The whistle blew.
And just like that, Arsenal were off—but not quite flying.
For all the free-flowing dominance they had displayed just nights ago against Monaco, the opening moments at Goodison Park made it clear: this wasn't Europe.
This was a fight to protect pride.
The pitch was a little heavier, the wind a little colder, the tackles a little less polite.
And Everton?
They hadn't just come to survive.
They had come to smother.
The ball was barely rolling before Doucouré closed Ødegaard down like a curtain snapping shut.
Tarkowski roared something from the back—inaudible over the home fans but Everton began squeezing their lines like a fist.
The message was clear.
If there was no space, then there would be no rhythm for Arsenal.
And above all, no Izan.
In his first touch of the game, he peeled off wide to receive from Lewis-Skelly.
The crowd swelled, tense, expectant.
But as soon as his boot met the ball, it was like a tripwire went off.
