(Photo cred: Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times / August 7, 2013)

It feels nice when people know you and care about you. And when my beloved Brian Wilson defected to the LA Dodgers, I felt the sympathy and concern from my fellow man. I appreciated the texts, tweets, and messages from those reaching out to me and wanting to see if I needed to talk, go on a walk, or a cup of tea to get through these trying times.

I heard the news of his trade while on vacation in Mexico with my family, which helped to soften the blow. I unfollowed him on twitter, which if that doesn’t say “I’m hurt by your actions,” than I don’t know what does.

I mean, I get it, I really do. Or I’m trying to understand. Or whatever. He’s had two Tommy John surgeries, he’s not as young as he was, the recovery might not be great, so I can imagine the hesitation of the Giants, as we’ve had to deal with pitcher problems with Zito (but then World Series 2012, and he is forgiven) Lincecum lost his mind for a while there, even Vogey and Cain have struggled this year.

does this make anyone else’s heart just leap into the sky with happiness and memories and love and now that’s all GONE.

He wants what every baseball player wants, which is to play. They get traded all the time, so even though as fans, we like to think of these guys as a cohesive, team-spirit-filled group of best friends, they’re used to moving around the country, wearing different colors, and making our hearts audibly break into a thousand pieces so that they see time on the field.

But with Brian, not just because I feel a soulmate connection with you, and have waxed poetically and publicly about your many charms, I just think this is wrong.

Who will love you like San Francisco has loved you? Who will not only embrace the beard, but paint their faces with it and have foam giveaways and tshirts with it’s famous misshapenness? Who will laugh at your Taco Bell commercials? Who will admire your spandex unitux and think it’s cute that you got interviewed by Sasquatch?

I wrote this poem for you for Valentine's Day.
I wrote this poem for you for Valentine’s Day.

And what about me? I wrote you poems. I dedicated major blogs to you. I educated the public on the meaning behind your Latin tattoos on your glorious pectoral region. I watched and rewatched and tweeted every video. I googled you every day for new information. I walked the Marina for hours trying to run into you at Tacolicious or jogging Chrissy field. I pictured you googling yourself one day and stumbling upon my blog, leaving a comment or mentioning me on twitter, wanting to meet up. I thought about what I would wear, how we would go on just one date and you would know immediately that you had found someone who could love you for all your weird. I imagined our future together. And all this meant nothing to you. Nothing.

is the dream finally dead?!
is the dream finally dead?!

Well, in every breakup, there must always be a bigger person. There must always be a mature person to help smooth things over, who wipes away their tears, puts on a brave face, and knows it’s all going to be okay.

That person is definitely not me.

Goodbye, Brian. Goodbye.