Sports & Recreation

You've got your workhorse Brian Grant, your streak shooter Travis Best, and your rookie phee-nom Caron Butler. But in the murk of the Eastern Conference basement, only one light shines with star power: Eddie Jones. Maybe Jones can't single-handedly lift the Heat into the playoffs or even make the team a consistently scrappy opponent. (Those 30-point losses take their toll.) But on any given night, he's fun to watch. He's whip-fast and unpredictable. He'll spin past some cement-legged defender to tomahawk the ball through the hoop or lay back and, with a sleepy, ruminative stroke, sink a three. (He always has one of the highest three-point percentages in the league.) Injury-prone, constantly rumored to be trade bait, Jones can't carry the team like Alonzo Mourning used to do. But he has provided Heat fans with more than his share of enjoyable moments this past season -- and there weren't many.

With one of the only working lighthouses in South Florida, easy access to the ocean, and freedom from drawbridges, why take your boat anyplace else? Instead of getting stuck in the rush-hour-thick marine traffic of the Intracoastal, the New River or one of South Florida's narrow canals where the no-wake zones won't let you go past the double digits and the bridges have longer waits than the tollbooths, set loose from the Hillsboro Inlet and fly off into the ocean. Port Everglades might be bigger, but in the Hillsboro Inlet, you won't get run over by a cruise ship bigger than a skyscraper. You will be just minutes away from some great dive spots with living coral reefs, can find a quiet place to coax some fish out of the ocean, and speed, sail, or glide through the water. Either parallel the coast for a few hours or head for the Caribbean. After your trip, you can dock at the Cove and enjoy a nice dinner.

When we passed by an alligator baking under the sun in a round puddle that was too small to contain his long tail, the 7-year-old with us observed, "He's in his hot tub." And in a way, he was. You get intimate with the gators out in Shark Valley, where a paved, 15-mile bicycle trail cuts through the heart of the 'Glades. They are everywhere. We must have seen 60 or so on a recent two-hour stay at the park, which is on Tamiami Trail (or U.S. 41) 18 miles west of Krome Avenue. There were dozens of babies and one great big granddaddy that must have been more than 100 years old. Add to that huge Florida garfish, majestic anhingas and herons, and the occasional deer (we missed out on that sight) and you've got one magical afternoon. You can either bring your own bicycle or rent one of theirs (at $5.25 an hour -- and some come with baby seats if a real newcomer is tagging along). About the midway point is an observation tower that gives you an incredible vista of the River of Grass. Or if you don't feel like pedaling, you can walk a couple of their short trails. Or, we add with a sigh, you can kick back and ride the tram for $12 ($11 for seniors, $7.25 for children 12 and under). Whatever you choose, we guarantee you'll see just about every form of wildlife. Except sharks, of course.

How can we tell Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria doesn't give a flying fish about winning in this town? Let's just take a look at the ones that got away. Two spring trainings ago, in a salary-dumping move, the team traded its closer, Antonio Alfonseca, and its fifth starter, Matt Clement, for Julian Tavarez and a pitching prospect. What happened? The absence of Alfonseca disrupted the bullpen, forcing setup men to try out for the closer role, while rookies were plugged into middle relief and setup slots. The result: inconsistency and blown saves. Tavarez is and always has been a bum, and he pitched like one. Meanwhile, Clement finally had his breakout year, going 12-11 with a 3.60 ERA and keeping down his walk totals while striking out 215 batters -- all for an awful Cubs team. During the 2002 campaign, the Marlins "brain trust," in two more salary-driven transactions, traded away the team's most feared hitter (Cliff Floyd) and most experienced starting pitcher (Ryan Dempster). Granted, Dempster struggled for most of last year, but don't even try to argue that Carl Pavano is an improvement. Juan Encarnacion is a nice player, sure, but compare his on-base percentage and slugging percentage last year (.324 and .449) to Floyd's (.388 and .533). This off-season, management executed a series of deals -- and nondeals -- that, in true Ari Fleischer fashion, it has tried to spin as a demonstration of its commitment to winning. They term it "small-ball" -- pitching defense and speed. Baloney. Replacing a jovial clubhouse presence and consistent hitter like Kevin Millar with a known bust like Todd Hollandsworth is an insult to both the players and fans. All this to save the $500,000 difference in their 2003 salaries. Way to pinch those pennies, guys. The three-way trade with the Rockies and Braves was the capper, though. Yes, the contracts of Preston Wilson ($28 million through 2005) and Charles Johnson ($26 million over the next three years) were onerous, and both players were underperforming, especially CJ. But to go through all those machinations and end up with a punch-and-judy hitting center fielder who never draws a walk (Juan Pierre), a young reliever with more tattoos than total major league wins and saves combined (Tim Spooneybarger), and to be paying Mike Hampton $30 million over the next three years to play for the stinkin' Braves? Ludicrous. Outrageous. Disgusting. But hey, at least we then got Pudge, right? Yeah, this year. Don't come crying to us when the Marlins are paying him the rest of his back-loaded $10 million contract to play for somebody else, too.

Few places on the island of the rich and famous make outsiders feel more welcome than the Palm Beach Par 3 Golf Course. Well, at least they won't look at you funny for being worth less than a million. This city-owned mini-course, at 2,450 yards, is perhaps the island's best deal and affords some of the best views. For $17 in the morning and $15 after 2 p.m., duffers get amazing ocean views on four holes that run along the dune and Intracoastal sights from three holes on the opposite side of Ocean Boulevard. Check in at the shack-sized clubhouse, and for an extra $10, jump in a cart if you're absolutely lazy. Don't worry about checking with the starter, because there isn't one. Carts have the keys in 'em. Frequent customers can buy a 12-play card for $210 that makes this 18-hole course the best for the buck. Be warned, however, that this short course was designed for those who can afford to spend their weekdays golfing. Thin fairways running along water and sloped greens make for tough shots. And if you want to fit in, bring your plaid pants and speak loudly about how much you love the entire Bush family.

Taylor isn't just a player; he's a revolution. Teams around the NFL are now searching the universe for "Jason Taylor-types" -- incredibly fast and sleek defensive ends strong enough to get past offensive linemen and quick enough to bring down Michael Vick. When Taylor came out of college in 1997, nobody thought much of him because of his puny size (six-foot-six, 245 pounds). The Dolphins stole him in the third round. After four solid seasons, he had his break-out year in 2002, when he led the NFL in sacks (18.5), made the Pro Bowl for the second time, and was on the very short list for Defensive Player of the Year. Expect more of the same this coming season. The boy out of Akron is 28 years old and just hitting his prime.

There are four good, hard courts here, and at least one is almost always empty. What more do you need? But the real benefit of playing tennis here is the park, 88 acres of lakes and sanguine pleasure. A huge playground with built-in water for hot summer days is available for the kids. Rather shoot some hoops? There are two courts. Volleyball? Check. Rent a canoe or kayak for the open waters, or bring some charcoal and have a picnic. If that isn't enough, nearby is the Anne Kolb Nature Center, home to coastal mangrove wetlands, where you can hike, fish, or simply view the wonder of it all from the observation tower. Between 'em, you've got a beautiful corner of South Florida -- and a great place to cool down after a grueling three-set match.

Forget hair-raising roller-coaster rides. Try hairy critters slobbering on your windshield. Indeed, the animals that roam Lion Country Safari, which is located west of West Palm Beach, make Orlando's mouse seem rather mundane. Developed in 1967 by a group of British and South African entrepreneurs who wanted to bring the African safari experience stateside, the park is now home to more than 1,200 animals that roam freely around visitors, who are warned to stay in their cars. While this may sound like the ultimate couch-potato experience, the place has a rich history. When it opened more than three decades ago, it was the first cageless zoo in the nation. Furthermore, a drive through the park underscores how oxymoronic the term "reality-based TV" truly is; it offers a new incentive to get out of the house. Where else can you commune with curious ostriches (albeit through shatter-proof glass)? And where else can you watch giraffes spar while you hope they don't lose their footing and turn your SUV into a battered Dodge Ram? And not only neophytes are captivated by the zoo's natural wonder. Famed chimpanzee expert Dr. Jane Goodall uses the attraction as part of her ChimpanZoo program, in which trained observers record the animals' activities to help scientists understand how man's closest relatives live. If all that anthropological stuff seems like too much, don't worry. A park at the end of the trail features a merry-go-round, mini-golf, and pedal boats.

Face the facts, cyclist dude. It's not just the oxygen bath from the cardio workout conferring that superhuman glow. It's ego too. Your butt may feel like it should be severed from your body and sent to a spa for a three-day cure, but you did it, baby! Forty miles roundtrip! Not bad. Bragging rights are a definite benefit of this pier-to-pier ride along the southern end of Florida's ritziest sandbar. Still, talking length of ride and arrival time with the pedate and prone back home is easy. The deeper pleasure is something you carry inside, something hard to put into words, a kind of imprinting that happens as you cruise under the green gothic spires of gigantic Australian pines, find your nostrils overcome by the inexplicable smell of lavender, glimpse the Atlantic Ocean from the bridge by South Inlet Park. In the tiny town of Briny Breezes, you can contemplate Florida's vacation past in cement cottages that have yet to face the wrecking ball or gawk at who-the-hell-has-the-money-to-afford-these mansions lining A1A. Bike paths appear and disappear, but there is a sidewalk for a long stretch of the ride. You can park your car at Deerfield Pier for $3 a day. And hey, the Lake Worth Pier is worth a stroll before you head back south, so stretch out those overworked thighs and calves, baby.

Hiking in South Florida can sound about as enticing as swimming in snot. It's hot, it's muggy, it's buggy, and -- let's face it -- those breathtaking vistas are few and far between. But if you pick your spots carefully, you'll discover that the natural wonders of the area extend far beyond the beach. The 747-acre Royal Palm Beach Pines proves that hiking in South Florida is not just oxymoronic or even just plain moronic. A stunning example of what the area used to look like before it was sliced and diced by developers to make room for well, us, it features what environmentalists call pine flatwoods and wet prairies. To enjoy this wonderland, put on some boots or some trashed-out shoes and walk. Along the way, you'll undoubtedly run into a wood stork or two, surely some anhingas drying their wings, and, if you're lucky, a bald eagle. Plants along the well-marked trails are among the rarest in South Florida. So go slowly. Observe. It's a hike, after all, not a jog. The hardest part is finding the western Palm Beach County preserve in the first place. It's north of Okeechobee and Royal Palm Beach boulevards, at the far end of the Saratoga subdivision. Call for directions so your walk in the woods doesn't turn into a frustrating drive through suburbia.

Junior wants to try his inline skates, Mom hopes to play tennis, and Dad hankers to go fishing. What's the easy solution to this battle of recreation wills? John Prince Park in central Palm Beach County, where virtually every form of recreation or leisure can be accommodated. From a stroll, bike, jog, or skate along the 726-acre park's five miles of paved paths to fishing or boating on its 338 acres of shimmering lakes to a family reunion in one of its numerous picnic areas, this county park -- one of the state's oldest -- is truly an outdoors-lover's paradise. Need to alleviate stress? Check out the batting cages. Want to prepare the kid to be the next Tiger Woods? Play a round of mini-golf. Looking for an international hobby? Venture over to the pétanque (that's pronounced "pay-tonk") courts and try your hand at one of Europe's most popular outdoor games. All you have to do is toss or roll steel balls as close as possible to a wooden ball, which is called the "cochonnet" (piglet in French). Best of all, you don't have to leave this patch of paradise at day's end. With a campground that can hold 266 tents and RVs, a romp in the park can be more than a temporary diversion. It may become a permanent address.

The Panthers suck. Center Olli Jokinen knows this, and the fact that he isn't afraid to say it should give fans some hope for the future. The team may have a real leader. In March, as the cats wound down a disappointing, losing season and missed the playoffs, Jokinen showed true leadership by doing the simplest thing. He spoke the truth. "We can't win if we don't have guys showing up every night," he said. "... At least when you put the jersey on, you have to pay the price and play hard. It's frustrating that we have five or six guys showing up to a game... We have people hiding in the corners." Then Jokinen, who scored more in the dismal season than any Panther in history not named Pavel, came down with the hammer: "Things will change, though, you know? We're playing for jobs. There's 25 guys in the minors who want to play in the NHL. Every single guy has to realize that." After reading those words, we know there is a fire burning somewhere in this team -- even if it's only in Jokinen's heart.

The name of this waterway, which cuts through a barrier island, supports the urban legend that the route was used by rumrunners during Prohibition to smuggle liquor into the United States from the Bahamas. The narrow, generally slow-moving creek runs at a nice pace, giving you just enough time to absorb the sprawling mangroves and hammocks that line the route. Sometimes you can spot ospreys and manatees. The soothing, tame paddleway is about three miles long and perfect for first-timers. Whiskey Creek is part of John U. Lloyd Beach State Park, an area that was inhabited by Tequesta and Seminole Indians for years before that damn Henry Flagler built that accursed railroad and brought all of those obnoxious tourists to our tranquil, subtropical home.

Any South Florida resident knows the best swimming pool is the one in his or her own back yard. But that one gets bugs and stuff in it. It needs to be cleaned, chemicalized, and otherwise maintained. A better choice, and one with a scenic view, is the perfectly proportioned body of water atop the AutoNation Building's seventh-floor outdoor terrace. It belongs to the Fitness Co. Maybe you should jump in before your workout to stretch and decompress, or maybe take a quick dip after your tummy crunches, to do the same. Another plus: It's too far above the ground for leaves to cause a problem -- though even if they fell in, it wouldn't be your concern. High above it all, you can float your cares away. But don't dilly-dally: the pool's empty much of the time now but won't be after all the new condominiums nearby are filled to capacity. Hours are Monday through Friday, 6 a.m. to 9 p.m.; Saturday, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. On Sunday, it's closed.

All else being equal (i.e., assuming that his back doesn't act up again), this one is no contest. The numbers don't lie: .304 career batting average, nine straight All-Star starts, and a streak of ten consecutive Gold Gloves that began before the Marlins had even played their first game. So head on down to the ol' ballpark and enjoy his cannon arm and deft bat while you can. Once he's proved he's healthy, you think he'll stick around this train wreck of a franchise after his one-year contract expires? Face it, Marlins fans: Pudge is about as likely as Mike Piazza to go into the Hall of Fame wearing a fish on his cap.

Yeah, you're an outdoors person, fearless and all. So you want to go the rugged independent route? You want to go out on your own and snorkel without a guide or a boat? That's great. Jump in the Atlantic and swim. But if you're hankering for a guaranteed good time, get yourself to South Florida Diving Headquarters. They'll take you on a three-hour expedition in a glass-bottom boat about a quarter-mile off Pompano Beach where you can snorkel a natural reef and the 103-year-old shipwreck of the S.S. Copenhagen. You're sure to get up-close and personal with nurse sharks and to see all the colorful angel fish, moray eels, turtles, soft coral, fan coral, and sponges your heart desires. But like most good things, it will cost you -- $30 for the tour and another $10 for the gear if you don't have it ($15 for kids under 12). Or you can do just a glass-bottom boat tour for a quarter C-note. That's a small price to pay for uncovering the treasures of the sea.

The 221-square-mile refuge occupies the last of the northern Everglades. The wetlands were once connected with the Loxahatchee River (hence the name) 50 miles away, but the area between the two was dredged and developed long ago. For more than a half-century, the refuge has been kept alive by a series of pumps, canals, and levees. And we're happy to report that the project has been an astonishing success. Trek there yourself to see the thriving ecosystem of tree islands, sloughs, wet prairies, sawgrass, cattails, and open water. Alligators are everywhere, as are great blue heron, owls, anhingas, white ibis, and egrets. It's open seven days a week from 6 a.m. to 8:30 p.m., and it's good for a day of hiking, biking, or canoeing, all for five bucks a carload.

So this young right-hander is an odd choice. He's barely 23 years old, and he flamed out last season, ending up on the disabled list three times. But Josh Beckett was the second overall pick in the 1999 free-agent draft and boasted a 14-1 record in the minors in 2001. His earned run average that year was a mind-numbing 1.54. Then came the blisters on his right middle finger, blood on his pants, and a broken-up bathroom. Finally, after pickle brine and rice cream, the kid discovered Stan's blister cream, which he applies every day. Now his 96-mile-per-hour fastball is set to light up the league. And hey, considering the pathetic showings of the other major sports teams -- the Heat, Panthers, and Dolphins -- why not pick potential over performance?

If ever there was a place built for rollerblading, it's Broward County's finest beach, between Las Olas and Sunrise boulevards. There's a wide sidewalk and plenty of challenging obstacles (otherwise known as tourists) to maneuver around. The soothing surf and cool ocean breeze are on one side, and bustling bars and shops are on the other. Both offer particularly good people-watching opportunities. There are public bathrooms and showers when you need them. And there are fellow bladers to commiserate with after a nasty wipeout or collision. When you get tired, you can always stop at the Elbo Room for a beer, a soda, and maybe a song. This isn't exercise; it's the good life.

We got some Canes over here, whoosh, whoosh! Yes, it's a pretty lame cheer, but fans shout it loud and proud on any given Saturday in the Orange Bowl, and for good reason. UM is and has been a perennial football powerhouse since 1983, but gone are the days of the swaggering, trash-talking, fatigues-wearing hooligans who played for Jimmy Johnson. The NCAA violations, scholarship reductions, assorted PR gaffes, and the specter of Luther Campbell left a bad taste in the mouths of critics and fans alike. It's always darkest before the dawn, right? Even when things got really bad, they eventually got better: J.J. and his hair jumped to the NFL; their replacement, Dennis Erickson (despite winning two National Championships in '89 and '91), abandoned the team right before the school was hit with NCAA sanctions; Butch Davis exorcised the demons, cleaned up the program, and took the Canes to victory over the Gators in the 2001 Nokia Sugar Bowl. Then Davis bailed for the NFL, leaving the team and the fans in the lurch. Would the Canes revert back to their evil ways? After Athletic Director Paul Dee conducted a nationwide search for Davis' replacement, the UM players lobbied for Assistant Coach Larry Coker, who in turn led Miami to an undefeated season in 2001. In 2002, the Canes rocked the Nebraska Cornhuskers like a Category 4 storm in the Rose Bowl only to crash back down to Earth in a devastating loss to Ohio State University a year later in the Fiesta Bowl. Although the loss to OSU ended Miami's historic winning streak at 34 games and some egos (and ligaments) got bruised, rest assured that the Canes will reload and return to dominance. Whoosh, whoosh!There's no better place to undertake the vice of gambling than Dania Jai-Alai's "Cellar," a smoky crypt of simulcasts flickering on dozens of screens. Above it in the auditorium, spectators lend a classier air to the goings-on as they watch live games taking place in the fronton, the court on which this hoary Basque game is played. The Cellar, however, is a classic den of iniquity. It's here that paychecks are really lost or multiplied. Here, you can avoid the lines by placing bets on self-service terminals for everything from harness racing to jai-alai. Color touch-screen terminals allow you to open an account, establish a balance, and handle all your betting online from your own carrel. For the more mobile-minded, there're the palm-sized wireless terminals. They make trips to the Cellar's bar a whole lot easier.

It's not the bombs over Baghdad. It's the whole damn world gone crazy. We used to dismiss that little voice; "Firearms," it would whisper. "They'll make you feel safe." Back then, it was serial killers. Anger over not being able to wander freely without fear of rape. Now it's the government that has us thinking about weapons of less-than-mass destruction. Maybe the survivalists had it right all along. That's a crazy thought, no? And the voice keeps getting more insistent as the vise tightens on our civil rights. Feeling flattened yet? Hear the creak as the handle's turned? Not that we urge you to bear arms against the government. It's just our right to be prepared. At Big Al's, you can get a private lesson for $30 per half hour. Just one will enable you to shoot in the general direction of where you're aiming. After that, it's only $4.50 a person, unlimited time, $10 for gun rental, and $10 for 50 rounds. Proficiency is a long way off. In the meantime, maybe you better dust off the ol' critical intelligence. It's a weapon of unlimited potential. And your country needs you. Heck, you need you.

The stiff arm. The explosive power. The speed. The moves. The dreads. The personal website. The strangeness. The weird spats with police. The social disorder. This is almost too easy a choice. Williams isn't just a great running back; he's a hell of a complex person. There is an unpredictability about him that makes for great suspense and tension -- like a tautly filmed movie with an unsettling ending. Never before have we seen one person concurrently display such raw and powerful violence with such sublime sensitivity; you can't help but wonder which side will win out. He practices photography, and if he brings half the artistry to that craft that he does to rushing, he'll be the next Richard Avedon. But nowhere will he ever achieve the sheer beauty -- the apocalyptic explosion at the line of scrimmage, the fiery sweep to the sideline -- that he creates on a football field. Miracles like that don't occur twice in a lifetime.

This guy is a smorgasbord of tot-inspired talent. For a fee, he offers sno-cones, cotton candy, face-painting, and that nemesis of paranoid parents, a bounce house. To calm adults' jittery nerves, he sometimes even makes frozen margaritas -- though he generally avoids such fare at kiddie shindigs. Gary Cardonick's specialty is balloons. The 36-year-old Coral Springs dweller, who boasts an associate's degree in business, can make motorcycles, Bugs Bunny, even a working Ferris wheel by mangling a little rubber-cum-air. He got his start a decade ago at the Baja Beach Club in Fort Lauderdale, where he did just about everything you can imagine to make a buck. He even recalls selling his clown shoes for $200 to a rich guy who was trying to impress his date. ("I went home in stocking feet," he comments.) He started face-painting four or five years ago, added the bounce house in 1999 after a stock tip paid off (we love a clown who plays the market), then added the food in the past couple of years. Twisty don't come cheap: His full-service birthday costs $350. You might consider starting a preschool if you really want him over. That's only $150 a shot. "Good advertising there," Cardonick says.

There's a great path between water and trees in Pompano that is one of the few places in South Florida where you can run without getting hit by a car. If you like to space out when you move, this strip of concrete is safe. You have to worry most about tripping over one of the walkers or bicycle riders. But the path is pretty wide, and the people are polite, so the risk of person-versus-person collision and injury is low. If you like to focus on surroundings rather than accomplishment, keep your eye on the water while you sweat. There'll be ducks on the surface, turtles on the bank, and fish that jump from the water and splash down several yards downstream. And hey, a couple of bridges give you one of the few places in this flat region with slight elevation, so you can work your quads. To get there, follow Palm Aire Drive south from Powerline Road; this beauteous place to exercise runs between Atlantic Boulevard and McNab Road.

There's not much to do in Easterlin Park, and that's just the point. Unlike busy, high-energy gathering places, Easterlin is a passive, urban wilderness area, much of whose 47 acres are taken up with an honest-to-God cypress forest -- rather amazing, since it's only a stone's throw from the hyperbusy intersection of Oakland Park Boulevard and Powerline Road. All of which means that it's a good place for a quiet walk, a good locale for a peaceful picnic, an oasis amid a firestorm. Take a relaxing stroll through the unspoiled forest -- admire 250-year-old trees and other native flora while birds converse in the treetops and squirrels skitter across your path. Notice that the occasional train whistles are just far enough away to blend in with the sounds of nature. Sit trance-like while ducks glide serenely across the smallish lake, and fish if you like... it's allowed. Camping is an option too; there are 55 campsites, many for tents only, not RVs. Volleyball and shooting hoops are permitted if you must do something. But really, this park's simple charm is the peaceful escape it affords. Maybe that why it's a workers' favorite at lunchtime. Admission is free during the week, only $1 per person on weekends and holidays.

So what do you want from a picnic spot? A little quiet. A little solitude. A nice view. And, if you have kids, a playground nearby to keep them entertained while you soak up the best Mother Nature has to offer. If that's your criteria, you can't do better than John D. MacArthur State Park. The 336-acre idyll (161 acres are underwater) is the perfect place to peel off the stresses of work-a-day life. While some naturists have taken the park's allure literally, stripping off their bathing suits much to the dismay of park staff, this is no place for controversy. With towering pines, a nature center, a 1,600-foot boardwalk, playgrounds, and 1.8 miles of beach, the place allows visitors to do as much or as little as they like. And in this setting, less is truly more. Grab a picnic table. Grill a hotdog. Sit back. Enjoy.This place rocks if you're 7 years old or younger. It swings too. And it has one of those gizmos that kids hold with both hands as they slide across a rail while suspended eight feet in the air. There's also stuff from smaller, less-sophisticated playgrounds like slides, climbing bars, and bridges to walk over. Lots of 'em. There are even two sections to this monstrous facility, one for very little ones and one for big kids. Then there are the huge sun shades that keep it cool in the summer. And the facility, located in the center of TY's 150 acres, is close to dozens of other recreational activities like the water park at Castaway Island, boat rentals, tennis and basketball courts, picnic shelters, and a campground. The place's name means "meeting place" in the Seminole language; your kids are sure to meet others here. Thus, you can kick back and enjoy some peace -- a rarity on the parental front. On weekends, as many as 100 kids jam this place, so get there early. The park is open from 6:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. in the summer and 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. in winter. Admission is a buck a person. Kids under age 5, the real target audience for this sixth wonder of the juvenile world, are admitted free.

Memo to the Lake Worth City Commission: You have spent much of the past decade wringing your hands about what to do with the city's municipal beach. Stop it! Leave it alone. This throwback to the 1950s has everything any beachgoer could want. For those who are content to spend an afternoon soaking up the rays, there's 1,300-feet of uninterrupted white stuff. For those who begin to get bored shortly after the sunscreen kicks in, there are plenty of diversions, including a 962-foot fishing pier, surfing, volleyball, and even a pier-side restaurant where you can down a couple of cold ones while checking out the near-naked crowd. Like your water without salt? Venture across the street and do a couple of laps in the city's Olympic-sized swimming pool, then cool down by taking a stroll through a half-dozen kitschy shops. Improve it? How do you improve upon perfection?Two words: free parking.