IF you’re reading this on the day of publication and if Manchester City are fortunate enough to reach the Champions League final next season then we have a maximum of 335 days left of David Silva being all balletic and brilliant in blue.
After that he will be gone, most likely returning to his beloved Canary Islands. “I’ve always said that I’d like to play for Las Palmas, my local team,” he told the BBC last year when the winding down of his illustrious career came up in conversation. More recently the 33-year-old confirmed our fears that the forthcoming Premier League campaign will be his last: “Ten years for me is enough. It completes the cycle.”
He will leave to tears – real, actual tears – some of which will spill from hardened men who usually only choke up when their dog dies. He will leave to a swell of gratitude and admiration that is difficult to encapsulate on the written page.
David Silva: "This is the last one. Ten years for me is enough. It's the perfect time for me. I don't see myself playing against City for another team"
Premier league titles
FA Cup wins
League Cup trophiesNot a bad haul #MCFC pic.twitter.com/cxt5QvNxf1
— TEAMtalk (@TEAMtalk) June 26, 2019
‘Legend’ doesn’t cover it. Legend doesn’t even come close. Legend has been cheapened in our times by lads in Burton shirts talking up the exploits of an adventurous mate or in footballing parlance being attributed to perfectly ordinary players who have enjoyed a few good seasons.
‘Hero’ too withers on the vine. For a generation prior to El Mago’s arrival City fans had heroes galore but mainly they were loved for who they were as much as what they did. Shaun Wright-Phillips; Richard Dunne; the Goat: they were an extension of us and that mattered and matters. Whereas Spanish Dave was beamed down from another universe and it does not diminish their achievements one iota to say that in comparison to City’s little genius SWP and co were Oasis to Mozart.
An ‘icon’ then? Perhaps, but this doesn’t sit right either, suggesting as it does veneration over adoration along with a detachment that is wholly incongruous to the mothering worry that has accompanied every challenge he has made. For nine years we have watched him spell-bound but we have also cherished the bones of him, cherished him like a favourite relative. Icons tend to rise far above family trees.
Trying to nail down how we as Manchester City fans feel about David Silva quickly reduces the person attempting it to that of an opposition player trying in vain to get the ball off him. It is aptly elusive.
David Silva five years ago
More hair, same talent ♂️ pic.twitter.com/vjtPiJGldw
— Goal (@goal) April 5, 2019
It is significantly easier however to explain why we feel as we do. It’s because no other player in a shirt of any hue you care to mention has ever more consistently maximised polar opposites.
For 396 games and counting, Merlin has produced a rare alchemy over and over again on a weekly basis. For 396 games and counting, he has stamped class onto a transformed club in need of it, all the while barely ruffling a blade of grass. On the pitch he is high art. Off it he is down-to-earth; as normal and loyal and lovely as a man of his pedigree has scant right to be.
All of this and infinitely more has given us moments we will take to the grave and memories that catch the breath. His meandering individual effort against Blackpool. His sumptuous, cushioned through-ball at Old Trafford that should have made it ten. Being applauded exiting proceedings at the Bernabeu.
His peerless Silva-service passing and immaculate touch has been at the very heart of four league title wins and 11 trophies in total but even these gargantuan gifts pale to the countless hours of sheer joy that is derived from watching him. For the purchasing of a match-day ticket, he offers in return a masterclass in midfield creation, all neat lay-offs and silky-smooth motion and you can’t put a value on that. The joy nourishes and invigorates and makes you feel like a kid again first spying the very best of what an adult world can provide
@21LVA is the best footballer to ever play for City. (Since 1990 anyway)
Aguero = goals
Toure = big game player
Kompany = physicalityBut this little genius has no speed, power etc and has torn the league apart for 9 years. 1 to go. Thanks Merlin, my idol. pic.twitter.com/uLKDaiPVEq
— Liam Myers (@liammyers44) June 27, 2019
How can you put a value on that? How can you say goodbye to that?
Beyond City his contribution has been just as meaningful because no player slight of frame but abundant with skill has ever better matched aesthetics with impact and because of this our very English, archaic perceptions changed. Where once players of his ilk were considered a luxury, Silva made them integral and in doing so he took them from fringe theatre to the main stage, scheming and twinkling in centre-circles that used to be inhabited by brute force. In doing so he made the Premier League a much more beautiful place.
And now he’s going and the countdown begins. 335 days. That’s a blink of an eye given how fast and consuming football has become.
When that day comes there will no doubt be tears but until then we should treasure every last second of him. Every flick. Every pirouette. Every pass that mortal law decrees should only be viewed as being possible from high up in the stands. And remember also the words of the great philosopher Winnie The Pooh – “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
