Vasek Pospisil returns the ball to James Ward of Britain during their third round singles match at Wimbledon on Saturday. Pospisil won the doubles title at Wimbledon in 2014 with American Jack Sock in their first tournament playing together.Kirsty Wigglesworth/The Associated Press
Cathal Kelly is covering Wimbledon from London until the end of the tournament.
A year ago, nearly to the day, Vancouver's Vasek Pospisil won at Wimbledon.
He may as well have won a one-man thumb-wrestling contest for all the attention it got. On the same second Saturday, most Canadian outlets were pulling out the black veil to mourn Eugenie Bouchard's crushing final loss.
Bouchard had got us all worked up into one of those "It's Our Time!" moments we tend to get like hot flashes ever since the 2010 Olympics. As in a bunch of other cases, it wasn't our time. In fact, we only noticed afterward that our watch was broken.
A few hours after Bouchard lay down and died on centre court, Pospisil won a doubles title. The 25-year-old entered ranked 179th in the discipline. He and partner Jack Sock were playing in their first tournament together. They beat Bob and Mike Bryan, far and away the best duo in history.
Any other year, that's a big deal.
But it didn't fit with the rending-our-garments narrative, plus nobody rates doubles because … well, I'm not sure why. They just don't.
So a significant moment in Canadian tennis history got wedged into the briefs.
You suspect that some of this has to do with Pospisil himself.
There is precious little room in modern tennis for the chillaxed and ever-so-slightly goofy dude. Male players are expected to give off either the eerie poise of a Roger Federer or do the shrieking Visigoth impersonation of an Andy Murray.
Serious. Everybody's got to be serious, and never more serious than when they are on a tennis court doing tennis things and, later, when they are talking about the tennis things they did. You can save your emotional release for actual championships, which is why schmaltzy Novak Djokovic gets a pass on his more-than-occasional forays into Henny Youngman territory ("Hey, it's a joke. It's a joke.").
What gives the Serb "character" as a champion would be viewed as a mental flaw if he were anything less than No. 1 in the world.
Canada's two great hopes, Bouchard and Milos Raonic, have learned that lesson.
If you watch either of them doing a postmatch interview with the sound muted, you could imagine they were discussing the date on which the sun will burn itself out and all life on Earth will end.
They do not look as though they're having much fun. Ever.
Raonic in particular approaches his work with the grimness of a hangman.
You can see why. He's been a comer for an awfully long time. Though only 24, there is the sense that he's peaked, and will have to struggle mightily just to maintain a spot with the world's also-rans.
That tension is alive, though unspoken, every time Raonic takes a court or approaches a mic.
You don't feel that heaviness around Pospisil. Some might argue it's why he's not as good. I prefer to think that's just who he is.
Win or lose, there is no marked difference in his demeanour – genuine smile, happy to share, a lot of "aw shucks" in his voice. Off the court, he is almost permanently elated.
He can't help but see how lucky he is to do this for a living. Every pro tennis player is enormously gifted, but very few are fortunate enough to have that attitude.
Pospisil is the sort of player who makes you believe something you know isn't true – that they'd all play the game for free.
And so we've largely ignored him.
Fans trust results. Pospisil has done well, but never won anything of consequence by himself.
In another era, he'd be one of Canada's most recognizable athletic faces. Instead, his contemporaries have eclipsed him. Bad timing has done him in.
A different player could be forgiven for a small amount of bitterness at his luck. Pospisil doesn't need forgiving. It has probably never occurred to him to feel bad for himself.
He is finally about to have his own moment. For the first time in his career, Pospisil has reached the second week of a major tournament in singles.
On Monday morning (6:30 ET), Pospisil will become only the fourth Canadian man to play in the fourth-round at Wimbledon. His opponent is Serbia's Viktor Troicki. (Update: The match is now over. Results here.)
Troicki is a savvy veteran – meaning he's not that good, but he's good enough. He's been on a bit of a personal tear lately, reaching his first grass-court final in the lead-up to this tournament. He hasn't faced anyone of consequence here, and been effective.
Pospisil is flat grinding. He's played 14 sets in three matches. His last win came in a hothouse atmosphere against a British opponent receiving huge crowd support.
For a guy who's never been here, Pospisil's already been through a lot.
He looks relaxed, but he always looks relaxed. He'd be smiling that wonky smile 10 seconds before he went over the trench wall into No Man's Land.
Given all that, it's unfair to expect Pospisil to win. It's also a lot of fun to think about.
Over the past two or three years, Canadian fans have entirely shifted what they expect when they watch tennis. Now, they want to see Canadians.
It's great for the sport nationally, but it does tend to sap just a little of the joy out of a major tournament. What you could once watch purely as spectacle has now become something practical.
You need a result. Without the result, the whole thing is a disappointment.
Pospisil is the cure for that feeling. We don't need him to win. We want him to win, because he seems like the sort of person who'd appreciate it.
Whether or not it's Pospisil's day, it's worth reminding ourselves that a few people have the ability to play these games at the highest level, but without expectation. They play to play.
That ability cannot be taught, and should be savoured whenever it is seen.