With or without the men from U2 - Our Man in Amsterdam

I can't help but wonder: Did anyone actually get tickets to the U2 concert?

Early Saturday morning, I was chatting about rather aimlessly with my ladyfriend in my Homewood efficiency. Said ladyfriend, strewn rather provocatively across my comfy futon, muttered something about a lack of good concerts in town. Recalling a year ago, when the Counting Crows, Live and Pearl Jam played at Merriwether on consecutive nights, I couldn't help but agree.

I flipped on the computer, figuring maybe the Internet could reveal some unknown entertainment to me. Maybe Mary Jimmy Eat World was back in town.

I typed "Baltimore Arena" into Ticketmaster's venue search. The next page loaded. I fainted.

My ladyfriend, that dear soul, managed to coax me out of my Bono-induced reverie rather quickly. We were juiced. The stunning brunette, she's a straggler on the Garbage bandwagon. Me, I've followed the boys from the Emerald Isle since The Edge was still The Blunt Object.

We had to get in on this.

The excitement gave way to confusion. It hit me, "The world's most famous rock group... in Baltimore?" Perhaps they'd already played Peoria.

Tickets went on sale in less than seven hours. In retrospect, we probably should've stayed up for it. She even suggested it. But I really needed my beauty rest. She probably won't ever let me live it down.

I rolled out of bed rather lazily, around 9:30 the next morning. Thinking to myself that college students weren't meant to wake up so early, I was heartened by the thought that my early rising would give me a leg-up on everyone else looking for tickets. Little did I know the battle was already lost.

The illusion was shattered rather quickly. Though the site teased that tickets were still "on sale," no combination of price and location would succeed. "Damn these infernal machines," I bellowed to no one in particular.

Suddenly, I found my persistence. I leaped to the wall phone and dialed up Ticketmaster's Northern Virginia office. Busy, busy, busy. It didn't stop me, though. It just made me creative.

I eventually gave up. I think it was when the Ticketmaster folks in Los Angeles asked me to please leave them alone.

By 10:30, every ticket for Baltimore and Philly was gone.

I fell back into bed, shattered. A phone call to the ladyfriend for support soon followed. The response was pure comfort. "I knew you wouldn't wake up," she purred. Thanks, babe.

Stories of similar misfortunes are common. One friend woke up with the chickens and queued up in front of Record and Tape Traders just to be informed all the cheap seats sold out in minutes. Another had a network of co-conspirators up and down the East Coast meet zero success trying to order four tickets by phone. Apparently, no matter how much you offer them for a ducat or two, those operators don't budge.

Assuming some lucky souls have gained admittance to this show of shows, of those that did, how many actually plan on attending? Anyone who's simultaneously searched for "U2" and "Baltimore" on E-bay search understands why I ask. If some yuppie is willing to pay $1000 for a pair of nose-bleed seats, I suppose I'd part with them too.

In the end, I'm not too disappointed. I mean, I'm still young. I'll probably have plenty of other chances in life to see U2 live. Anyway, like Yoda said, "there is another."

Tickets for Providence go on sale Saturday. I'll see you in line.