"Kind hosts, friends and unfortunate incidents," I said. "My topic is the science of anatomy. Now, the science of anatomy is copacetic to the point of mopery. The cerebellum is distended and the duodenum goes into a state of e pluribus unum. Incalculably, thrombosis registers and the ectoplasm becomes elliptic. Or, in the vernacular, the eight ball in the side pocket." The crowd sat stunned. Here and there, a flower sniffer looked down at his own rack of bones to check my statement. "Let me illustrate," I said. I drew the bathrobes off the wrestlers. The boys' muscles rippled as they strutted around the ring. From the women spectators came a long, deep sigh. From that moment, we had half the audience with us--the female half. "In anatomy," I said, shaking my finger to emphasize the point, "the wingback shifts outward for a lateral. In the words of the great philosopher Hypocritus, the coil should always be kept clean between the barrel and the tap and all excess collar should be removed with a spatula." Nobody was listening to me; they were looking at the wrestlers, which, of course, was what I'd figured on. Most of the men were comparing the grunters' muscles to their own, and here and there a few were dropping their flowers onto the floor. I signaled and in a second the boys were an omelet of flying legs. The crowd gasped, then leaned forward intently. The shrieking began when Gordon got a headlock on Zbich. It grew when Zbich flipped Gorgeous with a flying mare. By the time Gordon got in a billygoat butt, the amphitheater sounded like feeding time at the zoo. But there was another sound, too. Old Whiskers was tottering down the aisle, shrieking, "This is romping! Mere romping!" I signaled and the boys stopped. "We need a third man to illustrate the next point," I said. "Perhaps the gentleman in the aisle will volunteer." Two wrestlers grabbed Old Whiskers and tossed him into the ring. Making fast double talk, I took off his shirt and he stood there, stripped to the waist, blinking in the sun and looking like a dehydrated squab. The crowd noted the contrast between his scrawniness and the muscles of the wrestlers. A roar of laughter swept it. "Perhaps," I said, "the gentleman would like to romp." Zbich made a grab for him and he scuttled out of the ring, falling over the lower rope. A woman in the first row slugged him with a gardenia. "Sit down, you old fool!" She turned to the wrestlers. "Break it off!" she shouted. The match went on.