On Monday, a great man was killed - by a stingray.
Steve Irwin, the "Crocodile Hunter," while filming a documentary off the coast of Australia, was fatally stung in the chest.
This is an extremely sad event, and what makes it so much worse is that it is just so anticlimactic. Irwin was a man who spent the majority of his time around some of the most dangerous animals on the planet, and to see him go by way of stingray just seems so inadequate for such a remarkable man.
It's as if a sword swallower just died choking on a toothpick.
I am an admirer of Irwin and have been since his introduction to the American audience in the late nineties.
The man, in only a few short years, changed the way that Americans look at informational television. His high-octane energy levels and in-your-face demeanor made him one of the most captivating personalities in the entertainment business.
And he wasn't even an entertainer. He was a man with a message, and he chose television as his medium to get his message across. In doing so, he created a sort of television phenomenon.
His program was one of those rare shows that everyone stops at when they're channel surfing. What made Irwin different was that everyone could watch his show.
That kind of presence never seemed tangible, mortal. That's why his death is so shocking.
It's as if a Formula-1 racer just died in a go-kart accident.
Irwin was out there every day, risking life and limb, not to entertain television audiences but rather, to inform.
You didn't even have to like animals to like his show. I don't much like animals. I like to eat them on a daily basis, but that's about as far as it goes. But I absolutely loved the Crocodile Hunter; Irwin's energy and presence was captivating.
The guy was using his natural charm and charisma not to try to sell us Pepsi, which he could have done, like so many other celebrities. He was trying to sell us ideas and teach us lessons. He never sold out. Yeah, he made a nearly unwatchable movie with an extremely lame premise in 2002, but he donated every penny he made on it to conservation funds.
It's as if a tightrope walker just died falling off a stepladder.
Everyone who watched Irwin's show, though, knew he was probably going to get it in the end. He beat the odds too many times.
Everyone saw him playing around with giant crocodiles and massive spiders with venom dripping from their fangs.
Therefore, that's how everyone expected him to go. Somewhere in the back of our collective subconscious, we knew he'd eventually get chomped in half by a twenty-five foot saltwater croc or take a black mamba strike to the jugular.
I think that Irwin assumed that as well, and that's why he let his guard down around a creature that has only caused seventeen deaths in recorded history. It just seems so unfitting.
It's as if a deep-sea diver just drowned in the bathtub.
Now that he's gone, there's certainly a role that needs to be filled. Irwin made learning about conservation fun and brought a sense of danger and excitement to a field that, before he revolutionized it, consisted of Jack Hanna sitting on Johnny Carson's couch petting a Koala. Now that he's gone, I don't know how we're going to satisfy our inner environmentalists.
After Irwin's sensationalism, I don't think Zoobooks will cut it anymore.
Paul Metz is a graduate student secondary education major and writes 'Support your Local Cynic' for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper.
Write to Paul at pjmetz@bsu.edu
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