SCUZZYMONEY

The phenomenon that celebrities die in threes is intriguing to me.   It seems they happen more often than not.  They seem to always relate somehow; actors, singers, politicians, outbreaks of the black plague in the Hollywood estate of the Baldwin brothers.  (Okay, fine.  In reality, a plague never ate away at the Baldwin household, but really, let's be honest.  It wouldn't hurt your feelings if it did, would it?)

Let's take a look at death, times three.

What's considered to be the first of famous 'trifecta's' of death took place in 1959 when Buddy Holly, Ritchie 'Van' Valens and the "Big Bopper" died tragically in a plane crash.  This could have been prevented if the "Big Bopper" would have just moved his fat ass to the right side of the small aircraft for better weight distribution.  To this day, there is impending lawsuits by Holly's family, most notably, Elvis Costello.

A decade later, within a few weeks of each other Janice Joplin, Jimmy Hendrix and Jim Morrison died.  This was also considered to be the first attempt at an organized mass suicide.  There were no notes but due to the fact that all three were wearing black high top Chuck Connors and a punch bowl of peyote and hashish laced Kool-Aid was found within feet of the puddle of vomit.  Their timing was off, though, due to conflicting tour schedules and Jim Morrison was frolicking in France with Meg Ryan.

Most recently, all within what would seemed to be only a few hours of each other, Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon bit the big one. This is particularly disturbing because not only are most asking "Really? Ed McMahon died?" but also "Who the frugnugget is Ed McMahon?"  Well, duh!  He was the quarterback and Super Bowl MVP of the Chicago Bears in 1985!

I really got to thinking about tri-glyceride death recently when two major players in the New York Yankee's organization past on to the giant dugout in the sky that Ruth built.

GIANT DUGOUT IN THE SKY THAT RUTH BUILT

First came Bob Sheppard. the long time Hall-Of-Fame broadcaster that will forever live on in the hearts of Yankee fans, and his voice will always ring down from above, unless of course the recording, announcing Derek Jeter's next at bat is burned up in a good old fashioned New York City riot.  Bob Sheppard was 99 years old and had only retired in the last couple years but his death was still met with mournful tears and monotone sighs throughout the Bronx.  I'm sure he's up in heaven, as we speak, getting a giant noogy from Harry Carry.

Two days later, the owner of the Yankee's, George Steinbrenner died.   He was a vibrant and spry gentleman of only eighty years, full of piss and vinegar, with a love of his children and grandchildren, racing horses, but most of all, his mostly unsuccessful attempts at buying major league championships.  He was loved by most that worked, played and....uh, well a lot of people and....uh, actually he was a pain in the ass for most but Reggie liked him, and that's something right?  And while I was never a real fan of the guy, I have to feel for him, because I know that Billy Martin is standing at Heaven Gates waiting for the old man, holding a big can of whoop ass!

So, within the next few days, I sat in front of my television, waiting in anticipation and pure joy that A-Rod would be next (Seattle still thinks you're a money grubbing, no good, choking when the pressure is on asshole), but no such luck.  Nothing.  Not a beer vendor, not a relief pitcher choking on sunflower seeds, not even a skull being cracked wide open in the parking lot on 'Bat Give Away' night.  It seemed that the Yankee's had slipped past the Grim Reaper.

But, then I realized, with more research I had made a huge mistake.  A mistake, but one that connected the dots, solved the mystery and figured into why I couldn't find another death closely related to the Yankee's.  What I'd overlooked was that there was actually four Baldwin brothers, the forgotten one being William aka 'Billy'.

But you can't blame me.  We all know his career was dead long before it even started.