I’ve always wanted to be mildly famous. Not like big-time Tom Cruise famous where the paparazzi follows you everywhere, because that seems like a huge pain in the ass. Just like about as famous as James Rebhorn, the guy who played the secretary of defense in Independence Day, because I feel like being that amount of famous makes everything you do exponentially funnier.

Think about it: If you popped a tire and Tom Cruise helped you jack up your car, you’d be like, “that was weird… what a freak, he obviously wants his ego stroked or something, that’s creepy.” But if James Rebhorn pulled over and bailed you over, you’d be all, “Sweet, Rebhorn! This guy plays a sniveling bureaucrat in like a billion different movies,” and you’ve have a hilarious and random story to tell your friends for the rest of your life.

And it doesn’t even have to be James Rebhorn being a good samaritan. It’d be just as funny if James Rebhorn cut you off on the parkway or if you pulled up next to James Rebhorn at a red light and saw him pick his nose. Pretty much any vehicular interaction you could have with noted character actor James Rebhorn would be a funny one.

I know this for a fact because the younger brother of one of my friends once got into a fender-bender with the actor David Paymer, and I still find that funny.

I listed two character actors but any other means of minor fame is fine by me too. Character actors just the most identifiable random not-quite-famous people, for whatever reason.

Anyway, part of the fallout from this job is that on rare occasion people actually do recognize me from the video stuff I do on SNY.tv, which I enjoy, in part because I’m tremendously vain and in part because it feels like a very small step toward that Rebhorn stature I so desperately desire.

By “on rare occasion,” by the way, I mean “almost never.” Sometimes at Citi Field, but only three times when I’m not walking around the place where the Mets play with a credential around my neck that says my name on it.

One time was some guy in a bar who saw my stuff on MetsBlog. Not a particularly notable interaction.

Another time I was in a parking garage waiting for the attendant to bring my car around. A businessman was sitting in his car, nearly ready to pull out, and rolled down his window.

“Hey, are you Ted Berg?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, excitedly.

“I’ve seen your stuff,” he said, almost in disgust, as he rolled up the window.

The third time was last night outside MCU Park in Brooklyn.

I didn’t stay for the Cyclones’ last night. I wanted to because I love that park and I wanted to see some of the Wallyball everyone has such strong opinions about, but for a variety of reasons I also wanted to get home and I feared the hours worth of traffic I faced.

But before I left Coney Island, obviously, I stopped to get a cheese dog at Nathan’s.

Look: I’ve never been what you’d call a skinny dude. I played offensive line in high school football, and even then I carried a few extra pounds around my midsection. I like food a lot. I’m cool with it. I realize I could be healthier, eat better, work out more, all that, but that would mean not eating cheese dogs when I’m in Coney Island, and that’s inconceivable to me.

And though I’m hardly neurotic, it’s hard not to feel a little bit self-conscious when you’re walking down the street punishing a cheese dog, trying to keep all the excess cheese, ketchup and mustard from spilling all over your clothes, licking one hand clean while carrying a huge soda in the other.

It was the perfect time for some guy to drive by and, from a moving car, yell, “Ted Berg — Sandwich of the week!”

My first thought was, “oh Ted, you disgusting beast, what have you become?”

My second, a few moments later, was that this was a pretty hilarious way for someone to recognize me.

I mean, anyone familiar with the “Sandwich of the Week” series must be a TedQuarters reader, not just someone who sees the Baseball Show videos on MetsBlog or whatever, and so obviously a hero. I very much appreciate that. If you’re reading this, guy, feel free to identify yourself.

Second, it’s funny to think of how it must have been for that guy, who knows me as some sandwich-loving Mets fan, to spot me outside a Mets’ Minor League facility destroying a hot dog, cheese everywhere.

I don’t know if he saw me from far away or what, but I like to think he was all, “hey, that guy kind of looks like that Ted Berg fellow, but I’m not sure… oh, he’s eating a cheese dog, yeah, that means it’s definitely him.”

And I’m fine with that.