High up in the steep stands of the Wanda Metropolitano last May, I saw a figure decked in black crumple to the floor. The ball was kicked into touch quickly, as the jolt of realisation swept through the stadium. At the back of the upper tier, we craned our necks and tried to make sense of which player it was writhing in pain and thumping the turf, as his colleagues enveloped him in concern. The calculation did not take long to process. The prone body was positioned on the left side of the centre of Arsenal’s defence. It was Laurent Koscielny. The moment of anguish occurred off the ball, away from our gaze. But nobody reached for their phone to check what had happened. We all knew....
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