Uh, Sting... you're under arrest.

Evading the white-haired usher brigade to score some empty seats closer to the field, I settled in for the latter half of Thursday's Police concert at Wrigley Field and remarked upon something disconcerting: Sting seemed bored.

Could it be? All around me, after all, were enthusiastic Chicagoans, clearly living up their own glory days along with the Police: singing, dancing and drinking, my fellow concert-goers were clearly having fun. The man in front of me -- what with his gray hair, baseball hat, shorts, gut and moustache, looking as though he'd dressed for a round of golf but ended up at a concert instead -- danced like a sex machine. He seemed to love the Police -- and the weather, the beer, the stadium, the city. So what was up with Sting? At some point in the show he’d started singing about yo-yos.

OK, really, we all loved hearing him shout "eeeeyo yo yo!" for “Walking on the Moon.” But by the time "eeeeyo yo yo" had been interjected into five other songs, along with numerous strange musical improvisations that deprived us from some amazing sing-along opportunities, I was starting to get annoyed. I began to tally my grievances: We’d waited five minutes for the start the second verse of “Can't Stand Losing You." “Roxanne” never had a proper final chorus -- it must get dull, singing a song over and over and over again, but when fans wait 20 years to hear the tune live, sing the tune! Then there was the fact that the band’s heart perhaps was not completely into the performance.

Technically, however, they rocked: I was personally amazed (seeing them live for the first time) how a trio could blast you away without keyboards, laptops and barely any instrumental/vocal effects or harmonies. In his late 50s, Sting looks in better shape than I've ever been in my life (ah yoga, so many benefits). He's an amazing bass player and exuded all the confidence of old. Andy Summers was as unassuming as ever. He recreated his hallmark guitar sounds from the classic Police albums, alternating between a simple Fender Telecasters and Stratocasters. He wasn't showy, but superb. Stewart Copeland (whose introduction received the loudest cheers from the crowd) was a surgeon on the drums. Though his face sports a few more wrinkles, his youthful energy has not declined. From opening the show by smashing a giant gong to coming out for an encore wearing a "Copeland" Cubs jersey, everyone was reminded why we love this guy.

As a life-long Sting and Police fan (I was too young their first time around and actually cut my teeth on Sting's Ten Sumner's Tales and Mercury Falling before getting around to the Police proper), I left the show wanting to gush to my friends about how absolutely mind blowing the experience was. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Had my expectations been set way too high, and had I anticipated something impossible in sheer awesomeness? Perhaps. Or else it may be that the Police might do well to not only reproduce the songs, but to recapture some of the original intensity and energy, which was more evident off-stage than on.

Fiction Plane -- featuring Sting's son, Joe Sumner -- opened the evening. Their first album, Everything Will Never Be OK, is energetic and infectious, but both of their follow-up EPs are bland at best. Live, Joe Sumner’s voice sounds so much like Sting’s that it borders on bad taste, and while the band seemed fairly well received, there wasn’t much engagement. - Matt Ammerman

A view of the stage from the cheap(er) seats: