I’m sure you’ve all noticed that the InterWeb has been buzzing with news and commentary about the untimely death of Steve “The Crocodile Hunter” Irwin, the, um, energetic TV personality who was killed yesterday in an underwater encounter with a stingray. I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t surprised in the least that his life was ended by a wild animal. The only unexpected aspect of this story was that his killer wasn’t reptillian in nature.

Not to speak ill of the dead, but I must be honest: I never liked this guy much. I didn’t care for his hyperactive, motormouthed persona, and all too often, Irwin’s schtick reminded me of those obnoxious kids who love to tease dogs until they finally bite someone. The fact that he was willing to be the one on the receiving end of the teeth, that he “knew the risks,” was irrelevant in my book. I think it’s shitty to try and annoy an animal into performing for the camera, and it’s not indicative of their natural behavior because under regular circumstances, they don’t have some jerk poking them with a stick. I much prefer the more traditional (and sedate) method of getting the footage: by quietly waiting for something to happen. What can I say, I grew up with Marlin Perkins.

Still, Irwin had plenty of admirers, and many of his peers are rushing to point out that “The Crocodile Hunter” was only a stage persona. For example, another familiar “animal guy,” Jack Hanna, is saying that Irwin really knew his stuff and was an important voice for conservation, and that his loss is going to be keenly felt in their circles. Maybe so. Certainly he captured the attention of lots of people, young and old, who probably wouldn’t have much interest in nature programs otherwise. I only wish he hadn’t been, to dredge up a word from my middle-school years, such a spazz.