“Work in silence,” Harry Kane said, after fulfilling his lifelong quest to become the finest footballer on the planet. “Let success be your noise.” Truly, what a tonic this is to read. In a culture where narcissism reigns, and where even pre-eminent athletes feel compelled to advertise their greatness in glossy Instagram screeds, the England captain is striking a blow for humility, understatement and that Churchillian credo to “keep buggering on”. That is why his Ballon d’Or triumph is worthy of the widest celebration. For here is a figure whose first thought is to thank not his agent but his family, whose essential decency compels him to acknowledge his wife and “best friend” Kate, and whose instinct is always to let his achievements speak for themselves.

Tellingly, Kane waged no concerted PR campaign in search of the prize he craved most. Unlike arch-rival Kylian Mbappé, who spent months positioning himself in front of the nearest camera, or Lamine Yamal, who made a caustic barb that the award should recognise the richest talent rather than the highest goals tally, Kane believed his body of work sent its own message. And he was right, with his 73 goals in a single season – nine more than anybody else in the whole of Europe – constituting an irrefutable case. There were no self-curated highlight reels, no “vote for me” missives on social media. “I don’t really like talking about myself,” he explained. You hope that this never changes, given how rare a quality it has become.

Kane has evolved from the world’s most famous trophy-less player into a man who cannot stop stockpiling gold. The change attests to his monumental powers of self-discipline. Even in the goldfish bowl he inhabits, both as centre-forward for Bayern Munich and leader of an England team through a catalogue of agonising near-misses, he finds a way of screening out the commotion. Rather than posting self-serving statements about his landmark feats, or engaging with tormentors for whom no success is ever enough, he believes firmly in the benefits of a permanent digital detox. Having conceded he read too much online commentary during the European Championship in 2016, when England flamed out against Iceland, he has preserved a professional boundary ever since.

This aversion to needless clamour is replicated in every sphere of his life. When have you ever seen Kane stagger out of a nightclub, or prang a supercar, or attract even a scintilla of scandal? Even at such an oppressive level of fame, and in cities as teeming with temptations as London and Munich, he has remained a contented homebody, devoted to Kate and to their four children Ivy, Vivienne, Louis and Henry. They live out in Grünwald, 10 miles south of Munich and regarded as the Bavarian equivalent of Cheshire’s Golden Triangle, far removed from the attentions of paparazzi and desperate to keep it that way. After all, this detachment from mayhem has proved a key factor in propelling him to glory.

“We have done it,” he told his wife on stage at the London Palladium. “You always wanted the best for me, you sacrificed yourself for my dreams. This would not have been possible without you.” Harry first met Kate when they were pupils at Larkwood Primary in east London, going on to the same Chingford Foundation School once attended by David Beckham, and since that time there has never been even a suggestion of anybody else. Settling so early, Kane decided, was preferable to being pursued for his wealth or celebrity. “If I were single now and meeting people, you’d never know if they were with you for the right reasons,” he said in 2017. “Is it the money? You’d never really know. So I’m lucky that I’ve got a childhood sweetheart.”

Kane evokes an outmoded age in football, exemplifying the virtues of loyalty, consistency, stability. Had he been born a few decades earlier he could have been a perfect ambassador for Brylcreem, with that classic slicked-back hairstyle and never a follicle out of place. It is also revealing about his character that, contrary to most of his peers, he has never contemplated a tattoo. Where his England team-mate Nico O’Reilly has been inked on the right bicep with the words “stay humble, hustle hard”, Kane observes these principles without any physical prompt cards. His father Pat told him that he would always regret having a tattoo when he was older and, like so much of the wisdom he absorbed during childhood, he has never forgotten it.

Given the level to which he has just ascended, it is remarkable to recall how Kane used to be mocked for structuring his life so simply, for offering no more exotic hinterland. The stage production of James Graham’s This Is England was criticised for depicting him as a buffoon, accentuating his lateral lisp. If the arts world saw him as ripe for derision, Kane has conjured the most eloquent possible response. To think, the boy who was rejected from Arsenal’s academy at the age of eight for being, in the words of Liam Brady, then director, a “bit chubby” now clutches the most significant individual accolade the game can bestow. It is an illustration of his phenomenal work ethic, his resolve to set the loftiest ambitions even at those moments when he has been doubted. But it is also a validation, fundamentally, of the old-fashioned values he embodies.