Fiona McCade: We didn't know you but it doesn't stop us loving you

Published on Monday 29 June 2009 19:28

MY HUSBAND was howling with laughter. "Look at this!" he gasped, wiping away the tears of mirth.

"Look what some of those internet loonies are blogging about Michael Jackson!" And while he rolled around on the floor, sides slowly splitting, I read the tributes: "MJ!!! You are a god, and gods don't die, but change from one form to another, just like energy in the laws of thermodynamics"; "it feels like I've lost someone so close… he won the heart's of people all over the world"; "michael jackson will be with us forever, if u took michael out of music the world of music and posibaly the world as we kno it would have gone in a diferent direction"; "When historians write about our generation, Michael Jackson will be mentioned as one of the people who changed the world"; "Decades from now, Michael will be canonized as a Saint and I for one hope to be alive to celebrate the occasion"; "MJ. My King, my heart's song and my inspiration"; "The light of the century is gone!"; "It's an unprecedented loss for all humanity".

Such sentiments – not to mention the spelling and grammar – are greatly entertaining, but I couldn't join in wholeheartedly with my husband's scoffing because I have a guilty secret: I am a fan, a worshipper, and though my altar is very different, I can't, in all honesty, cast stones at those worshipping at the shrine of St Michael of Jackson.

I love the Beatles. At least, I used to think I did. Now I'm ever so grown up, I use the term loosely because I've got to grips with the concept of love and the unlikelihood of loving anybody you've never been less than a stadium away from. But when John Lennon was killed, I was just 14 and if I could have thrown myself on to his pyre, I would have (sincere thanks, Yoko, for keeping the funeral private). I loved him so much, I cried myself to sleep for a year; it was – as far as I was concerned – the end of the world.

Luckily, despite my heartbreak, I remembered that Paul McCartney was still alive, and so I pulled myself together and became determined to live for him – and of course I would marry him, as soon as he got around to meeting me. Well, you know how that little plan worked out, but even though I can see the lunacy of fandom for what it is, I still can't shake off the insider knowledge.

Marilyn, Elvis, Kurt, Diana – their passing hasn't exactly sent "the world as we kno it … in a diferent direction" but there are people out there who still mourn (notice I don't include John on that list – I'm sure that if he'd lived we'd have achieved peace on Earth by now). Fan worship is the new religion of our age and the way people are reacting to Jackson's death proves it beyond doubt.

His fans never met him – it's quite possible that even the mother of one of his children never met him – but they believed that Earth Song really could save the planet from global warming. Throughout his chequered career, they continued to have faith in him.

And why not? Forsooth, St Michael of Jackson did change his countenance so much that we should not know him, except in our hearts. He moonwalked in mysterious ways, his concerts to perform, and lo, he did turn money into water and spendeth it thus.

He's even become something of a martyr, since the likes of Germaine Greer have already started accusing his hapless devotees of pushing him into his grave. "Like Orpheus," wrote Germaine, "Michael Jackson was destroyed by his fans." Nothing to do with the fact that his heart stopped beating and lengthy resuscitation attempts failed to revive him.

Yes, fans can be dumb, deluded and often downright crazed, but in a world where anyone can open a magazine and see pages of up-close-and-personal photos of a star's wedding/baby/holiday/surgery/shopping trip/cellulite is it any wonder so many people feel that they know their idols personally?

My lucid mind thinks: madness! But my fan-self understands a little of what these apparently loopy people are experiencing – and this deeply disturbs my husband.

"Ohmigod," he gasped, when I didn't laugh quite as heartily as he'd expected at the crazy postings. "You're one of THEM!"

I hope I'm not that bad, but on the dark, dark day when Sir – or should I say saint? – Paul is called to the great billion-seater concert hall in the sky, I will undoubtedly sob my heart out. Take good care of yourself, Paul. The world wouldn't be the same without you.