I wouldn't have minded my $10 seat behind the pillar if Ali could've won. And the two Dartmouth guys who sent for tickets the first day the ad appeared and then drove 125 miles only to end up behind the screen at the Boston Garden might've been able to laugh it off if he'd done it. And Howard Cosell. Think of Howard. Ali promised to finish Cosell after downing Frazier, but it would've been worth it for Howard if he could have seen his boy win.

Why should we all have to be so sad? How could we pay so much and come out with so little? The subway ride back was terrible. On the Harvard platform at Park Street everyone was talking quietly about Ali; on the Ashmont platform they were talking about Frazier. One kid on the Harvard trip was talking about Frazier, though. "That guy has got to be destroyed," he said.

Even stranger than seeing Ali lose was seeing the Garden in one piece afterwards. Not one fire extinguisher was ripped off the wall; there were no teeth on the floor, at least not in section 131. The only event even approaching a riot came at the Music Hall, where the transmission broke down after the 14th round. People were standing on their chairs, throwing things and yelling, "Fuck Boston."

So how are we all supposed to sleep tonight? Frazier has shown America that draft dodging is wrong. He has proved that humility is the best policy. He has taught us the merits of rock salt.

And think what he has done to Howard. It's devastating. Howard and his wife and kids and his home in suburban New York. Howard who loved to put his arm around Ali and ask him if he was really the king. Howard has gone the way of Teen Angel.

Maybe we'll all get over it someday. Or maybe it never happened. Could it have been that Muhammad didn't realize it was the sixth round, and when it had passed he gave up in disappointment? Whatever. It really was one of those nights when you wish you had stayed home and played with your dog.