Didi is remembered as one of the greatest midfielders in the history of the sport, the kind of playmaker who defined the rhythm, intelligence and emotional temperature of a team. For Brazil he was the brain, the organiser, the deep conductor who transformed individual brilliance into collective coherence. While Pelé, Garrincha and the rest dazzled, Didi gave the Seleção its structure and calm.

He actually began his career much closer to goal, operating as an advanced midfielder and even as a support striker. In those years he scored frequently, using his technique and timing to arrive in the box with purpose. But the more he matured, the more obvious it became that his true calling was deeper. It was from the heart of midfield that Didi reached his prime, dropping back to dictate tempo, choose passing lines and orchestrate transitions with almost regal assurance. The goals became fewer, but the influence became absolute.

Elegance was his trademark. He played with a kind of upright poise that made him instantly recognisable, which is why he earned the nickname The Ethiopian Prince. Every touch seemed measured, every pass carried intention. He wasn’t the fastest player physically, but his mind moved quicker than anyone else’s. That intelligence allowed him to cover ground efficiently, appearing in the right pockets at exactly the right moments. You rarely saw Didi sprinting; you saw him gliding.

His technique was extraordinary. Long passes delivered with float or zip depending on the angle. Short combinations executed with velvet coordination. Disguised touches, effortless body feints, shifts of weight designed to open passing channels. And then, of course, his masterpiece: the folha seca free kick, the dead leaf. Didi was the inventor of that striking technique, hitting the ball with a dip and unpredictable drop that left goalkeepers rooted. Many great set-piece specialists would later adapt the concept, but Didi created it.

What made him so complete was his versatility. He could shield the defence, build from deep, connect midfield to attack, or step forward into scoring positions. He had the authority of a regista, the vision of a trequartista and the calm of a veteran defender. He didn’t dominate with physicality; he dominated with serenity, perception and timing.

In Brazil’s great sides of the 1950s and early 1960s, he was the equilibrium point. Pelé was the spark, Garrincha the chaos, but Didi was the order. Without him the whole structure would have tilted. With him it became symphonic.