.
Francesco and Leah were guided toward the front.
Jonathan followed.
Then Francesco saw who was seated beside them.
Lionel Messi and his wife were already there.
Messi stood as Francesco approached.
“Francesco.”
“Lionel.”
They shook hands warmly.
“Congratulations on the season,” Messi said.
“Thank you. And congratulations to you too.”
Messi smiled.
“Enjoy the night.”
Leah greeted Messi’s wife, and the conversation quickly became more relaxed.
A few seats away, Cristiano Ronaldo had arrived with Georgina Rodríguez.
Ronaldo approached with a familiar smile.
“Good to see you.”
Francesco shook his hand.
“You too.”
“Big night.”
“Yeah.”
Ronaldo smiled.
“You look ready.”
“I think so.”
Georgina greeted Leah warmly.
The two women exchanged a few words about the evening and the outfits before laughing together.
Jonathan remained nearby, checking the timing and quietly speaking with one of the event staff members.
Francesco looked around.
For years, these names had existed on television screens, magazine covers and football broadcasts.
Now they were sitting only a few seats away.
Messi.
Ronaldo.
Players Francesco had watched growing up.
Players whose careers had helped define an era of football.
And now Francesco was sitting among them as one of the players being recognized on the same stage.
The thought crossed his mind briefly.
He didn’t dwell on it.
Leah touched his arm.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“Just taking it in.”
She smiled.
“You should.”
Francesco nodded.
More guests continued arriving.
The sound of conversations gradually diminished as staff encouraged everyone to take their seats.
Cameras still moved around the room, capturing final arrivals.
Photographers worked from designated positions.
A few players exchanged last-minute greetings.
Others spoke quietly with their partners.
The atmosphere was becoming increasingly expectant.
Jonathan finally took his own seat.
“Here we go.”
Francesco looked toward the stage.
The lights were already prepared.
The room was almost full.
Leah settled beside him.
She reached for his hand beneath the edge of the table.
He squeezed it gently.
Neither of them said anything.
There was nothing left to prepare.
The suit was ready.
The ceremony was ready.
The guests were seated.
The world’s attention would soon turn toward the stage.
Francesco sat quietly beside Leah, surrounded by some of the biggest names football had produced, with Messi and his wife nearby and Ronaldo and Georgina only a short distance away.
For once, there was no opponent standing across from him.
No tactical instruction.
No match clock.
No ball waiting at the centre circle.
Only a stage, with a room full of expectation.
Then the first movement on the stage brought the last scattered conversations in the Grand Palais to an end.
David Ginola walked into the light with the ease of someone accustomed to rooms like this one, dressed impeccably and carrying himself with the relaxed confidence of a man who understood that the evening belonged as much to football’s history as it did to the people sitting in front of him.
He paused near the centre of the stage and looked across the audience.
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the Ballon d’Or.”
Applause moved through the hall.
Ginola smiled and allowed it to settle before continuing.
“Tonight, we celebrate the players who have given us extraordinary moments, extraordinary performances, and, above all, extraordinary football.”
The words were delivered warmly rather than theatrically.
Around Francesco, chairs shifted for the final time as guests settled properly. Conversations disappeared almost completely. Partners leaned closer to one another, players turned their attention forward, and the photographers who had spent the earlier part of the evening moving around the room now worked more discreetly from their assigned positions.
Francesco rested back in his chair.
Beside him, Leah watched the stage.
The ceremony had officially begun.
Ginola introduced the evening before moving toward the first major presentation.
“The Kopa Trophy.”
A large screen behind him illuminated.
The name Kylian Mbappé appeared.
Applause immediately spread through the room.
Francesco looked toward the stage.
Mbappé was only nineteen.
Yet despite his age, his name had already become familiar far beyond France. At Paris Saint-Germain, he had developed into one of the most exciting young players in world football, possessing the pace, confidence and attacking ability that had made supporters and football professionals speak about him as one of the emerging superstars of the next generation.
The significance was difficult to ignore.
Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo had dominated the highest individual level of football for years.
Now another generation was beginning to emerge behind them.
Mbappé was one of the names most frequently mentioned when people discussed who might eventually inherit that extraordinary position at the top of the sport.
And sitting only a short distance away from Francesco, the nineteen-year-old represented an intriguing comparison.
Francesco was only one year older.
Both were already playing under enormous expectations.
Both had become central figures at major clubs.
And both were being spoken about not simply as talented young footballers, but as players who could shape what came next.
Mbappé rose from his seat as the applause grew.
He walked toward the stage with a smile that seemed to reveal both pride and a slight disbelief at the scale of the moment.
Ginola greeted him before presenting the trophy.
Mbappé accepted it with both hands.
The applause continued.
He looked down briefly at the award before raising his eyes toward the audience.
There was no need for an elaborate reaction.
At nineteen, simply standing there with the Kopa Trophy in his hands said enough.
Francesco applauded alongside Leah.
Mbappé then spoke briefly, thanking those who had supported him and acknowledging the importance of receiving recognition at such an early stage of his career.
The room listened respectfully.
When he finished, another round of applause followed as he stepped away from the microphone.
Francesco watched him return to his seat.
Leah leaned slightly toward him.
“Not bad for nineteen.”
Francesco smiled.
“Not bad at all.”
Ginola returned to the centre of the stage.
The ceremony continued.
The next presentation was the Ballon d’Or Féminin.
The screen changed.
Ada Hegerberg’s name appeared.
The reaction was immediate but different from the youthful excitement surrounding Mbappé.
It carried the weight of recognition.
Hegerberg, representing Lyon, rose as her name was announced.
Applause filled the Grand Palais as she made her way toward the stage.
She accepted the award with visible emotion, greeting Ginola before taking the trophy.
The moment was dignified.
Hegerberg looked across the room, taking in the applause before thanking those who had helped her reach the highest level of the women’s game.
Francesco joined the applause.
So did Leah, who watched the stage with particular attention.
Hegerberg eventually stepped away with the trophy in her hands.
The ceremony moved forward.
And gradually, the feeling inside the Grand Palais changed.
There were still presentations to come, still speeches and acknowledgements, but everyone understood what the evening was building toward.
The Ballon d’Or.
The main award.
Ginola returned to the stage.
The lights around the room softened.
The large screen behind him went dark.
A few seconds passed.
Then three images appeared.
Lionel Messi.
Cristiano Ronaldo.
Francesco Lee.
The reaction from the audience was immediate.
Applause rolled across the hall, accompanied by scattered cheers and calls from different sections.
Francesco looked up at the screen.
Seeing those three faces together was striking.
Messi represented an era of football excellence that had already become part of the sport’s history.
Ronaldo represented another extraordinary career defined by consistency, ambition and an ability to remain at the very highest level year after year.
And Francesco represented something newer.
He had arrived at the highest level while still remarkably young, but his achievements over the previous season had made it impossible to discuss the Ballon d’Or without discussing him.
Arsenal had completed an unprecedented quadruple.
The Premier League.
The FA Cup.
The Champions League.
The League Cup.
Four major trophies in one season.
Then came England.
The World Cup.
Francesco had lifted that trophy with his country as captain.
It was the combination of those achievements that had placed him at the centre of the conversation surrounding the award.
No statistics needed to be displayed.
No dramatic argument needed to be made.
The season itself had provided the context.
Leah glanced toward him.
Francesco remained focused on the stage.
Ginola stood beneath the main light.
“The Ballon d’Or,” he said, “is one of football’s greatest individual honours.”
The audience listened.
Ginola continued, speaking about excellence, consistency and the extraordinary level required to reach this stage.
Francesco could hear the applause whenever one of the finalists appeared again on the screen.
He saw Messi watching the stage.
Ronaldo sat nearby, equally attentive.
Around them were players, coaches, former players, representatives and guests who had spent their lives around football.
The anticipation grew naturally.
Ginola paused.
The envelope was brought forward.
Francesco looked toward Leah.
She was already looking at him.
There was no long exchange between them.
Just a smile.
Then Ginola opened the envelope.
He looked down at the card.
The room seemed to hold its attention on him.
Ginola raised his eyes.
“And the Ballon d’Or goes to…”
A brief pause.
“Francesco Lee.”
For an instant, Francesco simply stared toward the stage.
Then the Grand Palais erupted.
Applause crashed through the hall.
People rose from their seats.
Cheers came from every direction.
Leah immediately turned toward him.
Francesco looked at her, almost as though he needed to see someone familiar before fully accepting what he had just heard.
She smiled broadly.
“You did it.”
Francesco laughed, overwhelmed by the simplicity of the words.
He stood and embraced her.
Leah wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as the applause continued around them.
Francesco kissed her before pulling back.
She placed both hands briefly against his shoulders.
“Go.”
He smiled.
“I love you.”
“Go get your trophy.”
Francesco turned toward the stage.
The applause followed him as he stepped into the aisle.
Every few steps, he acknowledged the people standing around him.
Messi applauded.
His wife smiled warmly.
Ronaldo stood and joined the ovation, with Georgina beside him.
Mbappé was on his feet as well, applauding the older player who was only one year ahead of him in age but had already reached a place few footballers ever touched.
Hegerberg applauded from her seat.
The rest of the room followed.
There was no hostility.
No manufactured rivalry.
Only recognition of an extraordinary achievement.
Francesco continued toward the stage.
With every step, the reality became clearer.
This was his third consecutive Ballon d’Or.
Three years.
Three victories.
Another season had brought him back to the same stage.
And this time, the season behind the award had included both an unprecedented Arsenal quadruple and a World Cup triumph with England.
When Francesco reached the stage, David Ginola stepped forward.
The two men shook hands.
“Congratulations, Francesco.”
“Thank you.”
Ginola smiled.
“You’ve had quite a year.”
Francesco laughed softly.
“I have.”
Ginola gestured toward the trophy.
Francesco turned.
The Ballon d’Or stood beneath the stage lights.
He approached it slowly.
There was no theatrical pause.
He simply reached out and took it into his hands.
The weight of it was real.
Cold metal beneath his fingers.
The familiar shape that he had seen countless times on television when he was younger.
Now it was his again.
Francesco looked down at the trophy.
Three consecutive times.
The applause continued.
Ginola stepped aside and gave him the microphone.
Francesco looked across the audience.
For a second, he seemed to consider where to begin.
Then he smiled.
“Thank you.”
The applause softened.
Francesco continued.
“First of all, thank you to everyone who organized tonight and to everyone who made this award possible.”
He glanced toward the audience.
“Receiving the Ballon d’Or once is something I never wanted to take for granted. To receive it again is an incredible honour.”
He paused.
“And to receive it for the third consecutive time…”
A small smile appeared.
“I honestly don’t have a better way to describe it than being incredibly grateful.”
The audience applauded again.
Francesco looked toward his teammates and coaches.
“This award has my name on it, but football is never really about one person.”
His voice remained calm.
“Everything we achieved with Arsenal last season was because of the people around me. My teammates, our coaches, the staff, everyone at the club. Winning the Premier League, the FA Cup, the Champions League and the League Cup together was something I’ll always be proud of.”
He lowered his eyes briefly toward the trophy.
“And then with England, we had another incredible journey. Winning the World Cup with my teammates and our staff is something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.”
The room listened quietly.
Francesco continued.
“So I want to thank all of them. The people who train with me every day. The people who help me recover, prepare and improve. The coaches who trust me. My teammates who make the difficult moments easier and the good moments even better.”
His eyes moved toward the audience.
“I also want to thank my family, my friends, everyone who has supported me throughout my career, and all the supporters who have believed in me.”
He paused.
Then his gaze found Leah.
She was still standing among the audience, smiling.
Francesco’s expression softened.
“And I want to thank the people closest to me. The people who are there when football stops, when the stadiums disappear and when I’m just Francesco.”
Leah smiled.
The audience applauded warmly.
Francesco looked back toward the trophy.
“I’m proud of this award. I’m proud to win the Ballon d’Or for the third time in a row.”
He said it without arrogance.
Simply as a statement of what the evening had given him.
“But I’m even more grateful for the people and the teams who helped make that possible.”
He lifted the trophy slightly.
“Thank you.”
The applause returned immediately.
Francesco stepped back from the microphone.
Ginola approached him again and shook his hand.
The cameras turned toward the stage.
Flashes appeared from different parts of the hall.
Francesco stood there with the Ballon d’Or held securely in both hands.
Below him sat the people who had shared the stage of world football with him that evening.
Messi.
Ronaldo.
Mbappé.
Hegerberg.
And among all of them, Leah remained one of the first people his eyes naturally found.
The applause continued.
Francesco looked down at the trophy once more.
Three consecutive Ballon d’Or victories.
An unprecedented Arsenal season behind him.
A World Cup medal waiting among his collection of memories.
For all the noise surrounding football, the moment itself was remarkably simple.
He was standing on a stage in Paris, holding the most prestigious individual prize in the sport for the third time.
And for a few seconds, Francesco simply let himself appreciate it.
The applause rolled through the Grand Palais around him, carrying the significance of the achievement far beyond the stage, while Francesco stood beneath the lights with the Ballon d’Or in his hands and allowed the full weight of his third consecutive triumph to finally settle over the room.
__________________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 20 (2018)
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, 2018 World Cup, and 2018/2019 Community Shield.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 21
Goal: 24
Assist: 1
MOTM: 0
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 59
Goal: 76
Assist: 6
MOTM: 7
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 11
Goal: 14
Assist: 1
MOTM: 7
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
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