Sports & Recreation

Miami is a fast-developing city, where old buildings are quickly demolished and replaced with shiny new ones. But the 25,000-acre Aerojet Dade Rocket Facility, an industrial relic of Miami's past, has remained virtually untouched for decades. In the 1960s, Aerojet manufactured rocket boosters here, but the plant was shut down in 1986 after the company lost its contract with NASA. Now the facility sits empty, rusting away and unprotected. It's a popular place for scrap metal thieves, graffiti artists, and young urban explorers looking for a weekend adventure. Three miles into the facility stands a building that houses a silo with the SL-3, the world's largest solid-fuel rocket booster ever built. Exploring Aerojet's factory isn't exactly legal — but then urban exploring wouldn't be half as much fun, would it?

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READERS' POLL WINNERS

Sports & Recreation

Best Coach: Erik Spoelstra

Best Dolphins Player: Matt Moore

Best Heat Player: Dwyane Wade

Best Hurricanes Player: Lamar Miller

Best Marlins Player: Giancarlo Stanton

Best Park: Kennedy Park

Best People-Watching Spot: Lincoln Road

Best Place to Take Out-of-Towners: Lincoln Road

Best Sportscaster: Dan Le Batard

Pack up the bikes and head west to Shark Valley, where there are no sharks but plenty of sunbathing gators lounging around the 15-mile looping path. It's a nature-filled workout with ample views of pristine saw grass and loads of migratory birds from January to March. What's that, you say? Pedal-pushing your way past gators and birds is sooooo touristy? Well, there's also a decent chance of spotting one of the much-hyped Burmese pythons that are grabbing national headlines. Park ranger Eric Riordan says five of the suckers were removed from the park in December, including one that was 16 feet long. If that's not motivation to keep pedaling, what is?

Two minutes in West Lake Park is it all it takes to get away from the asphalt hell of South Florida sprawl. The trip begins with a light paddle down a serene mangrove tunnel — keep your eyes peeled for always-awesome manatees and some nice birds. When the trail empties out onto the lake, it's your choice. Let the boat float, and kick back to relax while soaking up the rays, or cut across the lake — a workout in itself on a windy day — and explore the mangrove-lined, color-coded trails. If it weren't for the not-so-distant skyline peeking over the trees, you might forget you're smack in between Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Prices aren't bad either: Drop $15 to rent a canoe for one hour, $20 for two hours, or $50 for the whole day.

The next time you have guests from the Midwest crashing at your pad, there's a sure-fire way to show them Miami like an undercover narcotics detective with an affinity for fine Versace suits. Head to Bayside Marketplace and board the Thriller SuperCat 55, a cigarette boat with room for more than two dozen people that takes riders on a high-speed adventure via Government Cut. After jumping through waves and doing water doughnuts on Biscayne Bay, the Thriller slows things down for a very informative tour of Star Island. The captain provides Trivial Pursuit-style tidbits of information about the wealthy, famous people who own mansions there. For instance, you'll learn that Ivax Pharmaceuticals founder Phillip Frost imported 50 date palms from South Africa at $9,000 a pop to decorate the landscape of his and his wife's $55 million estate. You'll also discover that the neighboring house was used in the 1955 movie Guys and Dolls, starring Marlon Brando and Frank Sinatra. It costs $35 per adult and $22 per child to ride the Thriller (or $32 and $19 if you buy tickets online).

Sure, you can take the youngsters to the latest mega-arcade or crowded water park, or trudge three hours in traffic to the beach. Or you can introduce them to the kind of place you once hung out before the days of Xbox 360 Kinect and Twitter. Take 'em skating! OK, strapping on a pair of skates and rolling around in a giant circle with music pumped in the background seems a bit outdated. But that doesn't mean it's not fun. It's also amazing exercise and a great way to tire out the kids from all that pent-up summertime energy. Super Wheels Skating Center, which has been in operation since 2009, has 20 HDTV sets, five giant screens, a large music selection, and a "live text" broadcast. There's also an enormous arcade with old-school favorites like air hockey, plus a snack bar where you can stuff your face with pizza, chicken wings, fries, and Dippin' Dots. But the enormous hardwood skating rink is where the real excitement is to be had. Friday is Cheap Skates Day, where you can rent skates for $7 from 3:30 to 6 p.m. and $12 after that. And Super Tots sessions for the little ones cost only $8 from 10 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. on Saturdays. Yeah, skating isn't what it used to be. But it's still a kick-ass time for the whole family.

Your foot pushes the pedal until the rumbling metal below stops you. Your hands grip the steering wheel. Your heart beats more times per minute than the wheels beneath you rotate. There's only one driver in front of you. You hate her. You love her. You want to beat her. Your eyes involuntarily twitch for a second toward the youngsters on the children's track. There are no kids in this lane — just adults behind serious machines. Marco Andretti and Helio Castroneves once trained on this track, and now you are determined to win. The third-place driver speeds up behind you during your momentary distraction. Luckily he falls behind after the next turn. There will be no more interference. You don't even notice as a plane from the nearby Opa-locka airport takes off to a destination that might as well not exist. There are only three elements in the entire universe that matter: you, her, and the finish line. She turns too wide! Now is your chance! You have only seconds to make it count. Crap! You turned too tight and hit the tire barrier. You blew it. But you'll be back. You will improve. You won't stop until you conquer the Miami GP Raceway.

Rick Medina had amassed one of the largest private videogames collections in the area. The collection included hundreds of rare items, including hard-to-find consoles and arcade games. But videogames — like DVDs, guitars, and the gullible — are meant to be played. So he set out to open an old-school arcade. The result is Arcade Odyssey. There you'll find tons of machines you'll remember pouring countless quarters into during your childhood (Mortal Kombat II, Terminator pinball) and several rare games imported from Japan or that were never mass-produced (check out The Act: An Interactive Comedy for one sweet example). Because Medina's collection is too large for the space, a handful of different games are rotated in about every month. A warning, however: If you stop by, we can't promise we won't be hogging the 1992 X-Men six-player cabinet. If you're lucky, there might be room for you as Dazzler.

You know the Raleigh Hotel's pool even if you've never been by the art deco classic on Collins Avenue. You know its iconic yet indescribable shape — Is it a fleur de lis? A heraldic crest? — because it has starred in movies, on television, and in countless ads and magazine spreads ever since bathing beauty Esther Williams made it famous in the 1950s with her mermaid photo shoots. Today the pool still has everything. Tropical landscaping shades the hot sun, and its shallow edge is perfect for pedicured toes to lightly splash. Comfortable chaise longues invite poolside naps with a mojito. Not a guest at the hotel? Here's a little secret: Well-behaved and discreet locals are rarely asked to leave and treated like pariah scum, as other SoBe hotel pools are wont to do. Simply keep ordering $16 cocktails as your "rent," pass the SPF 50, and look like you belong.

Far too many Miamians limit their weekend getaways to two categories: south to the Keys for drinking and debauchery or north to Orlando for rides and G-rated fun. Why not consider a weekend that combines the two? Just hop north on I-95 about 200 miles and you'll land in the quaint artsy village of Cocoa. Filled with art galleries, restaurants, and local shops, Cocoa is a cross between Coconut Grove and Mayberry. The buildings are pink and cozy, stores sell everything from acrylic paintings of grouper to handmade Christmas ornaments made from seashells. Across the Intracoastal Waterway lies the totally different vibe of Cocoa Beach. You might know the name from old I Dream of Jeannie episodes, because this is where astronaut playboy Major Nelson lived. Today it's known for great waves, with thousands of surfers hanging ten, visiting the original Ron Jon Surf Shop, and sipping rum runners on the pier. Top off the weekend at the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex ($45 for adults, $35 for children). Part science museum and part amusement park, it captures the first thrill of space travel — and subsequent tragedies of missions gone wrong. The center's shuttle simulator looks much more realistic than the Mission: Space ride at Disney World, but the real treat is in the nearby U.S. Astronaut Hall of Fame, where an authentic G-force trainer is open. What better way to shake off last night's drinks than simulating four times the force of gravity? It's the most awesome ride in Florida since the Space Shuttle program was scrapped.

When Aunt Hazel and Uncle Joe visit, the last thing they want to do is hit trendy SoBe clubs. Since when does paying 20 bucks for a rum and Coke equal Miami fun? We have a better suggestion: Take them to the Redland. Start at Coral Castle. This strange moonscape of a structure on South Dixie Highway in Homestead was once the home of Edward Leedskalnin, a Latvian immigrant who spent nearly 30 years building the shrine as a honeymoon palace for his child bride and their potential offspring. There were a couple of small problems with that idea: (1) Coral furniture (including a bed and rocking chairs) is not comfortable, and (2) the child bride jilted his crazy ass, which also means they never had kids. Be that as it may, Coral Castle has a creepy and cool vibe. For $15, it's probably the world's best monument to ADD. Then head down the road for a strawberry shake at Robert Is Here, Dade's best fruit stand, or at least the only one with a petting zoo out back and local honey and gator jerky for sale. Shake in hand, zip over to Everglades Alligator Farm, where 2,000 alligators sun themselves and airboats venture out into the swamps. Finally, end the afternoon at Schnebly Redland's Winery, where $10 will get you a winetasting of sweet elixirs that aren't made with grapes. Instead, the winery uses fermented tropical fruits such as lychee, mango, guava, and carambola. Avocado wine! Believe it. As the sun sets on the sun-drenched farmlands and your visitors nap on the ride back to Miami, you can rest easy having shown them Florida the way it was before iPads and Pubbelly — kitschy, buggy, and a little sweet.

Everyone loves monkeys. Not those giant chimpanzees that come at you with teeth bared and rip your face off. We're talking those little squirrel monkeys with the tiny people hands and long fluffy tails. Sadly, between flinging feces and climbing on drapes, they don't make the best pets. Enter Monkey Jungle, where you're caged and the monkeys roam free. Really! As you stroll through a maze-like mesh-covered walkway, the monkeys surround you (hint: don't stand directly beneath one). They reach out their wee monkey hands and point to their mouths. You place some raisins in a metal cup (the gift shop just happens to sell raisins and peanuts — get the raisins) and — wow! — a clever primate pulls up the chain, grabs the raisins from the cup, and asks for more! You'll never tire of watching them nod their freakishly adorably humanoid heads in satisfaction upon eating dried fruit. Admission is $29.95 ($23.95 for children), but a Florida resident annual pass is only $39.95 ($29.95 for children). Considering how much time you'll spend staring at monkeys once you have one, that works out to pennies a day.

There's only one reason we admire drug dealers, Saudi princes, and Russian Internet billionaires: their choice of pets. While we're out walking the Chihuahua, they're hanging out with lions, tigers, and ligers. Sure, cleaning up after a 400-pound carnivore that could kill you with a swipe of its paw poses some unique challenges, but admit it: Hanging out with a tiger — even for a day — would be totally boss. Quit dreaming, put on your favorite red tracksuit and gold chains, and rent a tiger from the Zoological Wildlife Foundation. It's a private zoo that rents out all kinds of wild animals, from alligators to camels to leopards. The creatures come with their own handlers (who have, we assume, some kind of dart gun just in case). Prices vary by size of the animal — and how exotic (and dangerous) they are. And yes, there are cuddly tiger cubs as well as awesome full-grown specimens for rent. It just depends on whether you want to play nice or go for the full Tony Montana effect.

Watching people is cool. Everyone does it, but because it's a mildly creepy activity, most do it in silence. That's why Dadeland Mall is perfect for the peepers. You can watch a flood of humanity to your heart's content with nearly perfect anonymity. At almost 1.5 million square feet, it's not the largest mall in Miami, but the sheer numbers of shoppers walking through the doors ensure the parade wandering past will be more diverse than the aliens hanging out at the Mos Eisley Cantina. Since President Obama just loosened travel restrictions for citizens of Brazil and China, expect to soon see an even more diverse crowd grasping at their slice of the American pie. The mall has several areas with comfy couches and chairs to kick back and watch the ebb and flow with a latte in hand. Just be sure to stay focused: Fall asleep on those couches, and security will have your ass.

Before drone strikes, cyber attacks, long-range missiles, and nuclear annihilation, wars were fought with cannonballs and other solid orbs of destruction. That mode of attack might help explain why more than 16 million bricks were used to build Fort Jefferson, and why the behemoth has never been completed. Construction of the "Guardian of the Gulf of Mexico" began in 1846; officials called it off in 1875 due to concerns that the sheer weight of all those bricks was too stressful for the tiny island and its water system, according to the National Park Service. Located about 70 miles west of Key West in Dry Tortugas National Park, the imposing structure is little more than a tropical ghost town these days. More than 160 years of storms and salty sea winds have taken their toll, but if you can get out to the small remote islands, you'll stroll around a one-of-a-kind artifact that would never be deemed feasible in these modern times.

Just north of the east-bound entrance to the Venetian Causeway is a living, lush example of urban planning at its finest. In the midst of towering condo high-rises, Margaret Pace Park is an eight-acre haven whose volleyball, tennis, and basketball courts; soccer fields; outdoor gym; running paths; covered playground; and eye-catching artistic elements stretch right out to an expanse of sparkling blue water. Load your basket with watermelon slices, sandwiches, and salads and take your pick of one of the handy picnic tables or a cozy plot on the grass. (Tip: Check your landing zone if you choose the latter option — some of the dog owners who frequent the park are less than considerate about poop scooping.) The on-site restrooms are easy to find and usually reasonably appointed. The only difficulty you might have is prying your kids' white-knuckled fists off the playground equipment when your alfresco dining is over. You might also find it hard to give up your noble status after you settle into one of the colorful mosaic "thrones" by the water. Don't forget to pack a Frisbee or football — there's plenty of field to spread out on, although chances are you'll have to share. There's always a lot of activity at this idyllic, eclectic city park.

In general, Florida's disdain for law and order can lead to some pretty scary chaos. (Just check out the assault weapon arsenal in the trunk of our Buick.) But sometimes Miami's libertarian tilt is refreshing. With few exceptions, you can pretty much let your dogs roam free in parks around the Magic City, even if it's technically illegal. And there is no greater little slice of dog heaven than Pinetree Park, a Miami Beach haven on Pinetree Drive just north of 44th Street. There are two fenced-in dog runs here, but why put Fido in a ghetto when the entire park is basically Lollapalooza for pooches? Just pick a park bench and let your dog do his thing with the butts and the sniffing and the lifting of the leg. Oh, and Pinetree ain't a bad place for humans either. It overlooks the water, and large trees make it shady and cool. Because the vast majority of dog owners in this part of town are vigilant about picking up poop, you can set down a picnic blanket without fear of finding an unwelcome surprise smashed on its underside.

'Sup, humans. Princess the Chihuahua on the mike, here to represent the Haulover Dog Park. Yeah, you heard me. My name is Princess, mofos. You probably think that's real funny. But let me assure you that beneath the bling'ed-out collar and bows my caretakers insist I wear, I am one tough Miami bitch. Disrespect, and I'll cut you. Humans seem to think Haulover is just a hangout for naked people — which, dude, even I think human nudists are weirdos, and I am naked all the damn time. Anyway, in the dog world, Haulover is the hottest joint. The place is enormous, yo! I know Jack Russell puppies who can't run the whole way across it without panting. You've got your wet bar for dogs and humans, some picnic tables in the shade, and apart from that, it's just wide-open space. Haulover is separated into two fields, one for large pooches and one for small pups, but pretty much everyone hangs out in the big-dog section. Haulover Beach is open to canines and their humans on Saturday mornings. Man, you have not lived until you've faced the ocean head-on. I'm bein' straight here: I was born to run beside those waves. The smell of the seaweed, plus the smell of the saltwater, plus that wet-dog smell? When I turn in a circle and lie down for the last time, I hope that's where my soul goes. Whoa, man, that shit just got real.

Greens, fairways, sand traps, blah, blah, blah. The exact dips, bunkers, and hills vary from course to course, but for the most part, many golf courses look like pretty standard seas of grass. Of course you can get your club on at any of these spots, but for a golf course that's an experience all its own, you owe it to yourself to play the links at Crandon Golf, Key Biscayne's slightly wild island paradise. It's only ten minutes from downtown Miami, but it feels like you've ducked out of civilization, what with the mangroves, wildlife, and tropical foliage that define the course. The seventh hole is known as one of the "greatest holes in golf," demanding that you send a zinger careening over the bay. At the signature 18th hole, take a few moments to absorb the incredible view of downtown (slow-play rule be damned!). This course isn't for newbies, however. It's considered one of the most difficult (and beautiful) par 72s in the state. If you feel out of your league, you could always skip the game and simply admire the course while you chow down on some great empanadas at the Links Grill.

What's clean and green and makes you wanna club things really hard? No, it's not a wheatgrass shot infused with anabolic steroids. It's a great driving range, and the Miami Beach Golf Club has the best in the county. Conveniently located just a few blocks north of all the sunning, drinking, and dining that South Beach has to offer, this club is much more serene than the ones lining Washington Avenue. And no bouncers will hurriedly toss you into a rotten-smelling alley if you hit something. In fact, it's encouraged! But like other area clubs, this one has a strict dress code. No jeans are allowed, and collared shirts are required. If you're into grass, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday are your days to boogie. If you don't mind mats, Monday through Thursday is for you. Just $12 buys you a big-ass basket of balls; $8 gets you a more modest share. And once you've worked on driving those miniature Epcot Center-look-alikes into the wild blue yonder, don't forget to fine-tune your game on the well-manicured putting green next to the range.

Take a cleansing breath, young disciple; you are among friends. Yogis and newbies alike will find a warm mat and a warmer welcome at YOGiiZA's Karma Yoga Wednesdays at 6:30 p.m. Each week, gracious hosts Dawn and Mark Oliver invite tuned-in members of the community to their organic-clothing headquarters. There, open-hearted students benefit from a local instructor's karmic investment. A new class leader volunteers his or her time every week; past events have featured Arianne Traverso's AcroYoga, during which attendees learned to help their partners "fly" with grace, balance, and bone alignment, and Jennifer Pansa's Budokon Primary for advanced practitioners. Donations are welcome and, in the spirit of good karma, are often donated to animal sanctuaries or other charities. Guests are also encouraged to bring vegan or vegetarian dishes to share at the casual potluck and social, held Indian-style on the floor after class. Space is limited, so be sure to RSVP by emailing [email protected].

Lucky's Place is the Jimbo's of the Everglades — or technically, of the Big Cypress National Preserve. And proprietor Lucky Cole loves it when you stop in, browse the general store, grab a beer, take a seat under an umbrella, eat some barbecue, and peruse the hundreds of nude female portraits the 60-something-year-old has been photographing most of his life. Lucky lives on-site with his wife Maureen, and women from around the world visit to have their naked pictures shot on his property full of vintage and rustic backdrops. Naked ladies pose in front of the antique Coke cooler, in the outdoor shower, on an old motorcycle, and even in the slow-flowing waters of the grassy river near his home. He even has a (non-nude) shot of a young Eva Longoria. There's also a "redneck hotel" where you can stay the night in swampy paradise. Everybody is welcome at Lucky's, which is (usually) open to the public Saturdays and Sundays. It's a short drive west from Miccosukee Resort & Gaming and a long way from reality.

In the earliest days of civilized Miami, this area north of downtown and west of Biscayne Bay was all citrus agriculture and pineapple plantation. Today it doesn't get more urban. Along NW 71st Street, there's no bike lane to speak of, and you'll be riding between the Upper East Side and Liberty City, so this isn't a bike ride to take at night. But if you can weather the traffic and the shady-looking characters, there's magic on this trip. The view changes from mid-1900s residential architecture to bombed-out blocks of alien warehouses to foreclosed blocks of empty project housing. The proud Miami Northwestern Senior High School, a Miami educational landmark, looms near the road. You can stop for a bite and a cool drink at three excellent joints — Dogma, with its gourmet frankfurters; the Caribbean oasis of Naomi's Garden; and Miracle Fry Conch Fritters, a soul-food HQ. NW 71st Street might not be the prettiest stretch of Miami, but damned if a bike ride through here isn't a trip right to the urban soul of the Magic City.

What makes the perfect run? A beautiful course that's free of cars, rabid dogs, and bicycles is a good start. A great, ever-changing view helps, as do plenty of friendly fellow runners and walkers. Throw in good lighting for evening runs and a forgivable surface that's easy on the knees. There's at least one route that matches all of those dreams: the Miami Beach boardwalk from 23rd to 46th streets. This stretch of wooden walkway is elevated above the shoreline, allowing the ocean winds to cool even the hottest summer run. There's also an ever-changing view of bathing beauties, kite surfers, power walkers, artists, crazy people, and every other walk of life sharing the beach scene. Run the entire route and back for a solid four-miler. Bonus: When you're finished, you're close to about a million places to celebrate with a cold beer.

OK, so forget the two cops who recently tried to render aid to a stopped car and instead got shot by a crazed bandit on Florida's Turnpike. Pay no attention to the fact that the state legislature renamed it in honor of Ronald Reagan, the president who changed the tax structure and really caused the lasting economic mess we are in today. In just about every way possible, this 450-mile highway that runs through 16 counties just stinks. Not many people remember the St. Petersburg Times (now the Tampa Bay Times) won a Pulitzer Prize for Public Service in 1964 for describing the luxury living of the guys who ran the Turnpike authority — and the fact that the price of the damn thing was four times their projections. On top of everything else, today people on the Turnpike just drive too damn fast. Try puttering along at 65 miles per hour. Just try it. Motorists will flash their brights at you. They will honk and hassle you. You just can't go the speed limit on this road. If you do, you're as good as dead.

This narrow two-lane road cutting through the heart of Miami's Shorecrest neighborhood is like a living, breathing time capsule. It's a place where you find yourself slowing down to take in the rich history of one of Miami's oldest residential communities. A hard run becomes a light jog. An intense bicycle ride turns into an easy-going journey. A stressful auto commute transforms into a scenic cruise. You'll find a mix of MiMo-style residences with abundant tree canopies, and pre-World War II estates with massive lush settings, including one of the last Miami-Dade homes made of coral rock. You'll cross a small bridge over a tranquil inlet that leads into Biscayne Bay. It's the perfect spot to rest.

True story: The sun sets every day over all of South Florida. But that doesn't mean all sunsets are created equal. You call that wan, pinkish glow you glimpsed through your office window at 7:45 last Tuesday a sunset? Hell, no. Give this a shot: Late in the afternoon, hop into your car and point it south. After you hit Homestead, stick on U.S. 1 for a few more miles until the first greenish specks of the Keys start popping out of the ocean. Take the very first, poorly marked exit, hang a right after the underpass, and cruise into one of the area's least-talked-about gems: Gilbert's Resort Tiki Bar, a thatched-roof oasis of beer and rum nestled into a moon-shaped bay. Grab a Corona, plop down on the wooden pier, and watch closely what happens: That, my friend, is a sunset.

If you are an intrepid boater, you load your fishing pole, kids, and GPS and head out to sea Saturday mornings in search of wahoo. If you are more like us, you stow your Weber grill, some burgers, and maybe a few dogs and putter around Biscayne Bay for five minutes before pushing up on a spit of island, jumping into the water, and relaxing a bit. Or a lot. Maybe you head to a small island just south of Oleta River State Park and cook while your buddies or little ones paddle around in the water. Biscayne Bay is peppered with small picnic islands. Some — such as Monument Island — are popping party scenes with loud reggaeton, while many others are tiny, quiet oases. Wherever you stop, you'll drink a few beers and fall asleep afterward, and when you wake, you'll be as red as a lobster that fell into a pot of boiling water. But you'll be happy. And this is why summer in the Magic City is grand.

In the mysterious alchemy of professional sports, it's often damn near impossible to determine what turns a losing streak into a glittering championship run. But in the case of South Florida's suddenly successful hockey team, the special ingredient is clear. When the Florida Panthers signed Tomás Fleischmann last summer, the left winger's career was in jeopardy. He had shown flashes of offensive-minded brilliance with several other teams, only to miss large chunks of the two previous seasons with potentially fatal blood clots. The Panthers were also in bad shape, earning the dubious distinction of becoming the first NHL team to fail to make the playoffs for ten straight seasons. But ever since signing the 28-year-old Czech, the Panthers seem to have finally grown a furry feline pair. The team fought its way back into the postseason this year thanks in large part to Fleischmann, who during the regular season led the team in shots on goal, goals, and points, and finished third in assists. The left-winger played in every single game.

The most disorienting, kinetic, eye-searing installment in the new Marlins Park isn't that neon-colored home-run sculpture. It's José Reyes legging out triples. Have you seen the Miami Marlins' new shortstop round three bases? The dude smiles and pants like a lab chasing a tennis ball. The stealthy Dominican kid — poached from the smoldering ruins of the New York Mets — does not do jaded. Until a few years ago, he shared an apartment with his parents in Flushing, Queens. He recently bleached his hair in tandem with the Marlins' previous shortstop — and current third baseman — Hanley Ramirez, who is apparently his new BFF. Yes, he's the kind of ballplayer you can take home to Mama. He's Wade Boggs with Vince Coleman's legs and a young Ken Griffey Jr.'s joie de vivre. If the only reason the Marlins scored Reyes from the Mets is because the Queens team was financially ruined by investing with Bernie Madoff, well, finally something good has come to Florida from a Ponzi scheme.

When the Miami Dolphins signed Reggie Bush last spring, Fins fans feared the running back would be more TMZ than, you know, good. Bush came out of the University of Southern California with promises of being the next Gale Sayers. Even though he helped the Saints win a Super Bowl, Bush became better known for his game with the ladies (especially tabloid princess Kim Kardashian) than his game on the field. When Bush arrived in Miami as a free agent, his famous ex-girlfriend had just married some basketball player, and he was expected to do nothing more than catch passes out of the backfield. Early in the season, he couldn't get anything going. It was looking like he'd gone completely bust in the aqua-and-orange. Then, midseason, Kardashian got divorced, and Bush began to tear it up. Coincidence? Nobody knows. All we know is that, at the end of it all, Bush set career highs in carries (216) and rushing yards (1,086). He also scored six touchdowns for the Dolphins, matching his career high. His 5.03 yards-per-carry average was the second highest of his career. And now he'll enter the new season as the primary back over second-year man Daniel Thomas. Bush has sparked a career renaissance in Miami.

Broadcasters love when Udonis Haslem comes off the bench because it gives them an excuse to use words like hustle, heart, and power player. Another upside of Haslem checking in is the chance to glimpse the tremendous, retina-scorching tattoo of Florida carved across the big man's back. Yes, he has an outline of the entire state drawn in ink on his flesh. How's that for commitment to the home team? From a purely statistical view, Haslem's six points and seven rebounds per game don't even get him close to being the best at anything on the floor. And that's why we love him. The Miami native reps Florida hard, and you have to root for a hometown hero whose resumé includes balling in Gainesville. The Big Three may grab the headlines, but the beating heart of the Heat will always be U.D.

Admit it: You think you can coach the Miami Heat. After all, how hard can it be? Three of the greatest players in the NBA suit up for the team every night. All you really need to do is kick back, grab a beer, and turn 'em loose so they can do that thing where they blast everyone else in the league into a fine powder. But three über-talented players means three massive egos. It also means keeping them happy, because there are only so many shots to be had. Then there are the role-players — the guys who think they're here doing the Big Three a favor when it's the other way around. You're also gonna want to get these guys to play defense every night, which isn't easy because all they want to do is fly around the court and slam-dunk the ball in everybody's face. This is why Erik Spoelstra is better than you for this job. Sure, the team loses every now and then (even Jordan's Bulls lost games), and that's the perfect time for you to declare to the world that Coach Spo should go. But you're wrong. Not only does he have the Heat playing the best D in the NBA, but he also convinced LeBron that he can do more damage by playing in the low post — something no coach has ever been able to persuade King James to do. Plus, Spo makes intense chipmunk faces when he gets angry, which is a bonus. Besides, at the end of the day, the Heat is the only team in Miami that's really worth watching. Unlike other local sports teams, the Heat doesn't suck or have crazy people on the roster. But mainly, it doesn't suck. And that's in very large part thanks to Erik Spoelstra and his intense-chipmunk-face-having, ego-wranglin' ways.

From the moment he began his college career as an all-purpose offensive threat for Mario Cristobal's Florida International University Golden Panthers football squad, T.Y. Hilton has taken the ball to the house. The very first time the Miami Springs native touched the ball, in his 2008 debut against Kansas, he returned a punt for a touchdown. He finished his freshman season with 12 touchdowns — scoring by catching, running, and even throwing the ball — ranking third in the nation in all-purpose yards per game and garnering freshman-of-the-year honors from the Sun Belt Conference. In 2009, Hilton showed why Alabama head coach Nick Saban sang his praises when he scored on a 96-yard kickoff return against the Crimson Tide. A year later, during a game against Sun Belt rival Troy, Hilton put up 158 yards on just six carries on his way to setting a school record for most yards rushed in a game. He was a key component in the Golden Panthers' earning their first two bowl appearances in school history, each of which ended in victories. Now Hilton is going to the big show. He was drafted by the Indianapolis Colts so he can catch passes from overall number one pick Andrew Luck.

Brace yourself, boys, because the best college athlete in Miami is hands-down a woman. This season, Shenise Johnson wasn't just the best player on a damn-good University of Miami women's basketball team. She was one of the best players in women's b-ball history. Leading the Hurricanes in scoring (17 points per game), rebounding (8), and assists (4.4), the guard became just the second woman with at least 2,000 points, 1,000 rebounds, 500 assists, and 400 steals in her college career. She and teammate Riquna Williams led the team to a 26-6 record and an appearance in the NCAA tournament. But even after the season ended with a painful second-round upset by Gonzaga, Johnson kept setting records. When she was picked fifth in the WNBA draft, she became the highest-drafted player in her program's history. Johnson now brings her sweet layup and inside-outside versatility to the San Antonio Silver Stars.

At Miami Norland Senior High School, running back Randy "Duke" Johnson was so good he was bad. So good that his corkscrew sprints through opposing defenses led entire stadiums to chant his nickname — "Duuuke!" — as if booing bums off the field. So good that he ran for 2,087 yards and 27 touchdowns in his senior season, including five in the 5A state championship game (Norland annihilated Crawfordville Wakulla 38-0). And so good that he joined Tim Tebow, Travis Henry, and Daunte Culpepper as winners of the Florida Mr. Football Award. But unlike other high school prospects whose heads are turned hither and yon by competing programs, Johnson committed in the fall of his junior year to the U and hasn't looked back. Even when the Canes finished the 2010 season with three straight losses and sacked coach Randy Shannon — who had recruited Johnson — Duke stayed with the ailing program. He even helped recruit others to join new UM coach Al Golden's rebuilding project. For a team beset by the Nevin Shapiro scandal off the field and mediocrity on it, Johnson promises to carry the Canes into a brighter future. Just don't mistake those "Duuuke"s for boos.

Before fleeing in 2008 from his native Cuba — a country famous for producing Olympic-caliber wrestlers and boxers — 28-year-old Yoislandy "Cuba" Izquierdo spent his childhood training in karate and sanshou. After serving in the Cuban military, Izquierdo set off on a precarious journey, first to Spain, then to Guatemala, and finally to Mexico, where he was detained for a month before being granted political asylum in the United States. Since arriving in Miami, Izquierdo has trained at the Young Tigers Foundation in Hialeah, honing the lightening-quick striking he learned as a Cuban karate protégé and using it in another sport: mixed martial arts fighting. The lightweight MMA fighter remains undefeated with a 6-0 record, winning the majority of his bouts by knockout. After signing a contract with Ultimate Fighting Championship in January, Izquierdo made his UFC debut April 14, 2012, in Stockholm, Sweden. And he isn't just a rising star — he's bringing the booming sport of MMA to Miami's Cuban-American fans. "In Cuba, we trained for the pure pleasure and joy of it," Izquierdo said in a January interview with MMA site cagejunkie.com. "I just keep training. To fight with rivals better than myself and getting wins until I fight the champion in my weight class, that is my purpose."

Dubbed the "Guantánamo Cyclone," Yuriorkis Gamboa has earned his nickname in and out of the ring. The headstrong 30-year-old Cuban boxer could become one of the elite pound-for-pound fighters in the sport. He has a chance to become the next Floyd Mayweather or Manny Pacquiao, even if he marches to the beat of his own timbales. He caused a stir in the boxing world when, over a contract dispute, he dropped out of a bout with light heavyweight Brandon Rios that was to be televised on HBO. Some longtime purists criticized him for pulling out, but for a guy who sold his Olympic gold medal to support his family in Cuba before defecting to Miami, he deserves to call his own shots. A methodical pugilist, Gamboa has built a 21-0 professional record with 16 wins coming by knockout. In his U.S. pro debut at the Hollywood Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino on October 30, 2007, he demolished Adailton de Jesus with a knockout in the first round. He has also knocked down two other opponents in the first round. He'll do it his way, but don't be surprised if Gamboa's final destination is the top of the boxing world.

Every Saturday morning, Colombian carnival takes over a narrow lane just off NE Second Avenue. Street vendors set up shop selling hamburguesas and ceviche. Cumbia and reggaeton pour from overhead speakers. And the beer flows in equal proportion to the sun's powerful rays. But the center of festivities isn't a dance floor or even a bar. It's a soccer field. Soccer Town's synthetic turf shines like an unnatural oasis in the mostly rundown neighborhood. As Colombians, Peruvians, Argentines, and the occasional gringo kick the everlasting crap out of one another on the field, their wives, kids, or girlfriends sit on concrete steps in the shade and let the men dream — at least for an hour each week — that their best playing days aren't behind them. In fact, the games are among the more skillful in Miami. More important, they are probably the best organized. Somehow, Soccer Town culls dozens of teams into season-long 8 v. 8 tournaments. On weekdays, the field is split into three 5 v. 5 courts, each of which can be rented for roughly $100 per hour till 2 a.m.

These days, every sportscaster on the planet has a catch phrase handy when an extra-amazing play happens on the court, field, or ice. So one would think the guy who does the play-by-play for the Miami Heat would be full of catch phrases, because the Big Three are a highlight reel come to life. But the beauty of Mike Inglis, the nightly voice of your Miami Heat on 790 the Ticket, is that he doesn't rely on the often-hackneyed trickery of describing a play by saying someone just got it "right between the eyes!" That kind of announcing has become cliché to the point of self-parody. Inglis is old school mixed with good old-fashioned enthusiasm. In a game where things change every half a second, he merely paints the picture and makes things more exciting simply by using a genuine fervor that most announcers have confused with being trendy. But Inglis's retro style doesn't rob you of the excitement of a Dwyane Wade Euro-step shot or a LeBron James dunk. Instead, he enhances every big moment with a guttural call that makes every respective play that much more awesome. For example, during last year's playoff matchup against the Atlanta Hawks, he famously described a Wade-to-LeBron alley-oop with his usual get-off-your-seat-and-yell-hell-yeah moment: "The ball stolen, down the floor, Wade with LeBron, and the alley-oop and a right-hand jam by LeBron James on the a-l-l-l-l-e-y-oop!" No gimmicks. Just passion. That's why we turn down the volume on the TV set and fire up Mike Inglis on the radio during Heat games.

When strange and elusive slugger Manny Ramirez worked last winter toward a major-league comeback from a steroid-related suspension and an impulsive retirement, he kept it local. ESPN cameras caught him doing aqua aerobics with a pool full of Miami abuelitas and taking swings in a Hialeah batting cage. ManRam will soon be working his peculiar magic in Oakland, upon the completion of his suspension, as the newest member of the Athletics. But Manny isn't the only big-league patron of that Hialeah facility, Extreme Baseball Indoor Hitting Cages. Founded three years ago by former minor-leaguer Miguel Soto, it's the off-season swinging headquarters of St. Louis Cardinals shortstop Rafael Furcal, Texas Rangers outfielder Nelson Cruz, former Detroit Tigers outfielder Magglio Ordóñez, and a stable of big-time local prospects. They're trained by former pro players Frank Valdez and Kadir Villalona. But you don't need a pro contract to build your skills here. It's $2 to take hacks at 20 baseballs, and tutelage under the trainers costs $45 an hour. Next, we'll find out which swimming pool Manny was thrashing around in. Those grannies looked buff.