I Am Not Brian Wilson

On Sunday afternoon, scheduling peculiarities resulted in me missing my fast-pitch baseball game on the south side of Chicago and instead helping out in a slow-pitch softball game for a friend on the slightly-less-south side of Chicago. During the second game of the doubleheader, a slew of little league kids appeared, waiting to take the field from us.

Upon seeing me, many of the tykes began chanting: “Brian. Wilson.” Clapclap, clapclapclap.

This is why:

But I am not, in fact, Brian Wilson, though my face proteins may resemble his. Let us examine the differences:

1) Though the preceding image — which compares my Facebook photo with Brian Wilson’s file photo — makes our beards seem quite similar, mine is in fact quite brown while his is quite black.

2) And there is this matter:

3) And the matter of personal associations:

4) And this horrible matter:

5) And lastly, I am like TOTALLY five years younger than Wilson.

Which brings me to my final topic: The ladies at the game — OH LADIES *a rolling of eyes* — thought those tykes were cheering for the Beach Boys singer, not me, the bearded second baseman. Women!

AMIRITE?!!?!?!?!?