Surely Those Who Picked America’s ‘Top Bachelors’ Fell One Hunk Short

I couldn’t have been more pleased to see that local guy Kevin Armstrong is one of “America’s Top 50 Bachelors” as chosen by People magazine.

Excuse me, make that Doctor Kevin Armstrong.

It always gives me a warm glow when hometown folks burst onto the national scene. And now, to be on a list that includes actors George Clooney and Ben Affleck ... well, Dr. Armstrong must be quite proud.

Not that I wanted to make the list, but I’ve scanned Armstrong’s bio and, quite frankly, don’t understand the fuss. He’s 36 with an undergraduate degree in molecular biology from Princeton, where he was co-captain of the football team. He graduated from UCLA’s medical school and while on a sports medicine fellowship, he was assistant team physician for the Pittsburgh Steelers and the University of Pittsburgh basketball team.

Nowadays, he’s an orthopedic surgeon and assistant clinical professor at UC Irvine Medical Center. According to the center, he’s investigating “new innovations in posterior cruciate ligament reconstruction.”

Yeah, I bet.

He’s also the team doctor for his alma mater, Woodbridge High School, and several other schools. Among other things, he’s published papers on knee ligament biomechanics.

Besides all that, I’ve seen a picture of the guy and would describe him as “moderately handsome with a nice smile.”

So I’m sitting here at my desk, picking sunburned skin off the bridge of my nose from sitting in the upper deck at last weekend’s Angels series and wondering what it takes to get on that People magazine list.

It seems to me that Armstrong and I simply chose different career paths and have dissimilar philosophies about spending our free time. In his off-hours, he volunteers his services and publishes scholarly articles. I park myself on the sofa and watch TV for hours on end.

Not to be petty about it, but I called a People editor to see how a guy like Armstrong is such a hot property, while certain other bachelors in their early 50s are pretty much off the radar screen.

“Beyond the ones in the public eye, we look for those men who have made names for themselves in their fields,” says associate Los Angeles bureau chief Julie Jordan, who in that short sentence invalidated everything I’ve tried to do in 30 years in the business.

“It’s kind of word-of-mouth,” she says. “We have five stateside bureaus, and they put out feelers in the community as to who the most eligible bachelors are. Hopefully, we’ll find a few gems we can introduce to the rest of the world.”

She seemed to stop just short of addressing me as, “You Big Fat Loser.”

I mention to her in passing that apparently my name never surfaced as a candidate. Nor was I aware of any tryouts for the list.

“You need to get someone out there campaigning for you,” Jordan says.

Armstrong is one of only 16 in the Top 50 who isn’t a sports or entertainment celebrity. I ask Jordan what he brings to the dance.

“The whole package,” she says. “He takes his job seriously, enjoys life and is looking for love.”

He said that?

“Let’s see what he said,” Jordan says, reading from his dossier. “ ‘To be with someone and continue to grow with that person for the rest of your life. That’s the big prize.’ ”

Funny, that’s the last thing I say every night just before slipping on my anti-teeth-grinding guard, then tossing and turning for the next eight hours while enduring hellish nightmares.

It’s not my place to question People magazine editors. I venture to say they don’t really know Armstrong, and they certainly don’t know me. I doubt there’s a huge difference between him and me, except that he probably doesn’t look away every time he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror.

To demonstrate my magnanimity, I phone Armstrong for a short chat. He says he never expected to make the list and finds his inclusion both comical and enjoyable. “My life is no different now than before this happened,” he says. “I just happen to be one of those who was chosen.”

Easy for him to say.

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at The Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.