[ad_pod ]David Silva’s 400^th appearance for Manchester City last weekend was both a midfield masterclass and fittingly – given the milestone – a greatest hits compilation of all the amazing gifts he has bestowed on English football since his arrival from Valencia in 2010.On a sunny Sunday afternoon by the south coast he was instrumental throughout as the reigning champions easily dismantled Bournemouth and so beautifully, artistically and effortlessly imperious was his performance that it just didn’t seem fair. At the highest level this sport can offer he looked like a ringer.

Against the Cherries the player nicknamed ‘Merlin’ by his adoring fans resided in his natural habitat of the half-spaces, constantly in the periphery of opponents instructed not to let him out of their sights, and there he bewitched and bedevilled, receiving the ball as if it were a tired head and his boot a goose down pillow, pirouetting on a peseta, then caressing a pass either the simple distance of five yards or curled and pinpoint out wide. When opportunities arose a third option was taken, that of a dissecting through-ball for Sterling or Aguero to pounce on.

The latter always impresses; it never fails to grab the attention, as much for the panoramic vision prior to the execution than the delivery itself but bluntly these are mere flourishes that all great players are capable of producing from time to time. Even so, it should be noted that Silva, in just shy of a decade, has produced such flourishes more than anybody else.

Statistics, such as the ones highlighted above are undeniably important. They substantiate greatness and less importantly they banish those who doubt that greatness to the tribal playground where they belong. Yet for me - a Manchester City supporter who has had the enormous privilege of watching this rare technician for a quarter of my life - what has never been less than astounding are the traits not usually associated with a player of his ilk.

One such trait is his consistency, which maintains at the highest end of excellence, and that is staggering considering that Silva is a craftsman and one of life’s truths tells us that creativity is so often at the mercy of fickle fate. He shows up every week. He comes up with the goods every single week. He normalises perfection.

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In over nine years and 30,828 minutes in a blue shirt to date I think I’ve only seen the little Spaniard misplace a handful of passes and on a singular occasion I believe he made the wrong decision (though even with that I’m unsure because the full-back may have misread his intention and darted inside when space was available elsewhere).

In short, it has been the pinnacle of difficult football exhibited with the same uniformity typically reserved for players who rely on character over artistic merit. In short, he paints Picassos with the same consistency that dinner ladies serve up mash.

And he is able to do this because his supernatural talent makes up only a part of his game. Behind his butter-wouldn’t-melt face is the steely mind of a winner. “He is a fighter,” Pep Guardiola said when asked to eulogise about his maestro post-Bournemouth and it still surprises even now to witness Silva’s tenacity because we are brought up in this country to compartmentalise players into ‘types’ and his type aren’t supposed to dig in and sweat.

There is another reason for Silva’s consistency and this too belies the aesthetically pleasing nature of his football. Yes it looks so swish and stylish – continental you may say – but for all that Silva’s output is always economical. It’s lean, minus the extraneous fancy flicks and unnecessary showing off. It serves a purpose and the purpose is everything.

Which is how and why we are not simply talking about a stonewall Premier League legend here: we are celebrating also one of the most transformative players to ever grace our shores.

Before his arrival the Premier League was 18 years of age and had changed immeasurably from its former incarnation. The gradual influx of foreign players and foreign coaches resulted in tactics becoming ever more sophisticated, while diet and training and the more generic culture that surrounded being a footballer was now more appropriate to a multi-million pound industry to that of a pub darts player.

Yet, while on the pitch we embraced the notion of a ball-playing centre-half and had no problem with the introduction of ‘false nines’ in the devastating form of Henry or Ronaldo, what we couldn’t possibly countenance – what was enshrined in our collective mentality not to countenance – was the central positioning of a player slight of frame who was creative.

Sure, we had Gazza back in the day but his physique was that of a part-time bouncer while his hustling, bustling style left only his feet that twinkled.

Before him there was Glenn Hoddle, a sumptuous talent who could – and should – have been the hub of England’s midfield for a generation, except he wasn’t, widely viewed as he was a ‘luxury’ player.

After Gascoigne the list of Premier League central midfielders reads like a roll-call for battle-hardened competitors. David Batty, Roy Keane, Carlton Palmer, Paul Ince. I could go on. Even Arsene Wenger’s peak-era Arsenal side had a midfield staffed by the rangy and pugnacious Emmanuel Petit and Patrick Vieira despite the fact that the French professor did more than most to alter our perceptions of what football could be.

Silva changed all that. Via his impactful creativity he made coaches trust in silk where once there was only steel and in doing so he has helped make English football fundamentally more beautiful. Our centre circles used to be hostile places. A war-zone if we’re leaning towards hyperbole. Now there is ballet, moved from the fringe theatre of the wing to the main stage.

David Silva is unquestionably a Premier League legend. He is deserving of our gratitude too.