Riding back to the Square, I thought how disappointed I was by the evening. In remembered how much I used to enjoy wrestling when I watched it on T.V. as a kid. How funny I thought it was when a lady wrestler grabbed a cup of coffee from a spectator and scalded her opponent with it. I didn't find that so funny now.

I was excited to have a chance to see Killer Kowalski and Haystack Calhoun, Gorilla Moonson and Baron von Sciclund in person. I thought it would be great. But now, being pushed and elbowed and jostled. I realized just how depressing it had been. Why didn't I think wrestling was fun anymore? Why couldn't I laugh too?

IT WAS SAD to let go of something that had once made me laugh. Here was one more thing that was no longer a positive experience for me. Just as seeing the Indians get slaughtered by the Cavalry is no longer something I clap for.

It is sad to start taking seriously those things which you used to take for granted. It's like losing part of your childhood by negating it. You can feel proud of yourself that you're mature enough or sensitive enough so you don't find it amusing to see someone humiliate himself for a laugh. Maybe you can feel proud that you get indignant when others clap gleefully for two midget wrestlers who are making fools of themselves for money. But somehow it's kind of a drag not to be able to laugh.

I didn't like the Boston Garden last Tuesday night. I thought I would. But I didn't like the smell of the old wooden floor that is rotting from years of Coke, popcorn, cigar butts, and spittle.

I didn't like the way the people at the Garden acted. I didn't like their inhumanity, the way they loved it when the Sheik threw a folding chair at his opponent. I didn't like the way they shoved each other and me through the turnstiles of the MBTA station.

There was nothing funny about any of it. In fact, it was one of the biggest downs I've had in a long time.