After beating Roger Federer to become the first Canadian man to advance to the singles final at a Grand Slam, a BBC announcer asked Milos Raonic about the "impact" the victory might have in Canada.
The tone of the question suggested tennis had only recently found its way to our faraway land, along with electric lighting and the combustion engine.
To his credit, Raonic would not play along. Not yet.
"It'll be a bigger impact if I win," he said.
No one will understand better that the buoyant feeling of right now will fade if Raonic doesn't follow through on Sunday.
As such, it is possible to both under- and overstate the importance of what Raonic managed Friday on Wimbledon's Centre Court.
Down two sets to one and grinding his way through the fourth, he probably should have lost to Federer. That was the Canadian's role in the play. When he began to turn the match in the fifth, the crowd didn't get behind the aging Swiss favourite as they might have if he were playing a more familiar rival. They just assumed Raonic would fold.
That sense lasted right up until the final game of the match. Raonic began it with two aces and didn't drop a point. Everyone on hand looked stunned, and Federer most of all. Only Raonic seemed unfazed. There was no dropping to the ground or other theatrical ecstasies. He only pumped his fist slowly, the way you might if you found a five-dollar bill tucked in the corner of a pants pocket.
"He found another gear which I don't even know if he knew he had," Raonic's most recent celebrity tutor, John McEnroe, said. "He put it all together at the right moment."
For most of his early career, Raonic's toolbox was easily packed. He carried only one thing – a very large hammer.
"When I [first] played him on the grass, it was pretty much always the same. It was just bang, bang, first serves," Federer said afterward.
Since then, Raonic has slowly added pieces. His returns of serve have improved. He's more mobile. On Friday, he repeatedly cut down Federer's famous angles by rushing the net. During breaks in play, Raonic stared ahead fixedly and mouthed the words "Move forward" to himself.
Trying to pinpoint exactly what has changed about the Canadian, Federer said, "I just think he believes it more now."
There have been so many sort-of-but-not-quite breakthroughs in Raonic's career that you dread hanging another one on him here.
He won his first ATP title at age 20 and was greeted as the next big thing. He won a few more minor tournaments in the following years, but the definitive emergence eluded him.
When he made his first Wimbledon semi two years ago, that seemed like an awfully big deal. Then he was crushed by Federer. Rather than filling him with self-belief, the disappointment of the occasion seemed to knock Raonic back a step.
Eighteen months later, he made the semis at the Australian, was injured mid-match and lost in five sets to Andy Murray.
"Probably the most heartbroken I've been on court," Raonic said afterward.
Heartbreak and disappointment. The two consistent themes of Raonic's career.
Season by season, Raonic continues to raise the benchmark for Canadian tennis. He's long past being the greatest men's player this country has ever produced.
Considering he co-exists in an era with the greatest of all time (Federer) and the man who might some day assume the title (Novak Djokovic), getting to a Wimbledon final is a wonderful achievement.
The danger would be in treating it as such.
It is hard not to cast the mind back to Eugenie Bouchard's first and only Slam final, two years ago in London. In the run-up, it was heralded like a coronation. 'Sky's the limit' was the tone of most coverage. The sub-text: 'It doesn't really matter if she wins this one. She'll win one eventually.' Bouchard was beaten flat by Petra Kvitova. Shortly thereafter, she entered professional free-fall. You would not want to bet the likelihood that she'll get that same chance again.
Recent tennis history has its share of decent men's players who've got as far as a Grand Slam final – Robin Soderling, Marcos Baghdatis, David Ferrer, et al. They made very good livings and they had their admirers. But without a major title, they'll be forgotten once they leave the sport. It's the reason everyone looks so crestfallen as they're handed the runner-up trophy.
Whatever he does from this point on, Raonic will be remembered in Canada. He was the man who proved this country could produce an elite talent at what might be the world's most cosmopolitan game.
But Canada-famous is too small a goal for him now.
On Sunday, he'll play local hero Murray in the final. The crowd will be on top of him from the off. It is difficult to convey how Centre Court traps noise, and the jarring effect of moving so often between howls and pin-drop quiet.
Having beaten the Canadian three weeks ago at London's Queen's Club, Murray will feel he has the upper hand. The odds and portents all run against Raonic. No North American has won here since Pete Sampras 16 years ago. Bookies have Murray as a prohibitive 2-to-7 favourite.
That's why Friday mattered. It proved to Federer, to his colleagues, to the crowd on hand, to everyone watching around the world, that there is more to Raonic than a big serve and a tendency to lie down and die when things tighten up.
He hasn't proved anything yet. He hasn't done anything people will remember 10 or 20 years from now. But he's assured himself it's possible.
Raonic's breakthrough on Friday wasn't getting to the Wimbledon final. It was bridging the gap between thinking you can win when it counts, and finally knowing you can.
Cathal Kelly