The penultimate rehearsal before the real drama begins, and though the result was unkind, the performance was pure pre-season: a canvas of trial and error, of introductions and experiments, of threads being tugged in search of future connection.
Victor started.
And that, above all else, was the take-home comfort. Not yet a crescendo, but a first note played. A man not yet match-fit, not yet fully in tune with his new symphony. But there he was, in Arsenal red, leading the line in front of expectant home eyes.
Remember—this is a man who has barely trained with the group. Who left Lisbon, stood firm on not returning, and now finds himself under the north London lights with barely a week of Arsenal air in his lungs. The body is catching up. The rhythm is coming.
He’ll be there again, most likely, come Saturday against Bilbao. Another opportunity to step out at the Emirates, to find harmony with those around him, to edge closer to what will one day—perhaps very soon—be fluency. You could feel it: the hope, the will, the yearning among the crowd. A rising swell each time the ball found him, almost willing the fairy tale to begin there and then.
It didn’t. Not yet.
But make no mistake: when it does happen—when that net ripples for the first time in competitive colours—it will be remembered. Not this gentle summer skirmish, but that first real roar.
And yes, I’ll admit it—perhaps selfishly, perhaps sentimentally—part of me is glad.
Glad that the moment still lies ahead. Glad that when he truly does get off the mark, I might be there to see it, to feel it, to live it in the flesh.
Now, to the saga.
The swirling, seething, never-ending transfer tale of the number nine.
Names floated through the summer air like fireflies—Sesko, Isak, Gyökeres. Possibilities whispered through timelines, speculated in columns, dreamt of in the minds of supporters.
And now, inevitably, the commentariat has stirred. Paul Scholes, voice raised, brow furrowed: “Is he the right man?” he mused. “Was this really Arteta’s man?”
The headlines, as ever, followed. Eager content creators and agenda-driven outlets seized upon the moment. A few words of televised debate from Scholes and Carragher quickly morphed into a swirl of scepticism—a narrative spun not from fact, but from the fertile soil of uncertainty.
And yet, in a rare moment of restraint, we pause here.
Because in defence of Jamie Carragher—and those words do not leave the lips easily—he wasn’t striking the first match. He was reflecting on a piece written in The Athletic, one of football’s more trusted homes for nuance and substance. The piece raised an eyebrow, not a torch.
The question was simple: If Sesko was the long-term object of desire, why the sudden pivot to Gyökeres?
And perhaps there is some truth in that. Perhaps Benjamin Sesko was the initial dream, before the realities crept in—clauses, costs, complexities, and the creeping dread of a bidding war. Newcastle wanted him. Manchester United circled. The price was rising, the path less clear.
And so—amid the noise—came clarity.
Andrea Berta, feet now planted firmly in the corridors of power, steered Arsenal toward a different path. One paved not with potential, but with proven goals. One not of maybes, but of now.
Because here’s what matters: Victor Gyökeres is here.
He is not the “Plan B.”
He is not a consolation.
He is not the striker Arsenal settled for—
He is the striker Arsenal chose.
Chose for the present. Chose for purpose. Chose because he is ready.
A man in his prime, twenty-seven years old, entering his footballing zenith. A man who has scored for fun, who has rattled nets in green and white, who has done it in Europe, in Portugal, on the international stage.
And he chose Arsenal.
So much so, they say, that he and his agent even helped ease the financials. Who does that? A man who wants to be here. A man who sees this not as a stepping stone, but a summit.
But there was a moment—a lapse, you might call it—when Paul Scholes lost me.
As he so often does, not with malice, but with the sort of flippant detachment that punditry can sometimes invite.
It was a throwaway line, yet it hung in the air—a casual swipe cloaked as critique. A comment on Gyökeres’ journey, his clubs, his past. The implication? That his route to this stage was somehow unbecoming.
Yes, Scholes conceded that the goal tally in recent seasons has been extraordinary. That part, at least, was measured.
But I have noticed this quiet sneer beneath the surface. A gesture toward Brighton, toward Swansea, toward Coventry—as if the names themselves disqualified the man. As if past postcode somehow discredits present potential.
And this has become a pattern.
Read any article, listen to any segment, and you’ll hear it—“former Brighton loanee”, “underwhelming at Swansea”, “did well, but only in the Championship.”
It’s as though those chapters are held up not as context, but as caution.
As if to say: “Don’t get carried away—he’s come from modest places.”
But why must that be a dig?
As though Jamie Vardy once working in a factory meant he could never lift the Premier League.
And so when Victor Gyökeres scores—and he will—it won’t be in spite of his journey.
It will be because of it.
Yes, Gyökeres has walked a different path—less linear than Sesko, less polished than others—but football is not played on CVs. It is played on pitches. And the great stories are often born from the crooked journey, not the clean one.
Let’s not forget: for a time, many thought he’d head to Manchester United, perhaps reunite with Amorim. But United cannot offer Champions League football. Arsenal can. Arsenal will. And so the man who scores, scores, and scores again, came to the carpet. Where the lights shine. Where the demands are vast. Where memories are made.
And so, as we edge ever closer to the season’s grand overture, the chatter will rise. Pundits “experts”—they’ll have their say. Some measured. Some misjudged. Some manufactured for headlines. But when the ball rolls for real, all the noise will hush.
And what will matter then?
The moment Victor Gyökeres pulls the trigger.
The net bows.
And the Emirates erupts.
Victoria Concordia Crescit