Paying the price for missing out on Elton John tickets

Comes a time in every husband's life that we might call the 'no excuses' phase.

The first decade of a marriage is devoted to producing offspring, getting to know the in-laws and launching a career or some combination thereof.

The second is spent buying furniture and insurance, waiting for the kids to get home and getting to know the in-laws.

The third, which I am on the cusp of departing after more than 29 years of bliss, is consumed by costly home decorating projects, waiting for the kids to leave home and learning how to be agreeable at times when you'd rather not.

Case in point: No man really wants to put on those silly stretch booties and wander aimlessly through houses he cannot afford on the Parade of Homes. But he does.

No man, in the third decade of life with the woman who loves him, willingly attends a craft show or enters a quilt shop or shells out good money to watch, gulp, a romantic comedy.

But if he is wise, he does those things anyway, offering no excuses. It is the least he can do. She, after all, has endured his coarse habits all this time.

And thus it was that I clenched my teeth one morning as I wondered aloud if the L.L.M.B. might enjoy attending the Elton John concert that had been announced for Sioux Falls.

Predictably, she was thrilled, and despite my secret revulsion at having to watch a 60-year-old geezer bob and sway while crooning "Crocodile Rock,'' I agreed to accompany the Lovely and Longsuffering Mrs. Beck and some friends to the Oct. 7 concert at the Sioux Falls Arena. All she had to do, I said, was get the tickets. You know what happened next, don't you?

For purely selfish reasons, I advised the woman I adore against spending the night in line at the Arena with other fans. The Internet, I said knowingly, is the way to go. So on the appointed day - last Saturday - the L.L.M.B. was up at 5 a.m. and registered on Ticketmaster.

I still slumbered, but in my mind even now I can see her hunkered over the keyboard in the dawn light, ready to pounce.

I did not hear the screams. But I do know that my dear wife, repeatedly denied entry into that mysterious box office in cyberspace, flew out of the house in frustration, leaped into her car and raced to the Arena.

Alas, it was too late.

I am sorry to report that a certain black mood has hung over the house ever since. One evening, I broke the news to her that professional buyers - we can only infer that they live in New Jersey or California - were offering seats for up to $300 on Web sites I'd never heard of. Her only comment: "That makes me angry.'' And she was.

As Argus Leader entertainment editor Robert Morast reported last week, many conspiracy theories flourish about how 7,000 tickets vanished so quickly and why, for prices I would pay only to see John Lennon or Buddy Holly, blocks of tickets are being advertised on the Internet.

"It's really just a matter of demand versus supply,'' Arena executive director Russ DeCurtins told me last week, comparing the popularity of the Elton John concert to the 1997 appearance, in six Sioux Falls shows, of cowpoke singer Garth Brooks. In that case, when Ticketmaster was in its infancy, 42,000 tickets were snapped up in less than three hours. Elton John tickets disappeared in about 15 minutes - nearly 70 percent through online purchases.

I didn't care about that. I just wanted DeCurtins to explain what I might have done to snag tickets - and ensure that my marriage continues into a fourth decade.

"Well, it was pretty much a matter of getting lucky,'' DeCurtins said. "It was just a matter of when the signal on your computer gets through to Ticketmaster's computer ...''

I didn't hear the rest of what he said because, in the end, it did not much matter.

What matters is, lacking tickets to Elton John, I won't have to suffer through "Rocket Man.''

What matters is that, doing penance, I will be pulling on those dumb little booties this weekend to gaze at silk curtains and solid gold bathroom fixtures.