Once upon a time, a property developer went looking for a place to build a sporting arena. He would call it a park, he had decided, in order to not restrict the range of sports that could be played there.
The first park was too hot, the rage of the lightning lords still burning in it: that was Kings Park.
And the second park was too cold, too long lost from hope of contest: that was Noble Park.
But the third park was just right: that was Parkville.
Twice upon a time, a second property developer went upon a similar search, although his goals were narrower: he sought a place to bring the icy sports of the frozen north to the antipodes. He tried Noble Park, but even that cold and distant field was too warm for his designs.
Eventually, he found exactly what he had sought, on a shelf above the lands of Keilor, and named it so that all would know what it was: the colder park, colder still than its Noble cousin.
Yet the first sport was too violent: that was ice hockey.
And the second sport was too pacific: that was figure skating.
But the third sport was just right: that was motor racing.
And they all dragged happily ever after.
Suburbs near Calder Park: