A look at Philly's way-out-there athletes

If you sat down with Ilya Bryzgalov for a bowl of borscht at Stolovaya in the Northeast, would he share a Russian proverb? Something relevant like, "A man is judged by his deeds, not by his words"?

Or would he make one up? Something spooky like, "He who laughs last is the executioner"? And then cackle at his own joke.

Who knows? Who really knows? Not his no-nonsense coach, not his skeptical teammates, not the baffled fans, nor the chuckling media. Certainly not Ed Snider, who signed off on 9 years and 51 million U.S. dollars to get a blue-chip goalie, a savior, a rock.

The Flyers got a rock all right. Chris Rock, with an accent thicker than goulash. Told the world he was "lost in the woods" after a couple of mediocre performances.

Starred in the HBO series "24/7" that preceded the Winter Classic, explaining that the solar system was humongous (OK, he said it was hue-MANG-gus) and that Earth was a dot.

He then scooped his no-nonsense coach by announcing the "good news" that he would not be playing in the Winter Classic.

Would we love this madcap Muscovite if he would stop the occasional shootout shot? First two games he stopped nul, which is Russian for zero.

There is still time for him to get his act together. No, not the standup comedy shtick ("You kill tiger, they kill you"), but the business of tending goal efficiently for a Stanley Cup contender.

Meanwhile, SportsWeek's editors wanted to know where Bryzgalov ranked in the pantheon of quirky athletes and coaches to pass this way in the last half-century? One man's answer may surprise you, because two of the top-10 greatest athletes this town has ever seen, rank 1-2 in eccentricity.

Take the rubber band Wilt Chamberlain wore on his wrist. Best player in the whole star-studded history of the NBA and he wore a thick rubber band on his wrist every game because as a kid he was ashamed of his scrawny, pockmarked legs, so he wore high woolen socks and held them in place with rubberbands and if one broke he'd reach for the spare on his wrist.

Man scored 100 points in a game played in Hershey 50 years ago (let the record show he sank 28 of 32 free throws) and then rode back to New York with a cluster of players from the Knicks, the team he had just humiliated.

Lived in a New York apartment for years and commuted to Philly's games and practices, which is why coach Dolph Schayes scheduled those practices at 4 p.m., even though 90 percent of the other guys hated the late start.

Finally rented an apartment in Society Hill. One room had a wall-to-wall rug composed of the fur from around wolf's noses. "Softest fur on the planet," Wilt bragged and then ducked an avalanche of hate mail from animal lovers.

Kept talking about early retirement to become a professional decathlete, which wasn't an empty boast, based on his track and field exploits (10.9 seconds in the 100, 56 feet in the shot put, 50 feet in the triple jump).

Drove a harness horse, recorded a ballad, designed an automobile, talked about fighting Muhammad Ali.

And then Ali showed up. Wilt stood to greet him and Ali hollered, "Timberrrrrr!" Soon after, Wilt heeded his dad's advice and went looking for a different, grim challenge, like improving his free-throw shooting.

Accepted that criticism from his dad, resented it from an Inquirer sportswriter named Joe McGinnis. Might have deprived the world of the wonderful best-seller, "Making of the President" and Sarah Palin of a temporary neighbor if cooler heads hadn't stopped Wilt from strangling the brash, young writer.

One last mysterious manifestation of quirkiness. In Game 7 of the 1968 Eastern Division finals against Boston, Chamberlain took zero shots in the second half of a 100-96 loss. Zero, none, nul.

Chamberlain finishes ahead of Steve Carlton in the oddball rankings by a nose, a wolf's nose.

I was there when Lefty sent the wine glasses back in a Chicago airport restaurant. Not the wine, the glasses! Said they were the wrong shape to savor a Riesling he had selected.

In case you've forgotten, Carlton had balked at a contract offer in St. Louis, so the Cardinals swapped him to Philadelphia for Rick Wise. Lefty won 27 his first year here for a wretched team.

Lost 20 the next year. When writers mocked his sermons on positive thinking, he took a vow of silence. That robbed us of further discussions about humans being the only species to set limits on themselves, how we use only a tiny percent of our brainpower.

He found a physical-fitness guru in Gus Hoefling, who soon had Carlton proficient in kung fu, in wielding a broomstick to simulate his pitching motion, in strengthening his left arm by churning it through rice.

Was it a 5-gallon bucket of rice, or a custom-made cast iron tub filled with 2 tons of rice? You can find both versions on the Internet, which tells you all you need to know about the enigma that is Carlton.

Won his 300th game, pitching for the Phils in St. Louis. Stood silently by while the Cardinals' security goons manhandled the inquisitive, frustrated press.