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If a team wins in Sunrise, does anyone care? When it comes to the Florida Panthers, the answer is a resounding "No." It seems that no matter how good or bad the product on the ice, no matter what superstar players come or go, and no matter how cheap the tickets are, the Panthers just can't pull a consistent home crowd into the BankAtlantic Center. That's not to say games don't sell out — practically every time a Canadian or big-market team like the Flyers or Rangers hits the ice, the stadium is packed... with fans decked out in the visiting team's sweaters. Chants of "Go Habs Go!" or "Let's Go Flyers!" drown out the dozen or so loyal fans that the Cats can muster. If an all-star goalie (Tomas Vokoun), a hotshot coach (Peter DeBoer), and some of the brightest young stars in the conference (Booth, Bouwmeester, and Frolik) can't bring in the fans, perhaps South Florida doesn't deserve a hockey team. And that sucks for both of the hardcore fans left down here.

The Bahamas are the bane of South Florida surfers. The islands cut off incoming swells from the Atlantic, so short of a hurricane or tropical storm, surfers in South Florida are stuck with Typhoon Lagoon. Couple that with territorial pricks at particular surf spots (cough, Lake Worth, cough) and trying to enjoy a day at the beach becomes more a lesson in Point Break-style boorishness than riding waves. Pompano's Second Street remains a favorite spot among those in Broward and is as consistent as it gets in South Florida. When there's a groundswell, the perfectly situated sandbar pushes the water up, producing steep, fast-riding waves, powerful hollow barrels, and rolling solid lines for really long, rideable waves. And depending on the day, it can break right or left. According to the surf atlas at wannasurf.com, the swell starts working well around three feet and holds up to more than eight feet, making it a good spot for various skill levels. And you have the added bonus that no one will slash your tires (cough, Lake Worth, cough).

Every other sport is just a metaphor for boxing. If Nadal serves an ace against Federer or D-Wade dunks on Yao Ming, they are imposing their will against an opponent — figuratively. Glen Johnson imposes his will against an opponent literally. With his fists. Five years ago, the light heavyweight beat Roy Jones Jr. and Antonio Tarver back to back to become the International Boxing Federation champ and Ring Magazine's Fighter of the Year. But that year was an anomaly. Before and since, he has spent his career taking any fight thrown his way, doing whatever he can to make a living. He was absolutely robbed last year against Chad Dawson, and most of the big names refuse to get in the ring with the bruising Johnson. But at 40 years old, the Jamaican-born, South Florida-trained pugilist has managed to position himself for another title fight. And he did it by brutalizing Aaron Norwood at the end of 2008 and pulverizing Daniel Judah in February. So what should the next man brave (or stupid) enough to get in the ring with Johnson expect? He should expect to be imposed upon.

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