Indulge me, for a moment, in a walk down memory lane.
It came as no surprise to any of us when Anna Nicole Smith died of a prescription pill overdose back in 2007. I remember sitting there thinking, in my compassionate way, that it was too bad I didn't have any money on who would be the next celebrity to die, because she definitely would have been at the top of my list.
Sara had the same thought. Celebrity Death Pool was born.
It worked sort of like fantasy baseball. There was a $20 buy in. We set up some guidelines so as to avoid fistfights over the rights to Andy Dick, as well as to offset any form of foul play. Everyone had to throw in 10 suggestions. There were restrictions on who could be included. Anyone over 55 years old was out. Anyone under 55 suffering from terminal illness was out. We weren't restrictive on how the person had achieved their celebrity, but they did need a level of fame that would result in some media coverage of their demise. If you suggested someone that 2 or more members of the group had never heard of, they were out. In addition to my other picks, I threw in James Van Der Beek as an unlikely teen-star wildcard. We were prohibited to do anything that could hasten the end of our chosen celebrities. If you happened to run into a clean and sober Robert Downey Jr. on the street, you couldn't offer him some crack. If you came across a tearful and depressed Britney Spears standing on a rooftop, you couldn't suggest that it would probably be better just to end it all. We would each pick five names from the list of possibles, and we drew numbers to determine who would get first overall pick. People laughed at me when I chose Michael Jackson, because while all agreed that he was definitely very strange and had made some questionable life choices, we had no reason to believe that he might die. I maintained that an angry parent might kill him.
There were some who declined to participate on moral grounds. To each their own. It's not that we were hoping anyone would die. I didn't see it as so much different from pregnancy bets - date, sex, weight, length of labour etc. It was something that was bound to happen: why not make it interesting? I would have been quite content if Death Pool had continued for decades. It would have been a nice affirmation of life/triumph of the human spirit if the celebrities we thought were doomed lived to prove us wrong.
It was not to be. I won Celebrity Death Pool when Jacko died on June 25, 2009. I didn't feel at all guilty about the win, either. I won't deny that Billy Jean and Thriller were pretty awesome, but otherwise I was genuinely surprised at the outpouring of grief. On June 24th he'd been written off as a child molester. On June 25th, his death was a tragedy and it was a disgusting shame that so many greedy parents had taken advantage of the kindness he'd shown their children.
I don't remember exactly how I spent my hundred and forty dollar haul. I expect it involved beer.
Things got a little weird after that, though. I'd suggested Brittany Murphy for the pool, because there was definitely something sketchy about her, and she was possibly anorexic. (Brittany Murphy RIP December 20, 2009). I'd suggested Corey Haim, a suggestion which came as no surprise to anyone, but still. (Corey Haim RIP March 10, 2010).
The Haimster's death really shook me up. He was the third celebrity in a row to die that I predicted would soon meet his end. I felt responsible. Before Death Pool, he was a former teen star who, from what I can tell, had worked hard to overcome his demons and was doing reasonably well (apart from the poverty and lack of career). And then the long dirt nap wasn't even the drugs. Pneumonia. Pneumonia? It was definitely all my fault*.
Corey Haim's death inspired me to send an anonymous postcard to James Van Der Beek suggesting that he watch his back. I decided not to send it when it occurred to me that it could be construed as a death threat.
After Gary Coleman's tumble down the stairs on May 27, 2010 (Gary Coleman RIP May 28, 2010), I decided to end my career as a harbinger of death. Enough was enough.
I wasn't the only one made a little uncomfortable by the accuracy of my predictions. The Death Pool group decided to start a different bet, the "Last Man Standing", where we would each pick a celebrity that we thought would outlive everyone else on the list. The only restriction was that any celebrity we chose had to be over age 75.
I chose Sophia Loren, then aged 75. Some homework revealed that she comes from a long-lived family and that she had been widowed several years earlier (so she wouldn't be one to bite it within months of the death of her spouse, which often happens). A number of the Last Man Standing celebrities have since dropped off, but not Sophia. If things go well for her, she could live another 20 or more years.
I didn't predict Whitney Houston's death for two reasons. One, as mentioned above, I'd given up on predicting celebrity deaths because I was clearly casting a curse upon them just by thinking their names. Two, I actually believed that she'd recovered from some bad Bobby Brown related decisions and wasn't abusing herself in that way anymore.
But Wheels from Degrassi threw me off (RIP Neil Hope November 25, 2007). It's not that I predicted his death, exactly. But last week, when the news came out that he'd died almost five years ago, unbeknownst to anyone, I was surprised. I have very clear memories of the news coverage of his death from about five years ago.
Sara suggested, post-Whitney, that we start a new Death Pool because Last Man Standing wasn't yielding the desired results (people aren't dying fast enough). I'm not saying I won't participate in the bet (cause I will), but this time I'll defer my predictions to an impartial - and non-psychic - third party.
*I've been planning since then to visit Haim's cemetary to leave a stone on his grave, as per Jewish custom. That hasn't happened yet**, but I'm now inspired to follow through. If anyone*** wants to come with me to pay your respects to one of the stars of Lost Boys (any maybe toast him with some tasty liquor above his grave), let me know. Especially if you have a car. It'll take me about two and a half hours to get there by public transit. I mean, I'll do it, but it could be so much more convenient.
**Nor will it happen this weekend, when I am scheduled for Chris and Sara's annual ski getaway. Last year I spent the first night drinking twelve bottles of blueberry ale and discussing baby names. What will this year offer?
***it appears that since his pornstar divorce, Feld-Dog has also fallen on hard times. We recently discovered that his ex is brining him to court, to increase child support payments from $160 to $180 per month (Corey F. with a reported income of $1800 monthly). I couldn't wrap my mind around that, until someone pointed out that a heroin-addicted Feldman probably sold off his royalty rights to his 80's movies. Some of us are conspiring to raise the cash for Feld-Dog to visit the grave. That's another story entirely.
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