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MAGNIFICENT players aren’t supposed to be so thoroughly and unconditionally lovely.

They’re supposed to be shot through with arrogance, or have the piercing stare of obsessive ambition, or saddled with inner demons to balance out their outer genius.

The magnificent Bernardo Silva is very possibly the nicest footballer on the planet. He is also very possibly the best.

In picturesque Porto on Sunday evening the little prince was instrumental in winning a fifth trophy for club and country to cap off a peerless campaign and then he walked off too with the Player of the Tournament award after outperforming arguably the greatest phenomenon of our time and two centre-backs in De Ligt, and Van Dijk who are rightfully viewed to be truly exceptional.

It continued an unvarying pattern that Manchester City fans have become very familiar with. The 24-year-old takes to a field with as little attitude as the mascots. He is wide-eyed. He is the boy-next-door.

He is surrounded by 21 of his peers scowling, preening, swaggering, all feigned cool and testosterone. They are rock stars and they knew it. They are the very embodiment of alpha-male entitlement.

Bernardo then puts in more mileage than any of them with a display that is all-encompassing and devastating. He runs the game and bends it to his will; a relentless dervish of combative endeavour and accelerated trickery. He is all things to all men: the best holding midfielder on the pitch; the best old-fashioned winger; the best ultra-modern exponent of Pep-ball.

Later, the others head to their alien environs of luxury, presumably to Instagram DM supermodels and call their agents about another sponsorship deal. Bernardo goes home to cuddle some re-sheltered puppies, do some scrapbooking, and anonymously pen a fan letter to a team-mate because he looked a bit under the weather that day.

There really shouldn’t be a footballer like this in the 21st century, and absolutely not one so elite. Yet there is and we should treasure every morsel of him.

When the Portuguese schemer was signed in 2017, for a £43m fee that now looks an absolute steal Blues were already aware of his exquisite gifts. In a Champions League quarter-final the previous year he had twice-over bossed proceedings for Monaco and with his unerring ability to find space and with his whip-smart use of the ball it was hoped that he might become an eventual successor to his namesake David. No pressure there then.

Soon after it was whispered that the last occasion Pep Guardiola was so enthused with one of his charges it was at Barcelona and a certain Lionel Messi so with all of this in mind it was a surprise to see clips regularly released by the club showing Bernardo to be the butt of the squad’s pranks. He’d go for a pee and Benjamin Mendy would burst in and film him. He’d stroll into a room holding a nice piece of cake and Ederson would jump out from behind the door. He would be thrown into a swimming pool to utter delirium.

There is an obvious reason why it was Oasis’ drummer Tony McCarroll and not Noel Gallagher who was ‘buried alive’ in the Live Forever video. Talent usually equates to power. Unless you have no shred of ego of course. Unless you’re so fundamentally decent that talent becomes the least of your talents when it is not required.

In his first year in Manchester, the winger was – and there isn’t a more accurate description than this as banal as it is – good. He was effective. He made more appearances than anyone else and in those appearances, he settled.

Since then though we have witnessed, spellbound and disbelieving, two years of unremitting, supernatural brilliance. There have been levels of performances so profound that every receptor of your senses tells you solemnly and honestly, cannot be surpassed. ‘Trust us’, they say. ‘We’ve been watching football long enough to know that is the pinnacle of what one man is capable of doing in ninety minutes’. Then the following week comes along and he somehow manages to top it with a fierce intensity from the off that doesn’t drop, not even slightly, not even for a millisecond, coupled with quick thought and quicker feet that have terrified defenders flapping and flailing. No player made more tackles last season in a City shirt. Not Fernandinho. Not any of the centre-backs. No player carved out more openings and made things happen: in his 59 games of 2018/19 he has 15 assists and scored 14 goals.

Bernardo Silva is everything to this incredible creation that has won every domestic piece of silverware available while accumulating more points than previously thought possible. He is its energy and drive. He is its expansive vision and magician in situ.

In October a 30-man shortlist will be made for this year’s Ballon d’Or recipient and he is a shoo-in to be included. He should win it too. Above Messi and Ronaldo. Above Van Dijk and Mbappe. He should win it because I can think of no other player in this decade or my lifetime who has better displayed the best of both worlds. An incredible player on the pitch. A picture of humility off it.

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