Imagine you're the personnel director of an NFL expansion team and you have the opportunity to pick any player from the Dolphins roster for your new squad. Cornerback Sam Madison is one of the best in the league at his position, and wide receiver O.J. McDuffie led the league in receptions a year ago; either would be a good choice. But when it comes to being the best Dolphins player, middle linebacker Zach Thomas is the meanest fish in the tank. The defensive spark plug many NFL insiders considered too small at five feet, eleven inches and 235 pounds has led the team in tackles every season since being drafted in the fifth round in 1996. What Thomas lacks in size, he makes up for in intensity and versatility. How many players have the power to go head-up on Steelers running back Jerome Bettis -- a guy nicknamed "the Bus" for his bruising running style -- flatten him like a pancake, and still possess the speed to cover Raiders wideout Tim Brown on a deep crossing pattern? Thomas' teammates and coaches consistently recognize him as one of the hardest workers on the team. His character, fire, and athletic ability make him the heart and soul of a nasty defense that has come to be known as one of the stingiest in the NFL. While other players may be involved in one or two plays per drive, the Dolphins' middle man usually contributes on every down, thus continuing Miami's tradition of gritty defensive field generals.

South Florida is congested as hell. Yet it seems that every other car on the road is a Corvette, Porsche, or some other high-horse ride that was born to run. What to do? You can take the tack most do around here and drive like a freakin' idiot from stoplight to stoplight, or you can point that pony west and open 'er up on Alligator Alley. We recommend the latter for three reasons: (a) It's straight and flat as a pool table, which means that (b) there aren't many places for the cops to hide, and (c) traffic is usually light and well spaced so that, if you run off the road at a high speed, you won't take innocent bystanders with you. You still have to keep an eye peeled for the Florida Highway Patrol, but if you're the least bit alert, you should be able to get away with exceeding the speed limit. Just don't send us the ticket if they nab you.

South Florida is congested as hell. Yet it seems that every other car on the road is a Corvette, Porsche, or some other high-horse ride that was born to run. What to do? You can take the tack most do around here and drive like a freakin' idiot from stoplight to stoplight, or you can point that pony west and open 'er up on Alligator Alley. We recommend the latter for three reasons: (a) It's straight and flat as a pool table, which means that (b) there aren't many places for the cops to hide, and (c) traffic is usually light and well spaced so that, if you run off the road at a high speed, you won't take innocent bystanders with you. You still have to keep an eye peeled for the Florida Highway Patrol, but if you're the least bit alert, you should be able to get away with exceeding the speed limit. Just don't send us the ticket if they nab you.

Love, sex,… and death. So you're gonna drop the bastard, eh? You're gonna, what, tell a good woman it's not really her, it's you, you're the problem, so don't worry while you just tear her heart out? You're gonna let him know -- you feel suffocated. He's a great guy, he has changed the landscape of your heart. (Remember that line, "the landscape of your heart.") But no way, José. Now the question becomes simple. Where to do it? You do not want any place that suggests the landscape of a heart or that suggests hope. You want just the opposite. A cemetery, obviously. After all, this is what breaking up is all about. It's about dying. And being reborn. What better place than a Catholic cemetery? Those Catholics are really into death and resurrection. So we recommend taking your soon-to-be ex to Queen of Heaven, which provides 100 acres to walk around while you deliver the message. And if you're dropping a real SOB, if you really want to bury somebody who treated you badly, you can do it there, too. For $1300 a plot.

Love, sex,… and death. So you're gonna drop the bastard, eh? You're gonna, what, tell a good woman it's not really her, it's you, you're the problem, so don't worry while you just tear her heart out? You're gonna let him know -- you feel suffocated. He's a great guy, he has changed the landscape of your heart. (Remember that line, "the landscape of your heart.") But no way, José. Now the question becomes simple. Where to do it? You do not want any place that suggests the landscape of a heart or that suggests hope. You want just the opposite. A cemetery, obviously. After all, this is what breaking up is all about. It's about dying. And being reborn. What better place than a Catholic cemetery? Those Catholics are really into death and resurrection. So we recommend taking your soon-to-be ex to Queen of Heaven, which provides 100 acres to walk around while you deliver the message. And if you're dropping a real SOB, if you really want to bury somebody who treated you badly, you can do it there, too. For $1300 a plot.

No more beautiful city site awaits your need for resurrection -- the resurrection of old love into new, perhaps -- than this flawless and tiny park, awash in history. Here the Colee family was massacred (no need to bring this up) on January 6, 1836, unleashing the Second Seminole Indian War. The Seminoles and the U.S. government never did make up, perhaps because they didn't sit down together at this spot, hold hands, and study the water. But you can. The park is a circle of green pressed to the river, commanded by two majestic trees at its center: a banyan and a live oak -- two sturdy trees symbolizing your new commitment. No more than 50 yards in diameter, the circle is ringed on its outer edge by palms and gumbo-limbos. Beyond that lush, city-kept flora stands a neighborhood of such quiet opulence that the sense of well-being is perfect for your voicing of long-term plans. The houses of the wealthy -- manicured and made up like castles -- appear across the water as well, an inspiration for where you will spend your years together. At Colee Hammock you can find free parking, few people, thoughtfully placed benches affording privacy, the soothing movement of water, and apparent order in all things. But can you find the right words? Remember: "Love's not Time's fool," as Shakespeare said.
No more beautiful city site awaits your need for resurrection -- the resurrection of old love into new, perhaps -- than this flawless and tiny park, awash in history. Here the Colee family was massacred (no need to bring this up) on January 6, 1836, unleashing the Second Seminole Indian War. The Seminoles and the U.S. government never did make up, perhaps because they didn't sit down together at this spot, hold hands, and study the water. But you can. The park is a circle of green pressed to the river, commanded by two majestic trees at its center: a banyan and a live oak -- two sturdy trees symbolizing your new commitment. No more than 50 yards in diameter, the circle is ringed on its outer edge by palms and gumbo-limbos. Beyond that lush, city-kept flora stands a neighborhood of such quiet opulence that the sense of well-being is perfect for your voicing of long-term plans. The houses of the wealthy -- manicured and made up like castles -- appear across the water as well, an inspiration for where you will spend your years together. At Colee Hammock you can find free parking, few people, thoughtfully placed benches affording privacy, the soothing movement of water, and apparent order in all things. But can you find the right words? Remember: "Love's not Time's fool," as Shakespeare said.
Who needs singles bars -- or, for that matter, sushi bars -- when there's Sushi For Singles? The brainchild of Doreen Moore, owner of the Palm Beach School of Cooking, Sushi For Singles is a series of three-hour monthly (sometimes bimonthly) cooking classes in which singles learn how to make five different kinds of sushi rolls. She also leaves time for a little chitchat and sake because, really, what would an evening of sushi be without them? While we can't guarantee that you'll leave with a date (although a number of romances have blossomed since Moore started these events), at least you won't leave hungry. The cost: $45. Preregistration is required. By the way, Moore tries to keep an equal male-female ratio in her classes.

Who needs singles bars -- or, for that matter, sushi bars -- when there's Sushi For Singles? The brainchild of Doreen Moore, owner of the Palm Beach School of Cooking, Sushi For Singles is a series of three-hour monthly (sometimes bimonthly) cooking classes in which singles learn how to make five different kinds of sushi rolls. She also leaves time for a little chitchat and sake because, really, what would an evening of sushi be without them? While we can't guarantee that you'll leave with a date (although a number of romances have blossomed since Moore started these events), at least you won't leave hungry. The cost: $45. Preregistration is required. By the way, Moore tries to keep an equal male-female ratio in her classes.

Best Reason To Watch The Miami Fusion (On Television)

Ray Hudson

Perhaps sportscaster Ray Hudson is the reason the Fusion can barely get a paltry 8000 fans into the seats at Lockhart Stadium. Instead of shelling out $12 to sit in the hot sun, everyone's at home in the a/c watching and listening to Hudson's overheated commentary on the Sunshine Network. We wouldn't blame them. The shaggy-haired Brit and former Fort Lauderdale Striker is to football broadcasts what John Madden is to, well, the other football broadcasts. Hudson's improvised, opinionated rants may occasionally veer into the zany and unsupportable, but at least he has some opinions. And when he describes a player as having "more curves and switches than Space Mountain," it's simply a joy to be in front of the tube. Those who still proclaim soccer a boring, lackluster sport have yet to hear Hudson call a match.

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