Sports & Recreation

Paddle past the mangroves into the pull of a light breeze and enjoy the uninterrupted chorus of insects. No traffic, no sirens, not a condo in sight. It’s so quiet, you can hear the gentle slap of water against the boat. Occasionally, a spindly legged egret appears on the shoreline or maybe a regal blue heron. You watch in awe as a swarm of fish leap from the water in a sparkling arc. You paddle on to Munyon Island, an untouched sanctuary in the middle of the lagoon. At low tide, you can nap on its tiny beach for hours. But you roust yourself in time to paddle back to the dock. You want to sunbathe on the park’s blessedly tourist-free beach and watch the Atlantic Ocean crash on a shoreline that feels miles away from reality.

Only three years ago, the Dolphins used the ninth overall pick in the draft to take Ted Ginn Jr. He was a fast playmaker from a powerhouse program, but even then, it seemed like a huge reach. It was. In three years, he’s had five touchdown receptions. Three of the five players drafted right after him have already gone to Pro Bowls. Remember that ’90s movie Necessary Roughness? Remember that wide receiver they called Stone Hands? Well, that’s pretty much been Ginn’s entire professional career. As far as fans are concerned, his nickname might was well be “Don’t Throw It To” Ginn. He’s had some highlights in the return game, but most of those came in a single game. Mercifully, he was traded to the 49ers this year for a fifth-round pick. Now he can drop passes in another team’s uniform.

Before he even shot his first jumper as a member of the Miami Heat, the silky six-foot-ten Beasley was in trouble. While at an NBA rookie camp, he was busted in a hotel room that police said smelled strongly of marijuana. How did the police find out about it? A fire alarm. Which begs the question: Just how much were those guys smoking? Last year, he posted a photo of himself on Twitter, an infamously foolish move, since observers noticed the fixings for a weed high in the background. Then came rehab in Houston. Beasley’s behavior is at times erratic, and on the court, he’s been inconsistent, showing his unique talents at times but too often disappearing into the woodwork. In this year’s playoffs, he was pretty much dominated by Kevin Garnett in the Heat’s series loss to the Celtics. So, after two years, what do you do with the guy? Here’s what you do: You keep him. Sure it’s a gamble, because Beasley is a project (and yes, like millions of otherwise law-abiding Americans, he has been known to smoke some ganja). Projects, by definition, take time. Why should the Heat deal Beasley off to another team after having suffered through his growing pains? Through all that smoke, there is some fire. Might as well let it burn in Miami next season.

You’ve probably never heard of David Lee — but you’ve seen his work. You’ve seen it in exotic formations and in the play of several quarterbacks. You’ve also seen the results in the Dolphins win column. Lee is a longtime Arkansas Razorback and a Parcells guy. He was an assistant in Dallas during the Tuna’s reign. When he came to Miami in 2008, he brought with him a little offensive gimmick play he called the “Wildcat.” It was unorthodox — a running back in motion, another back lined up behind center, and a quarterback lined up out wide. Defenses, including the mighty Patriots’, had no answers. The Dolphins ran the Wildcat all the way to a playoff spot, a division title, and a tie for the best single-season turnaround in league history. Lost in the Wildcat chatter was the fact that Lee was also the man behind the resurgence of a washed-up Chad Pennington. (That year, Pennington won his second Comeback Player of the Year award.) But Lee wasn’t done. When Pennington went down last year, Lee made Chad Henne look like the closest thing Miami’s seen to a franchise quarterback since Dan Marino. Lee may be the single most underappreciated coach in professional sports.

We cheated a little bit on this one and put two names up there, but these guys are Dolphin cornerbacks who we hope will be playing together for years to come. Both had big moments in their rookie year, and both possess something you can’t teach. With Davis, it’s an incredible instinct for the big play (and big hit). With Smith, it’s a set of hands that most defensive backs would kill for (his one-handed end-zone interception in the preseason against the Saints was an all-time catch). They had their down times (as all rookies do), and were beaten for touchdowns a little more than you’d like, but both of them, from the moment they entered training camp, were obviously destined to start in the NFL — and both might have All-Pro years ahead of them. But don’t take it from us: No less an authority than Pro Bowl receiver Muhsin Muhammad recently opined that Davis and Smith are the best cornerback tandem in the NFL. Not bad for a couple of rookies.

If you think women can’t play football, you’ve never seen Anonka Dixon. She’s part owner of the Miami Fury, the 11-on-11 women’s franchise, but it’s as quarterback of the Miami Caliente, South Florida’s lingerie football team, that she completely dominates. At 33 years old, Dixon is the best player in the Lingerie Football League. She led the LFL in every passing category and accounted for about 70 percent of Miami’s touchdowns. With lightning speed; the ability to plant either foot, pivot, and reverse field in a blink; and a right arm that can launch a perfect spiral 60 yards, she’s the female version of Peyton Manning, Kurt Warner, and the good parts of Michael Vick all rolled into one. (And yeah, she’s also gorgeous.)

Yeah, he took it easy after he kicked that ball into left field and dissed Freddy Gonzalez a little, but that can’t offset the greatness of Hanley. Ultimately he apologized, and the team was better off for it. Can’t a superstar get a diva moment once a season or so? Sure he can. And Ramirez is a superstar, one of those rare instant Hall of Famers that any fan is lucky to get a chance to watch on a nightly basis. How many guys in baseball might give you 200 hits, 30 home runs, 100 RBIs, 125 runs, and 50 stolen bases and hit better than .340? Only one — and his initials are H.R. (OK, he probably won’t be getting 50 steals again, but he did it in ’06.) Last year, he won the batting title and was the runner-up in MVP voting. Oh, and he plays a pretty mean shortstop. It’s true he’s gotten off to a slow start this year, but Hanley told us not to worry about him. I think we can handle that. (Runner-up: Josh Johnson, a guy who always reminds you why they call it the big leagues.)

Yes, he’s had his share of off-the-court drama: the messy divorce, the horribly ill-advised business dealings, the legendary partying. And yes, he comes with all the distractions of a superstar: the occasional one-on-one with President Obama, the months training for and playing in the Olympics, the sweet courting whispers from every intelligent GM and coach in the league. And it’s true, without another superstar to work with, the team hasn’t had a whiff of a second championship. But make no mistake: Professional basketball in South Florida begins and ends, and rises and falls, with Dwyane Wade.

Steve Feinzig, a wisecracking Jewish guy from Brooklyn, walks into the studio in gym shorts and a T-shirt. The space he enters has an aura of sanctity — gleaming wood floors, high ceilings, low light, curtained walls. Steve is perfectly at home. He and his wife, Darlene, built this place. He sits cross-legged and starts discussing his die-hard love of the Gators. He talks about his 3-year-old son, Sammy. He paces between the rows of mats and muses about the musical talents of the Police and the heart-opening properties of back bends. He makes fun of every student in the kindest possible way. He makes one woman giggle in upward dog. While the blood rushes to another, handstanding student’s head, Steve reminds her of the things she cares about most in the world — her kids or the dog she just rescued. “Go deeper,” he says, and she does. As a chiropractor, he knows precisely how to rearrange hips or press lightly on a lower back to bring grace to a pose. As a student sighs with relief, Steve smiles. “Welcome to yoga,” he says.

A bowling alley is only as good as the party it contains, and Diamond Strike Lanes, AKA Pompano Bowl, does plenty to literally get the ball rolling. Under blacklights on weekend evenings or the amid the warm glow of a quick game after work, all 32 lanes are fertile for camaraderie, budding love, and family togetherness. Beyond the mystical powers of ten frames, look to convenience: All of the house bowling balls are stored by color and weight, the scoring equipment looks like it’s younger than Justin Bieber, and comfy leather benches and barstools make the entire experience more inviting. When everyone’s arms get good and sore, slide over to the sizable adjoining sports bar lounge and tip back a few more beverages. No need to let the party end just yet.

It comes in at a measly 1.6 acres, but that’s all Stranahan Park needs. Because the park’s beauty doesn’t only lie with its rare cypress trees — its beauty is also seen in how downtown Fort Lauderdale molds to it. Eateries, businesses, and the Broward County Main Library swarm the wilderness area, making it the perfect meeting grounds for lunch. It comes with picnic benches, a turf of grass in which to loiter from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily, and a gazebo for weddings (note: Wedding receptions aren’t allowed). It’s home to the Fort Lauderdale Woman’s Club. It’s also prime distance to the main bus terminal. There’s just this one other thing: The park’s also renowned among the homeless.

Did you doubt Ricky Williams? Back in 2004, did you call him selfish? Did you burn a jersey or smash a bobblehead? Did you mock him for his personal problems? Ricky said he needed to find himself. He retired and moved to a tent in the Australian outback. He enrolled in a holistic medicine school, studied Hinduism in India, taught yoga in a California ashram, and played a season with the Toronto Argonauts. Then he came back. In 2008, he teamed with Ronnie Brown to form the “Wildcat” offense, which stunned defensive coordinators around the league. Then in 2009, when Brown went down and with a first-year starter playing quarterback, Ricky once again carried the Dolphins on his shoulders. He set an NFL record for longest span between 1,000-yard seasons at six years. Now he’s one of the longest-tenured Dolphins, just a few hundred yards shy of the franchise rushing record. He won’t play much longer, though — he wants to attend medical school. And if you think Ricky won’t be a doctor, you’ve learned nothing. Don’t doubt Ricky Williams.

Find the “start” sign and dash past the kids’ playground, the families picnicking under the pavilions, and the young men playing basketball on the court. Fly past the quarter-mile marker, through the trees and manicured foliage. Pass the tennis lessons and benches and outdoor gym stations (chin-ups, anyone?). Gasping, you’ll stumble upon the half-mile marker and jog past the gigantic amphitheater. Keep going, past the aquatic center and, surely, several groups of speed-walking women. The three-quarter mark looms ahead! Stagger past it and walk, panting deeply and limping painfully, back to the start sign. Congratulations! You ran a mile and were so busy observing all the other shit going on around Pompano Community Park that you didn’t even have a heart attack! Now, collapse under a pavilion; maybe someone will offer you a hot dog.

Most of the überwealthy don’t bother to drain their pools when they go north for the summer, which means their onyx and ultramarine oases are ours for the backstroking. Like the famous character in the John Cheever story “The Swimmer,” with a little planning, a person in reasonably good shape could practically swim the length of the island in, say, August, when even hired caretakers are narcoleptic with heat. Many mansions are best approached from the beach (hint: The north end of the island is all but fence-free), eliminating the problem of where to park if you lack a sticker. A dip in some absent playboy’s pampered pond, surrounded by Grecian statuary, makes a satisfying way to slough off an afternoon’s beach sand. Advanced skinny-dippers will want to cabana-crash under cover of darkness. For best results, keep plunges brief to stay one dive ahead of the cops. And if you do get caught, put on your thickest prep-school intonations and ask if you can place your phone call to “Aunt Lilly” or “Uncle Donald.”

Have you ever been eating something that tasted OK — except for one ingredient that completely dominated the flavor? Maybe the recipe contained capers or mayonnaise or sardines. You know the whole thing would be better if only you could take that shit out, if you could go back in time and never put it in. Those salty capers, that oily mayo, those slimy little fish — that’s what Joey Porter was to the Dolphins’ defense last year. Let’s not mention the fights he got into with both teammates and opponents, the fact that he proudly carries a gun he calls “my little buddy,” that he was once shot in the ass, that his dogs allegedly killed a horse, or that within three weeks of the Dolphins’ cutting him, Porter was arrested for a DUI in Arizona. Purely from a football standpoint, the Dolphins defense is faster, smarter, and hungrier without Porter. Get used to hearing the name Karlos Dansby.

Since entering local MMA powerhouse American Top Team, Tyron “T-Wood” Woodley’s career has taken off. T-Wood is a two-time All American NCAA wrestler from the University of Missouri with a perfect 7-0 record in MMA. He’s also as fierce a grappler as there is in the sport, able to take his opponents to the mat and dominate them with ease. In his three appearances on Showtime Sports’ Strikeforce Challengers, Woodley showed a devastating ability to stop fights with an array of submission skills. And thanks to American Top Team, his heavy hands are becoming just as dangerous. Woodley, a St. Louis native and one of 13 children, was recently handpicked to be showcased in EA Sport’s upcoming MMA videogame. If T-Wood continues on this trajectory, Coconut Creek could be home to yet another championship fighter.

Jozy Altidore was born to play soccer. When a coach spotted an 8-year-old Jozy playing in a park, he guaranteed Jozy’s parents that the boy would play for the national team in a few years. Jozy didn’t have a childhood like the rest of us. Boca Raton was home, but he grew up in soccer camps all over the country, playing morning, noon, and night. At 16, long before he graduated from high school, Jozy was drafted into Major League Soccer, where he immediately proved himself a goal-scoring machine. When he was 18, he signed a $10 million contract to play in Spain — the largest sum ever paid for any MLS player. Now, just as that coach promised his parents a decade ago, Jozy is hands-down the most exciting player on one of the best American national teams in history.

A good football player can take hits, go long, and emerge victorious. A great football player will switch positions to benefit the team, lead his conference in rushing yards, and practically require a herd of elephants to take him down. For FAU, that player is Alfred Morris. The 2009 season was the sophomore’s first as a starter. Last year, he was a fullback but converted to a running back after a series of injuries suffered by his teammates. This was the year fans saw him flourish. Not only did he lead the Sun Belt Conference in rushing with 1,392 yards but opponents found out Morris is harder to tackle than a gazelle. And his team found out they can use him for more than just running: He’s proven himself capable of completing big plays as well. Morris is a rock star in the Sun Belt Conference, and here at home, he was given the Team MVP award at FAU’s 2010 Football Banquet. He currently remains the proverbial love of Coach Howard Schnellenberger’s life after becoming just the second player in the coach’s 50-year career to rush for 1,000 yards.

When she was 5, Sachia Vickery plucked a cheap tennis racket off the shelf of a Miramar shop and told her mother that she’d be the next Venus Williams. A decade has passed and Vickery, now 15, is on track to make good on that improbable promise. The former top-ranked 12-year-old in the nation, Vickery rarely plays against an opponent her own age. Last year at 14, she won a major international tournament in the Czech Republic, then turned pro. This year, she made a dazzling debut at New York City’s Madison Square Garden, knocking off an older player in an exhibition match. It will be a long climb from her current world ranking (975), but Vickery’s got time on her side, as well as a mother who worked two jobs to pay for expensive tennis lessons, like the ones Vickery’s getting now at an academy in France. It won’t be long now before that investment begins paying handsome dividends.

If you have a fenced-in patch of grass outside your house, you might talk yourself out of taking your dog Roscoe to the dog park. Grass here, grass there, you might say. As long as Roscoe still gets his play dates, everything’s swell. Well, just try talking yourself out of taking the ol’ best friend to Canine Beach, where Roscoe gets to cavort in the sand and swim in the ocean. The Intracoastal canal’s not a comparable substitute, and those sprinklers on your front lawn? Not even close. Canine Beach is open Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays from 3 to 7 p.m. during the winter months and from 5 to 9 p.m. during summer. One weekend permit costs seven bucks per dog, but you can also pay an annual fee of $30 to $45. But remember, walking Roscoe along A1A any day of the week is free, and you shouldn’t deprive him of the beach: He likes to lick the salt off his nose.

The HRPC, hidden just off Stirling Road behind a chainlink fence, looks more like an old Moose Lodge than a modern gun club. The range is all outdoors, and there’s no air conditioning. Shooters have to walk out to their targets, which are hoisted on poles affixed to old tires. The PA system is crackly, and the buildings look like they’ve been around for decades (they have). But what the place lacks in amenities it makes up for in character. Its members are a tight-knit group, just as likely to crack jokes with you as help you improve your aim. They hold friendly, competitive matches on most weekends, often culminating in a lunchtime barbecue and cookout complete with cold brews (no drinking on the range, though). And as far as heritage goes, the club has plenty. It’s been around since 1935 and was once presided over by former Hollywood Commissioner and businessman Charles Barney Smith (for whom C.B. Smith Park is named). Even more telling, its last surviving original member, T.C. Rossman, passed away early this year. He was still shooting. It may not be the most state-of-the-art facility, but the HRPC is as much a part of South Florida history as a gun club can get.

No hockey player feels the shame of a losing franchise like the goalie. This season, the Panthers missed the playoffs for an NHL-record tenth consecutive year, and their struggles obscured what could have been a sterling season for Tomas Vokoun. In 2009-10, the 33-year-old Czech netminder posted a .925 save percentage, the third-best mark in the league. The save percentage is the statistic that will tell you the most about the quality of the goaltender, and it demonstrates how frequently a low-scoring Panther club remained competitive thanks to Vokoun’s heroics. Yet the other statistics show just how futile those efforts were: Vokoun lost 28 games ­— tied for most in the league. Considering how the Panthers’ front office blundered by losing top defenseman Jay Bouwmeester the previous year to free agency, that shouldn’t be a surprise. Even though Vokoun saved most of the shots that came his way, the Panthers allowed so many shots to get near him in the first place that they essentially lost a numbers game. Whatever is wrong with the Panthers franchise, it’s not Vokoun’s fault. He’s the one cat who deserves to hold his head high.