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Andrea Langworthy's column: True Confessions

Okay, I admit it: I have a crush on a man who is not my husband. Whenever I see this “other man,” and exclaim, “Be still my heart,” my husband doesn’t get angry. Doesn’t bother to shake his head, roll his eyes or express dismay. He’s accepted the truth: I have a thing for actor Chris Noth.

Noth is the hunk of burning love who starred as Detective Mike Logan on the first five seasons of the original “Law & Order.” He played Mr. Big to Sarah Jessica Parker’s character, Carrie Bradshaw, on HBO’s “Sex and the City” and reprised his role as Detective Logan on “Law & Order: Criminal Intent.”

The actor, who attended the Yale School of Drama, has appeared onstage and in movies and now appears in “The Good Wife” on CBS. Twenty-plus years after his debut on “Law & Order,” he is more handsome than ever. Especially, since he’s let his hair go a bit grey.

My one-sided romance with Christopher David Noth didn’t begin in 1990 with the first season of “Law & Order” or even the original airing of “Sex and the City” eight years later. I worked a lot of nights in those days so my introduction to Noth was years later via reruns. And reruns of reruns. My husband will be the first to tell you that no matter how many times I have seen an episode, if Chris Noth is in it, I am watching it again.

The same is true of “Criminal Intent.” This later offering of the Dick Wolf franchise didn’t bless Mike Logan with partners like Lenny Briscoe, Max Greevey and Phil Cerreta, but I never had eyes for his sidekicks, anyway.

I feel the same about Alicia Florrick, wife of Noth’s character, Governor Peter Florrick, on “The Good Wife.” Julianna Margulies does a good job playing the good wife but the reason I watch the show is for a glimpse of the not always so good character played by Noth.

In all the years I’ve been head-over-heels about this man, I have never dared to dream about our meeting. I learned my lesson with another celebrity who I was gaga about long before my infatuation with Noth.

Baseball’s Billy Martin. An odd choice, you must be thinking. Martin was no handsome hunk but he was cute. I liked his spunk and I loved his game. My then-husband, our children and some of my closest friends knew I had feelings for him. In fact, I often joked that my bag was packed just in case Billy came to town and asked me to run away with him.

The last home opener at the old Met Stadium gave me my chance. Before the game, Billy stood outside the visitors’ bullpen and signed autographs for fans who leaned over a railing and handed him something to write on.

I patiently waited my turn, my heart rat-a-tat-tatting like the feet of a player rounding the bases. I handed my love a pen and the commemorative booklet I had purchased as I entered the stadium. He smiled at me and I said, “Thank you, Mr. Martin.”

Mr. Martin? Hardly the come-hither verbiage to attract the attention of the man who had stolen my heart. What happened to the breathy, “Hi, Billy,” I had practiced in front of the bathroom mirror? I slunk back to my seat.

“I struck out with Billy,” I told my then-hubby. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”