A VIEW FROM THE CHEAP SEATS
By Rich Trzupek
Crikey
One will be forgiven for being of two minds when reflecting on the death of crocodile hunter Steve Irwin. On the one hand, the Australian madman died doing something he loved, living life to the fullest, and there�s something to be said for that. On the other hand, it was a death, so early, and so avoidable, that it�s easy to shed a tear and say �what a waste.�
Personally, I lean toward the former position. Yes it�s sad that Irwin died, for his bride and children especially, but the biggest reason that the rest of us mourn him from a comfortable distance at all is that he sparked our imaginations with outrageous behavior. He took the chances that we wish we could take for the most frivolous �and glorious�of reasons: just for the hell of it.
The world was neither a better nor worse place for Irwin sticking his head in crocodiles� mouths. But the sheer joy that came across the screen when he put himself in harm�s way for no good reason was a tribute to one of the best parts of human spirit: a love of life that runs so deep that one is willing to risk all of it to live and experience more.
Though we live longer than ever, we�re also more afraid of death than ever, even though�the experts assure me�death is an incurable disease. We worry about power lines, second-hand smoke, carbohydrates and God-only-knows what else, lest we lose an additional 10 years or so of questionable quality. Sticking one�s head in a crocodile�s mouth or swimming with stingrays isn�t even a consideration for the rest of us.
Irwin did very stupid things, and, as his fame and income grew, there was less and less reason to do so. He could have lived off his reputation for a very long time, observing the dangerous creatures he had once courted from a safe distance while providing amusing Aussie-style commentary.
He didn�t do that. He stuck to his guns, dying as he had lived�pushing the envelope, not so much for our amusement I think, as for his own.
It is probably a hard thing to understand, if you�ve never put yourself in harm�s way.
Personally, I have always had a terrible fear of heights. Gravity is not my friend. So, in my world, the last kind of job I should logically do is one that forces me into the sky.
Yet, in what laughingly passes as �my career,� that sort of job was the most satisfying of my life. For 10 years I was a stack tester�climbing up ladders hundreds of feet in the air to measure air pollutants coming of industrial smokestacks. It was a job that scared the poop out of me, but one that made me feel so alive at the same time.
A part of that, I suppose, involves the concept of shared peril. Pushing 20-hour days, in all kinds of weather, breathing every sort of crap, one develops a bond with the guys and gals who share that experience, when both count of you, and are counted on, to survive. It�s a fraction, I think, of what a soldier, or police officer, or firefighter feels in the worst (and best) of times.
But the other part involves discovery, for those times one finds out what one is truly made of. For me, a skinny, intellectual geek, being able to tough out a job that most people can not do was a thrill that was (almost) better than sex. For the first time in my life, I figured that I had earned a swagger in my walk.
Ten years was enough for me though. My physical skill deteriorated and, more importantly, my heart wasn�t in it any longer. I opted for the safer existence that Steve Irwin wouldn�t choose, figuring that I had�in this part of my life�done enough.
Irwin was not ready to lay down the gauntlet, not yet. From a distance, especially for those of us who have never been inclined to tempt fate, it�s easy to say he was playing with fire.
He was, as an eight-inch spike to the heart would unquestionably prove, but who are we to criticize that choice?
A more cautious life might have meant a longer life for Steve Irwin. It probably would have meant many more years as a husband, father and grandfather. He would have enriched the lives of everyone close to him for far longer.
We can not say that the extra time would not have mattered to everyone close to him. But that, more cautious decision, would also have required that he become someone different than the person he wanted to be. Would more years, but less spirit, have been better?
We will never know the answer to that question. Steve Irwin died as he lived: with the rhythm of life unique to him running through his soul.
The world will miss Steve Irwin, or at least the pubic part we saw. Not knowing the man, we can not say if he was a sinner, a saint or something in between in private.
But it is clear that Steve Irwin, for whatever reasons, was determined to carve out his own, unique and dangerous path. It made life worth living for him and from my perspective, I salute his choice.
Rest in peace Steve.