THERE IS NOTHING wrong with Ilya Bryzgalov that a slick interpreter can't cure. Never mind the goalie's early-season lament that he was lost in the woods. What he is, is lost in translation.
Too often, the quirky statements he makes are misinterpreted. Take the latest cry for help, that he hopes to "find peace in his soul to play in this city." That is the way it was reported and it sounded gloomier than a Stalingrad winter.
Listen closely and the anguished moaning can be explained in other ways. Suppose, just suppose, Bryzgalov sat down to dinner at one of Philadelphia's finest seafood restaurants. Suppose they served him a slab of Jersey flounder, when what he really ordered was the more delicate Dover sole. Thus, what he really meant was that he hopes to "find a piece of sole to play in this city."