Excedrin headache No. 93

It's about this Excedrin headache No. 93, Nurse Goody Two Shoes.
It keeps pounding away and the questions continue flooding my feeble brain: Why is Sean Harvey really quitting as Vernon's mayor ... and don't give me that goulash about his daughters showing him the light. Or who in heavens would ever want that fake castle monstrosity above the Swan Lake store? Or when will they bulldoze that green monster where the ponies seldom run? Or why does a parking ticket in downtown Vernon cost 75 smackeroos?
Instead of answers, more questions came a-callin'.
So when a brain overload is on the horizon, it's time to retreat to the Fire Zone (are you listening, George Abbott) and check out some books that have been gathering dust for some time now. See, I told you, Mr. Managing Editor, if you didn't institute a books review page, then the Ol' Man would.
Ah, here's one: 'The Queen's Plate" (Trent Frayne, McClelland and Stewart, 1959.)
Bill Frayne, the husband of one of Canada's true heroines, June Callwood, and a former colleague of mine in my Toronto newspaper days, has written one of the truly brilliant chronicles of Canada's premier race, the Queen's Plate, detailing it from 1860 to 1959.
Frayne, one of the most brilliant wordsmiths this nation has ever produced, begins it this way: "On the pale grey afternoon of June 30, 1959, Elizabeth II stood in a flower-bordered horseshoe of verdant turf in Toronto's New Woodbine race track and congratulated Mr. and Mr. E.P. Taylor, whose colt, New Providence, had just won the one hundredth renewal of the oldest continuously run horse race in North America. For a century, through two world wars and one world depression , this race honoured by royal patronage had never known an interruption. Kings had died or had abdicated, the horseless carriage had grown from a growling sputtering novelty to a humming sleek-lined menace, currency had been changed from sterling to the dollar system, and Toronto's population had swelled from 44,821 to 1,426,196 in 1959, but each year The Plate was the highlight of the racing season." What sets this 168-page book apart, are the the color plates of such steeds as Inferno (The King's Plate, 1905), Horometer (The King's Plate, 1934), Bunty Lawless (The King's Plate, 1938), plus Canadiana (The Queen's Plate, 1953). In addition, there's an expansive Plate portfolio of photos including Joseph E. Seagram on Black Bess, 1896, Col. R.S. McLaughlin and jockey Mann with Horomoter, 1934 and Eddie Arcaro on Canadiana, 1953.
During my last time at the Plate, it was in the 1970s, and the Toronto Sun decided to assign its sportswriters to various leading jockeys to tell their stories. I got Burnt Grass (or Ash, I can't remember) and leading jock, Sandy Hawley. Burnt Whatever finished up the track and Hawley said barely a word. Somehow his nods and yeahs turned into a 10-inch "epic."
Another in this Ol' Man's Sportswriting Hall of Fame, besides Frayne, and near the top has to be Jim Taylor of the Vancouver Province and Sun and later with the ill-fated Sports Today (Calgary Sun).
'Skull' is now retired (aren't we all?), but his storytelling still ripples through Canadian journalism. He could paint word pictures with unusual skill.
About a month or so ago, I slid into THE BOOKSTORE behind Polson Park Mall, you know the one with the musty smells and books so high, Hannibal and his elephant would have a hard time hauling them out into the sunlight. But in the midst of one of the aisles, Taylor's 'Forgive Me My Press Passes' (Horsdal & Schubart) hit me between the eyeballs. It cost me five bucks, however, I have no idea what the original 1993 price tag would be.
Taylor was/is a breed apart as he quickly explained: "Early in the game I was blessed with editors who noticed that from time to time I came down with the Weirds. The stories I wrote sometimes had little to do with the game I was covering. Comic-book characters kept showing up in them. Or old movie or song titles. And there were a lot of "What ifs ..." like "If Noah had remembered the unicorns, would race horses have horns?" and "What if a coach said 'There's no tomorrow' -- and there wasn't?" Instead of beating the weird streak out of me, they pulled me in and out of the sports department and gave me weird things to write.I climbed into a suit of armour to report that knighthood probably died out because the suits had no pants and they were too embarrassed to get off the horse ... I interviewed Whipper Billy Watson while he held me at arm's length over his head ... and ... when the Social Insurance numbers came in, I taped mine in big letters across my forehead, had my picture taken and faked a psychiatrist appointment ("Hello, doc. My name is 702-044-405. You can call me 7.") claiming the Thought Police were after my wife and me because we wouldn't name our baby daughter Twelve."
So you think that's weird, Jim?
I once challenged 500-pound plus Andre the Giant to a duel in the wrestling ring (he scowled and growled and walked away); jumped into a pool of jello with a Playmate of the Year and have been known to consult world-famous "experts" on what to write next.
"Isn't that right, Jake?"
"Isn't that right, Molly?"
Hey, I'm talking to you both.
Jake The Dog and Molly The Cat just sniffed and walked away.