I realized this week with the death of Glenn Frey I would never see the Eagles live. Or at least alive on this earth with the band intact though I might catch a celestial concert venue someday in the hopefully far future.

After all, I’ve already got the tickets. Somewhere.

I bought tickets for the Eagles in about 1995 for a concert in Nashville. Jan and I were all revved up to go as the Eagles had been the second favorite band of my youth behind Creedence Clearwater Revival. However, Don Henley got sick and the concert had to be postponed. The Eagles were scheduled to come to Nashville again in six months for a makeup concert and the original tickets were supposed to be valid.

I put the Eagles tickets in a desk drawer for safekeeping. I saw them often during the ensuing months, waiting like Excalibur for a magic night to arrive. I knew exactly where those tickets were, sometimes I’d take them out and just look at them in anticipation. I might have even petted them in secret. The years blur the memory of my transgressions.

Finally, we drew within a week of the makeup concert. I reached in the drawer and came up empty. No tickets! We tore the desk apart. Nothing. Our son came over and helped us look everywhere, from the crawl spaces to the oven to all the closets.

The Eagles tickets had vanished. The concert was a sellout. The Eagles performance came and we watched it go by helplessly. The Eagles played in Nashville in the ensuing years but I never pulled the trigger on tickets again. I felt somehow a brass ring had slipped my grasp. Fate had conspired to bar me from ever seeing the Eagles.

Over the years there have been many theories about the disappearance of the tickets. I thought they might have been raptured. My wife is sure this was the first of many senior moments to come for me. She theorizes I opened the drawer while doing bills and the tickets got tangled up with items to be shredded and met a horrible fate.

In the ensuing years other tickets have disappeared. Just two years ago Kevin, Kody and I were at Yankees spring training. I had $400 in tickets bought months before. We looked at them the night before and went to the beach in the morning. When we returned to get ready for the game, the Fedex envelope with the tickets was nowhere to be found. The easy explanation is the maid threw them out when she cleaned the room. We had to scramble on StubHub to get another $400 worth to go to the game that night.

It’s understandable now that I’m allowed to run with scissors or play with sharp knives but barred from keeping tickets in my possession. I’m a ticket jinx.

I realized when I read the news of Frey’s death I hadn’t heard his music in years. My Glenn Frey collection was locked in albums behind a bookcase at Kevin’s house. I been planning to rescue this lost music for years but the work just seems so hard. Instead, I went to iTunes and bought his greatest hits just to hear “Smugglers Blues” again and drove around two days lost in my back in the day.

The immersion helped me come to terms with the fact I’ll never see the Eagles live. The music also helped me solve the mystery of what actually happened to the tickets.

Glenn Frey took them with him for safekeeping. He knows I’m a ticket jinx.

(First published at Don Cyoti’s Blog at www.a-country-for-old-men.com)