There were only 22,041 fans inside Elland Road to see the ball dropping awkwardly in front of the Cardiff goal. No away fans: they were boycotting the game in protest at the extortionate prices charged for the West Stand. Ironically, they would have had a perfect view of the curly-haired teenager sticking the ball past the wrong-footed goalkeeper David Marshall and peeling off in utter jubilation.

These were the closing stages of another mediocre season: Neil Redfearn’s patchwork side of Serie B wannabes and youth academy graduates were limping to a 15th place finish primarily thanks to the often spectacular goals of Alex Mowatt. Redfearn’s assistant, Steve Thompson, had just been suspended for some unspoken, off-field reason, leaving Redders putting out the cones by himself; and anyone with the internal fortitude to still be paying attention to the goings-on at Elland Road was waiting for Massimo Cellino to drop the inevitable guillotine on everyone’s favourite caretaker. This moment, however, was all about the kid with the curly hair and the huge smile on his face.

It’s almost poetic that Kalvin Phillips emerged from this period of our chequered history and reached the heights he has hit in the last two years. His remodelling under the tutelage of Marcelo Bielsa into a cultured, indispensable, internationally-recognised defensive midfielder, who holds a permanent position on the starting teamsheet of an ever-more professional Premier League club, is a wonderful juxtaposition to his muddled introduction into a side struggling for any semblance of balance or direction, dependent on its most inexperienced professionals for both consistency and competition. His post-injury return to the Premier League against Arsenal was met with almost universal relief, and many pointed to his absence as a key factor in the disappointing losses that had come before. Contrast the public perception of the ‘Yorkshire Pirlo’ now with that of a few years ago, though, and you’d be forgiven for thinking the club had somehow managed to sign an uncannily similar individual who just so happened to have the same name.

His debut came in a defeat, sitting in front of the back four as a defiant Wolves stole the three points in a 4-3 cracker. The aforementioned first goal came five days later in front of a minimal crowd, who eventually left disappointed after Cardiff rendered his strike futile, but nobody who saw it could forget that smile — that now-familiar, uncensored, unabashed display of pure joy — as its owner wheeled away towards the East Stand, flanked by the fellow ‘Leeds lads’ who had been carrying the flag before him. As with all good stories, though, positivity gave way to the harsh realities of the world, and there’s nothing like football, or Leeds United, to bring a feel-good story back down to earth with a bang.

After those early days of promise, amid the insanity of Cellino’s stewardship, were years of tough, often unfair questions asked of a young man who should have been enjoying his first forays into the professional game without the weight of a frustrated fan-base on his shoulders. Why did he give the ball away so often? Why couldn’t he keep up? Why didn’t he score more goals? Was he really cut out for where Leeds wanted to be? Perhaps sending him out on loan would be better for him, or maybe we needed to take off our Leeds-tinted glasses and cut ties altogether.

Those were valid concerns. This isn’t the kind of self-congratulating piece that calls out non-believers and rubs subsequent success in their faces. There were fans who saw the potential and, perhaps because of who he was and what he represented, defended ‘our Kalvin’ doggedly, even after performances that only rhetorical gymnastics could excuse. Hindsight aside, Phillips was a player in development, yet to find a position that truly suited him or a coach who could make him the player that a smattering of supporters could see behind the inconsistency and the penchant for a late tackle. What was clear to anyone though, no matter where you sat on the spectrum of Kalvin, was that the smile was still there, as big as it had been when the ball first hit the net. Every moment mattered. Probably more than it did to most who had pulled that shirt on.

Adversity is a theme weaving through Kalvin’s life: the uncertainty and strain of his childhood, his late arrival to the academy at a training ground which wasn’t exactly next-door, and the particular obstacles in the way of black players in their formative years. Even his time under Bielsa hasn’t been perfect. There were early substitutions when things just weren’t going his way, and the ignominy of moments like the red card away to QPR just as everything seemed to begin crashing down around the team. Adversity in his youth, and adversity in his professional career, were repeatedly knocked back by the irrepressible spirit he seems to carry with him at all times. Whether his youthful experiences gave him the determination and drive to succeed in the face of ever-mounting criticism and doubt about his early career is a question only he could answer, but it adds a pinch of satisfaction to the way he has cemented his position at the club he loves, climbed the rungs of the international game, and become the face and name synonymous with the side he represents. And done it with the kind of class and humility many thought we wouldn’t see at the club again.

That humble attitude, born from humble beginnings, forged in a part of the world that demands humility from its inhabitants, is as much a part of Kalvin as the hair, or the tackles, or the smile. It would be hard to judge a young man who has been doubted so often, by so many, if he allowed even the smallest of chips to form on his shoulder, but despite the best efforts of fans to declare him de facto imperator of Yorkshire, he simply won’t allow himself to be carried away. We see it in his embarrassed responses to praise in interviews, the wonderful relationship he has with his family, or the honest, genuine way he approaches the club’s community work.

The past two weeks must go down as yet another peak in the Kalvin Phillips saga. Again he proved his worth to the team in stellar displays against Arsenal and Everton, surprised everyone watching Dua Lipa’s Studio 2054 show with a guest appearance, and he’s at the centre of a huge mural on Call Lane (albeit as part of a Roc Nation marketing ploy, but still — looks great), flanked by club legends Albert Johanneson and Lucas Radebe. A poignant image sending a message to the world that Leeds is both a city and a club for anyone to become a hero, whether you hail from Soweto, New York or Wortley. Who better to represent the joint venture between a traditional, Yorkshire football club and a global behemoth started by a kid out of the Brooklyn projects than a man of both worlds, simultaneously symbolising Yorkshire grit and black excellence?

Though Kalvin still has a long career ahead of him, it feels as if the kid who wheeled away in April 2015, presenting his smile to the world for the first time, has achieved a kind of justice usually reserved for individuals with many more miles under their belt. Throughout his life he’s been doubted, questioned, and dismissed as surplus to requirements. The only question now is what we would do without him. ◉