Killer Croc is one of Batman's (relatively recent) villains (created in '83), and he's analagous to Spider-Man's enemy The Lizard, but Croc was never a scientist (as The Lizard's alter ego is), and he spends much of his time living in the sewers; thus, with the The Dark Knight approaching so soon, I imagined the manhole thefts to be part of the movie's clever marketing campaign. I checked for updates on that story multiple times a day, listening for the next shoe to drop, for some report of a civilian who thought he observed a reptilian hand emerging from one of the holes.
Alas, Friday (the day The Dark Knight debuted) morning arrived, and no such report was ever filed. I sunk down in my chair, disappointed, and I viewed the original report one last time, and then it hit me: the incident took place in Flint, Michigan--not in Gotham City. Of course! That was it! This revelation ignited my imagination, re-piqued my interest, and I started researching. Penny knocked and called, telling me it was time to take Georgia to day care, so we could then take Nicholas to Meridian for the beginning of his Great Birthday Extravaganza, but I now had work to do! I had to find Killer Croc!
I told my wife just to take Georgia to day care herself and then to ride around and look for any signs of any missing manhole covers; she responded with a few choice words and some incendiary invectives, but I understood and forgave her, for I realized she was just masking her fear with shows of anger and spite (it happens to the best of us). She flipped me the Batsign, strapped Georgia into the sidecar of PennyCycle, and spun out of the driveway, anxious to investigate.
I continued my investigation by researching the archives of the online edition of The Gotham Times; however, my search revealed no clues to the manhole mystery, which led me to think: could this possibly be a cover-up? Could Killer Croc's criminal corruption extend even to the media? How high up the political ladder did it go? I realized then that official documentation could not be trusted; no, I'd have to use more subversive measures to discover the truth. How so? I decided to use the trusty forums of the internet.
I returned to the Michigan Manhole report and joined in the on the discussion therein (note--all of my posts there have since been deleted--further evidence of the conspiracy, ya think???). I asked several questions and posted my theories, but the members there challenged my credibility, maturity, and sanity! They called me names! They asked silly questions, too, like "How would Killer Croc be able to travel the sewers from Michigan to Gotham in just five days?", "Have you renewed your prescriptions to the psychotropic drugs you're taking?", and "Why would Killer Croc steal manhole covers?"
I had an answer for the last query, though, and it comes from personal experience--Killer Croc wants to destroy the Batman by stealing that which he values most. That simple. How do I know this? Back in the spring of 1989, Philadelphia High School's Beta Club officers traveled to the National Beta Club convention in Orlando, Florida to watch one of our members (Mark Michalovic) compete in the Quiz Bowl finals. Ads for the upcoming Batman motion picture (the first one helmed by Tim Burton) abounded, much like they are now for the new Batman flick. Twenty years ago, though, the advertisements seemed to be more physically prominent (as the internet was still in its formative stages) than they are now, with the Bat logo plastered seemingly everywhere, including my own neighboorhood, where some creative soul took a yellow double-arrowed street sign and transformed it into the familiar icon.
We (the Beta Club officers), as ambassadors from the state of Mississippi, wanted to show that we Mississippians were as hip as any of our Betabrethren from other parts of America, so we created a sign that represented how cool we were. We made our own BatSignal, and we secured the sign to the spare-tire cover on the back of the automoblie that transported us to Orlando; thus, we created...the Bat-Van. Everywhere we stopped along the way, we received plaudits for our artwork; every vehicle that passed us on the highway (and there were many, as we were traveling slowly, in BatStealth mode) shouted and cheered, rolling down their windows as they drove by, shouting, "Bat-Van! Yay!"
We arrived at the convention-center parking lot to rousing applause. We parked, emerged from the Bat-Van, and our Betabrethren converged upon us, patting us on our backs, asking for autographs, even proffering money to be able to touch the Bat-Van (and, as heroes we were, we let them touch the van for free--though we charged a buck-and-a-quarter for touching the sign, for you've got to draw the line somewhere). After an hour of adoration, we told our Bat-Van fans that the convention was starting, so it was time to go. The crowd separated into two single-file lines, stretching from the convention doors to the Bat-Van, creating an improptu walkway for us, clapping as we walked down the concrete runway, a choir of voices singing to us, "Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da/Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da/Bat-Van!"
After the general meet-and-greet and the subsequent key-note speech delivered by former National Beta Club president Rick Moranis, everyone was dismissed to go to their hotel rooms and ready themselves for that night's dance (with a special performance by another former National Beta Club president--Debbie Gibson). We walked back to the Bat-Van, eagerly anticipating the chance to display our choreographed Batdance in front of our new-found friends, when we discovered, to our horror, that our sign had been stolen! We looked atop the van, underneath it, inside it, and even peered into every car in the parking lot, all to no avail. We returned to the van, our spirits sunk, till our sponsor Wanda Waddell asked us, "Guys--what would Batman do if he were in this situation? Would he give up so easily? Would he slump back to the Batcave, defeated? No! He's the Darknight Detective! He would solve this crime!" Her words inspired us. We began searching for clues--and we found one.
After closely inspecting the spare-tire cover, Beta Club officer Emily Hicks discovered a pale green, slimy residue coating two spots--at ten and two--on the fabric-covered wheel. Another member of our team, Johnny Sandhu used his Bat-Penlight to shine upon pale-green footprints leading to and away from the van. "What does all this mean?" asked Beta neophyte Heather Wood.
"Use deductive reasoning," Mark told her. She did. She discerned that the residue found on the tire cover and the footprints must have not only come from the same individual, but also that the residue was indigenous to Floridian swampland, and that whoever stole the sign must live somewhere in a nearby marshy area. "Quite correct," Mark replied. We asked Mrs. Waddell if we could go investigate, and she said sure...but we'd miss the dance. We huddled together, discussed the matter, and told our fearless leader that we'd rather party like it's 1989.
I didn't, though. I wanted to catch our thief, for I was sure it was Croc. I mentioned this to Johnny, and he told me that though that might be the case, it was possible that I'd search and search and never find him, and I'd miss a chance at showing everyone at the dance how we Mississipians were truly the Electric Youth. He was probably right, too. I'd always wanted to be a hero like the Batman, but--up to that point in my life--it was only in my dreams.
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