AND SO THE death watch begins for the northern snakeheads in that Crofton pond, the infamous "fish from hell" that provided us with so much entertainment throughout this long, horrid summer.
Only a call from the governor can save them now.
OK, forget that stuff about the air strike and the nuclear device.
The DNR will be using poison to kill the snakeheads.
But has anyone considered this?
Has anyone considered the fact that when they're gone, when they sleep with Luca Brasi and Fredo Corleone and all the other fishes, there will be nothing left to talk about except the heat and the drought and the crows wracked with the West Nile virus dropping from the skies?
Somebody should think about that.
Me, I miss the toothy little killers already.
Has any 16-inch fish in history arrived with a bigger rep than the snakeheads?
It was said they could live out of water for days and walk on land and arm-wrestle a burly forest ranger to a draw.
It was said they could do 300 push-ups at a clip and bench-press a rowboat and leap out of the water to snatch a stray deer or two for their evening meal.
Look, I don't know what's fact and what's fiction with these snakeheads anymore.
All I know is they were like biker fish, mean and tough and ready to rumble with anything that got in their way.
And now they're gone.
Well, any day now.
When I called the DNR the other day, Chuck Porcari, their personable chief flack, described the coming execution of the snakeheads thusly:
At a little after midnight, the snakeheads will be offered a last meal.
Then a priest will be summoned to hear final confessions.