David Silva showed up N'Golo Kante on night Chelsea edged closer

“Hallo and welcome to the top of the league” nonsensically wheedled the PA, as Chelsea and Manchester City prepared for a potentially decisive evening at the top of the Premier League. And though, in the event, Chelsea simply maintained their lead, their status was yet further enhanced; it will take a collapse for the ages to prevent them from becoming champions, and the manager who will lead them there is Antonio Conte.

But despite the significance of the result – stuff ultimately incidental to why we’re so obsessed with this game – the evening's motif was the twinkling, floating, shuffling majesty of David Silva. So celestial was his first-half display that it redeemed his team’s strip; given its aesthetic of your freshly-divorced dad bought singles holiday beachwear by your baselessly optimistic nan, there can be no higher tribute.

But he did not start in the ascendancy. After the crowd had been invited to “welcome to the pitch Manchester City and your ... Chelsea!” – a ballsy move, given Roman Abramovich’s jealous inclination – the home side started well. Playing with more of a back-five than a back-three in recognition of City's attacking threat, so grooved are they that it barely mattered. And it also barely mattered because they have Eden Hazard. His capacity for brilliance is shared by many others, but none deliver it as consistently, nor fill in as many gaps with what is necessary.

In the early stages last night, he was all bouncing menace and pneumatic arse, swaying by tackles, spreading play, and generally presiding over the game's important aspects. And on 10 minutes he gave Chelsea the lead, there to connect firmly with Cesar Azpilicueta’s pull-back; as one might expect, his shot took a deflection off the sprawling anvil that is Vincent Kompany's forehead; as one might also expect, Willy Caballero might still have saved it but did not. “The goalscorer, Eh-din. Huzzah!” announced the PA.

Though it is now April, Pep Guardiola has still not quite found the measure of the Premier League yet. Despite the uniqueness of his tactical ideas, his Barcelona and Bayern Munich teams won principally on the basis of their talent, and, while he still has more of the league’s best players than anyone else, he has not deduced a way to obscure his squad’s weaknesses with its strengths. In all likelihood, there isn’t one.

Shortly after falling behind, City worked out what they were doing – or rather Silva worked it out for them. If Hazard is the league’s best player, the man who settles games, Silva is its best footballer, the man who controls them. His ability to find space, accept the ball, and with the angle of his touch or turn, secrete it from those intending it for themselves, is without parallel, the sensuous certainty of his caress sufficient to make grown adults holler “Shabba!”

But like all champion lovers, his technical dexterity is underpinned by the inventiveness of his mind, always a step ahead of expectations. N’Golo Kante could barely find him, let alone tackle him, the hyperbole of his adoring public very gently punctured. Good though he is, he is not close to the best we have seen – consider Bryan Robson, Paul Ince, Roy Keane, Patrick Vieira, Manu Petit and Michael Essien – and for once, his skittering style was not what the situation demanded. Silva required his undivided attention.

Yet he did not get it, and on 26 minutes, City were level. When Thibaut Courtois cleared weakly, Silva seized upon it, then retained his composure when it looked as though he’d dwelt on the ball too long, shooting low, hard and accurately such that any save could only divert the ball back into the danger area. Sergio Aguero duly tapped home.

Shortly afterwards, a stroked pass sent Leroy Sane through – he was just unable to lift the ball over the onrushing Courtois – and the remainder of the half was dominated by City, save the part where Chelsea scored the winning goal. When “Number 4, the magical Cesc Fabregas,” slid a magical pass into Pedro, Fernandinho – a midfielder fielded at right-back for reasons unclear – couldn’t help himself. Down went his man and in went the ball, Hazard taking advantage after his weak penalty was parried back to him.

The period before the break had half-hinted that things will be tougher for Chelsea next season, assuming teams with better players are able to get themselves better organised. So, while the PA celebrated the imminence of the clubs’ third consecutive Youth Cup final – to what end remains unclear – Antonio Conte set about redressing the balance of things. Off went Kurt Zouma and on came Nemanja Matic, allowing Chelsea to revert to their usual back-three with Fabregas relocated from midfield to wide attack. Still they could not compete with City’s passing and movement, but suddenly there was no space in key areas, a previously entertaining affair locked down.

As such, Chelsea rarely looked likely to relinquish their lead – there were still moments, but they were fleeting. On the hour, Sane couldn’t quite transfer Kevin de Bruyne’s clever low free-kick into his stride, and after a fine shove on Matic, John Stones was unable to generate power or direction when Silva landed a corner on his head.

Gradually, City lost belief and with it intensity. On 75 minutes, Hazard missed a great opportunity to settle things via hat-trick, thunking well over the top after Pedro’s cross slid behind Fabregas, before, as the match dragged towards injury time, the visitors roused themselves. And, in a frantic final few minutes, a corner dropped onto Stones’ laces, four yards out; this time, he sent his finish too high.

All that remained was for Conte to incite the crowd to action; they responded, the whistle went, and their team will surely soon be champions. “The final score is Chelsea 2, Manchester City 1,” nonsensically wheedled the PA…