Hugh McIlvanney is one of the world’s most eminent sports writers and was on board the plane carrying the Brazil side to Pelé’s zenith at the 1970 World Cup final in Mexico City against Italy. Here he encapsulates the resonance of Pelé’s legend.

Pelé, through a combination of unprecedented talent and perfect historical timing, was surely the first footballer to establish himself as a worldwide celebrity (he even penetrated the sporting consciousness of the United States). But because of his background and the point in the game's development at which he emerged, he had to be a hero before he could be a celebrity, and the values he took on to the field were always those of that earlier, more basic incarnation. For a couple of decades, playing really was his raison d'etre and fame and riches the adjuncts – not the other way round, as often seems to be the case with top players now. He believed passionately that his gifts imposed a responsibility on him, which was why he was the genius willing to sweat like a labourer, the incomparable solo artist with the humility to make the interests of the team paramount.

In a piece I wrote when George Best died I underlined a truism: that trying to explain how or why the sight of men playing about with a ball can hold countless millions in thrall from childhood to dotage is a task beyond rational argument. But, I added, ‘we never needed anything as prosaic as logic when George was around’. Well, Pelé was an even greater player than Best, greater than anybody else alive or dead, as far as I'm concerned. So if we want to encapsulate what many of us find irresistible about football we need merely speak his name.