Later this week, I'll be dispatched to cover auto racing.
I've done so only once before, a few years ago when the boss ordered me to do a feature on the inside workings of an Indy event.
It was pretty fascinating stuff, but the one thing I remember most was meeting this young woman who worked as a security guard in front of the hospital trailer.
She was nice, and cute and all that stuff, and, I thought to myself, perfect for a colleague of mine, young Mike Koreen, who also was covering the Indy for the newspaper.
BOY WONDER
At the time, Koreen, who was sort of the boy wonder of our sports department, did not have a girlfriend, and probably didn't know what a girl was.
The guard girl was about the same age as Mike and, like I said before, seemed pretty nice, and so I made a deal with her, which, I admit, is not exactly professional, but, at the time, I thought was a golden opportunity to do good.
Anyway, guard girl agreed to meet young Mike, and possibly go on a date, if I mentioned her name in my piece.
Of course, I neglected to inform Mike of this deal, although, the day before my story ran, I did take him over to where she was stationed and, from a few yards away, asked him what he thought of "that girl over there."
Puzzled, Mike said she looked pretty cute.
Anyway, the day my piece ran, I wandered down to the hospital trailer and guard girl was all excited about seeing her name in the paper and agreed to meet Mike.
I then walked back to the media trailer and told Mike of the situation.
Now, I've seen panic in my day -- I only have to think back to the time when we were riding a bus up a mountain during the Albertville Winter Olympics and the bus started sliding toward the edge of the cliff.
But never have I seen the look of terror and dread as I did that afternoon on Mike's face.
"Relax," I said.
"She's a nice Scarborough girl. You've got nothing to worry about."
"Forget it," Mike replied.
"I can't go out with a girl from Scarborough. She'll eat me alive."
You know, I could understand a little bit.
I've always had this theory about Scarborough.
I call it the Brooklyn of Canada, a gritty place that produces brilliant people, like Mike Myers and Jim Carrey, but also really tough people.
I'll never forget the time I ventured out to this arena in Scarberia to watch my best friend's brother, Ricky Wilson, play hockey.
During the game, these dudes started making fun of my friend, Marty Wilson, who had one of those old-style braces that protruded out of his mouth.
Feeling like the big man I wasn't, I challenged the dudes to step outside and, of course, without hesitation, they accepted.
"Which one of you wants to go first?" the one dude asked.
Without saying a word, I punched the guy in the side of the face.
My old man always taught me, if a fight's inevitable, always get the first punch in.
This time, that strategy didn't work.
My manly blow bounced off the dude like rainwater off a duck's behind.
With a bemused smile on his face, he proceeded to smash the side of my head, I would say, about five times, until I collapsed against a railing.
He then went after Marty but realized that there was no point beating up on a kid with a steel halo sticking out of his mouth. So he walked away.
Later, Marty's dad noticed that I was somewhat dazed and confused from my afternoon thrashing.
After being told that a dude punched my lights out, Marty's dad made a crack about how I suffered from "short ass disease" and that I had to stop proving to myself that I was a tough guy.
FETAL POSITION
After that, whenever the word Scarborough was mentioned, I would break out in a cold sweat and roll into the fetal position.
Now Young Mike, who grew up in la-di-da land (Thornhill), obviously had the same conception about Scarborough.
So the last thing he wanted to do was go out with this girl.
To his way of thinking, she'd offer to arm-wrestle him for the dinner bill, and send him flying over the table.
Or, if he was too nervous to give her a goodnight kiss, she'd take matters into her own hands and slam him into the ground.
The date never happened.
Whatever became of guard girl, you ask?
From what I understand, she's happily married and living in Scarborough and raising wolves.
