Don't let the anchors, saltwater aquarium, or back-lot dolphin mural fool you. It's not the nautical motif that packs the house on weekends. It's Freddie's reverent devotion to all things NASCAR that keeps local motorheads coming back for more. Three big-screen televisions and 23 regular-size ones dutifully show high-speed action and frenzied cheers of NASCAR, Busch, and Winston Cup races. Brass-and-wood plaques cover a side-wall honoring assorted Daytona winners and seven-time Winston Cup champ Dale Earnhardt, and a two-car Sega Daytona USA video game sits in the corner ready for anyone wanting to give virtual racing a try. Freddie's even gives patrons an up-close look at the real deal: The shell of Bill Elliott's 1993 number 11 Budweiser NASCAR Thunderbird hangs upside down from the ceiling. NASCAR runs 40 weeks a year, and for 50 bucks the bar offers a NASCAR club membership that includes a T-shirt, cap, bumper stickers, and ten free feeding passes for pig roasts cooked up every Sunday. Beer, pork, racecars… what more could a gal ask for?
One syllable. Two letters. Six feet, ten inches of lean, sculpted muscle. ZO! Lots of great athletes have earned their single-name recognition: Michael, Shaq, Sweetness, Magic, the Babe. And although achievement generally precedes such recognition, this year Miami Heat center Alonzo Mourning took a huge leap forward in both realms. Zo spent his first few seasons here carrying the weight of a franchise and a city on his back while critics called him overpaid and underproductive. But it was the pressure he put on himself, rather than the pressure of the outside world, that led him to his first selection to the All-NBA First Team last year and to runner-up position in league MVP voting. The accolades kept coming this season: Zo was chosen to compete in Sydney with the 2000 USA Men's National Team. In addition to his achievements on the court, Mourning, who is the NBA's national spokesman for the prevention of child abuse, donates $100 for every blocked shot he makes to the Children's Home Society and Jackson Memorial Hospital. And his Summer Groove fundraiser, which benefits the Children's Home Society, has raised more than a million dollars in the three years it's existed. On the floor or off, Alonzo Mourning always stands tall.
One syllable. Two letters. Six feet, ten inches of lean, sculpted muscle. ZO! Lots of great athletes have earned their single-name recognition: Michael, Shaq, Sweetness, Magic, the Babe. And although achievement generally precedes such recognition, this year Miami Heat center Alonzo Mourning took a huge leap forward in both realms. Zo spent his first few seasons here carrying the weight of a franchise and a city on his back while critics called him overpaid and underproductive. But it was the pressure he put on himself, rather than the pressure of the outside world, that led him to his first selection to the All-NBA First Team last year and to runner-up position in league MVP voting. The accolades kept coming this season: Zo was chosen to compete in Sydney with the 2000 USA Men's National Team. In addition to his achievements on the court, Mourning, who is the NBA's national spokesman for the prevention of child abuse, donates $100 for every blocked shot he makes to the Children's Home Society and Jackson Memorial Hospital. And his Summer Groove fundraiser, which benefits the Children's Home Society, has raised more than a million dollars in the three years it's existed. On the floor or off, Alonzo Mourning always stands tall.
Even watching at home on an 18-inch television screen, peering through cigarette smoke and sipping beer, this much is clear: Every time Pavel Bure touches the puck, the game is demonstrably altered. Number 10 seems to explode across the ice, gathering the puck at the blue line and snapping it past another unsuspecting goalie before you can say, "Holy perestroika, Pavel!" Take one game, say early March, against the Northeast Division-leading Toronto Maple Leafs: The Cats are in a horrid, season-threatening slump, losers of four straight at home and seemingly sleep-skating for the last month. The team's once insurmountable lead in the Southeast Division has dwindled to just two games over the insurgent Washington Capitals. Enter Pavel. Near the end of the first period, number 10 cuts across the ice and blisters a puck past goalie Curtis Joseph. Goal number 44 (long ago shattering a Panther record). Bure then slides across the ice on one knee in gunslinger fashion, pumping his fist, and all you can think is… Slump? What slump? Just like that, clear as Russian vodka, the Cats are back. The Panthers go on to manhandle the Leafs, with Bure adding an empty-net goal as an exclamation point to the 3-1 victory. And they then go on to bury the Capitals in the bottom of their litter box.

Even watching at home on an 18-inch television screen, peering through cigarette smoke and sipping beer, this much is clear: Every time Pavel Bure touches the puck, the game is demonstrably altered. Number 10 seems to explode across the ice, gathering the puck at the blue line and snapping it past another unsuspecting goalie before you can say, "Holy perestroika, Pavel!" Take one game, say early March, against the Northeast Division-leading Toronto Maple Leafs: The Cats are in a horrid, season-threatening slump, losers of four straight at home and seemingly sleep-skating for the last month. The team's once insurmountable lead in the Southeast Division has dwindled to just two games over the insurgent Washington Capitals. Enter Pavel. Near the end of the first period, number 10 cuts across the ice and blisters a puck past goalie Curtis Joseph. Goal number 44 (long ago shattering a Panther record). Bure then slides across the ice on one knee in gunslinger fashion, pumping his fist, and all you can think is… Slump? What slump? Just like that, clear as Russian vodka, the Cats are back. The Panthers go on to manhandle the Leafs, with Bure adding an empty-net goal as an exclamation point to the 3-1 victory. And they then go on to bury the Capitals in the bottom of their litter box.

So many reasons from which to choose… the weather, the cornucopia of exposed flesh, the fact that a Dunkin' Donuts is never more than a block or two away. Yes, these are nice things you can't find in Cleveland, but what really sets us apart down here is the quality of the light. Natives say you can tell the season by the color of the sun's rays: glare white in summer, pastel yellow in spring, soft brass in the fall, and eggshell in the winter. Sometimes, when the atmospheric conditions are just so, the entire world turns a shade of rosy pink that even makes the strip malls look appealing.
So many reasons from which to choose… the weather, the cornucopia of exposed flesh, the fact that a Dunkin' Donuts is never more than a block or two away. Yes, these are nice things you can't find in Cleveland, but what really sets us apart down here is the quality of the light. Natives say you can tell the season by the color of the sun's rays: glare white in summer, pastel yellow in spring, soft brass in the fall, and eggshell in the winter. Sometimes, when the atmospheric conditions are just so, the entire world turns a shade of rosy pink that even makes the strip malls look appealing.
Forearms with tendons that resemble banyan roots, only they move. A cool and collected toughness that spells B-I-G T-I-M-E. Just 7 percent body fat on a musculature that is at once drop-jaw beautiful and downright frightening. Be afraid. Yes, be very afraid, because it's Preston Wilson, a young man simply dripping with uncanny talent and blockbuster potential. Last year as a rookie, he gave us just a hint of his incredible power and a fielding prowess that's gonna soon fill ESPN highlight reels. Move over Junior Griffey, there's a new daddy's boy in the league. Preston, who is former Met Mookie Wilson's stepson, definitely has a career. Now, the question is: Will it be with the Marlins?

Forearms with tendons that resemble banyan roots, only they move. A cool and collected toughness that spells B-I-G T-I-M-E. Just 7 percent body fat on a musculature that is at once drop-jaw beautiful and downright frightening. Be afraid. Yes, be very afraid, because it's Preston Wilson, a young man simply dripping with uncanny talent and blockbuster potential. Last year as a rookie, he gave us just a hint of his incredible power and a fielding prowess that's gonna soon fill ESPN highlight reels. Move over Junior Griffey, there's a new daddy's boy in the league. Preston, who is former Met Mookie Wilson's stepson, definitely has a career. Now, the question is: Will it be with the Marlins?

They call him "Chop Chop," and not necessarily with admiration. In the blueblood circles of horseracing, Jorge Chavez has long been looked upon with a wary eye for his demonstrative (some would say brutal) use of the whip. But at four feet, ten inches -- tiny even by jockey standards -- Chavez leverages every ounce of his body into making his horses run. It may be ugly, but it's effective. At the ripe age of 39, the former Peruvian street urchin has found horseracing glory. Last year he rode two winners in the Breeders' Cup and was the top finisher during the Gulfstream season. Chavez capped off the year by winning the Eclipse Award for top rider in the country, besting such better-known Gulfstream stablemates as Pat Day and Jerry Bailey and permanently catapulting himself out of the ghetto of 30-to-1 long shots and claiming races. So for now, at least, make that Mr. Chop Chop.

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