Unless you’ve been unconscious for the last 24 hours, you now know that Michael Jackson, the one-time “King of Pop,” has died. It’s a sad tale, of course, whenever anyone dies young, and Jackson was only 50. I’ll leave it to others to eulogize him, and to chronicle the worldwide mourning. I’d like to focus on a slightly different angle …

I’m not a conspiracy theorist by nature, but I can’t help thinking: Didn’t he die at just the perfect time?

Think about it – here’s a guy who’s a very frail 50, a full twenty years beyond the end of his relevant period as a pop star. He’s gotten backing from Philip Anschutz and company for a big comeback tour – fifty shows at Anschutz’s O2 Arena in London. It’s claimed that he’s working out like a madman, but at the same time has appeared to be one bad surgical experience away from the Great Beyond. They’ve already postponed the start of the concerts once, and now we’re only a couple of weeks away from finding out if he can really capture the magic. Hundreds of thousands of fans are ready to be enthralled – or reimbursed.

Ever see the movie “Capricorn One“? It was a cynically intriguing flick, and not just because they cast O. J. Simpson as an astronaut. The premise was the first manned mission to Mars – three astronauts in an Apollo capsule ready for the multiple-month journey. Problem is, it dawns on someone that since they went with the lowest bidder, the life-support system won’t survive the journey – and, therefore, neither will the crew. Rather than cancel the mission – and risk NASA’s funding being cancelled – they stage a huge charade, mimicking the landings and Mars-walks in a soundstage in the desert. That worked right up to the point where the now-unmanned capsule was destroyed during re-entry, making it a little difficult to explain the presence of three still-living astronauts. Cue the marksmen …

I don’t know. I don’t know if Jackson still had what it would take to moon walk his way through two months of shows, nor do I know if he could come close to achieving the glory he once had. All I know is that there’s a mystery doctor injecting him daily, and now it looks suspiciously like one of those shots – supposedly to help with the pain of performing – may have instead hastened his death.

I’m just sayin’ …