Separated at Birth Fail

So I watched a bit of  the World Cup and was struck by the resemblance between footballer Javier "Chicharito" Hernandez (Mexico) and one Jensen Ackles (actor, Texas). I wanted to do a side by side comparison but couldn't find a good shot of Hernandez. This will have to do: 

Bless his eyebrows

Is one of them a cross-border brother from another mother or are they just two dudes who look uncannily like one another? Either way, they're a big timely reminder from this lovely universe that honest to god bishies have a place in every country and society.

The good thing about knowing nothing about a person is that you can project anything you want on them. They both look like the stoic, muy macho type who keeps everything inside, but just as you're about to break up with him for being so secretive, he mutters, “Te amo,” and stalks off.

Bless his, er, oh god, where do I start?

I'm also bracing myself for the onslaught of breathless badfic that is sure to result when slashers realise that Hernandez joining the BPL* (from C.D. Guadalajara; the first Mexican player evar!) will set the stage for a cross-continental encounter of the Iberian kind:

“The one they called 'Little Pea' stood uncertainly in the doorway, wishing he could flee the carnage before him. It was what BPL execs called a 'welcoming party', only no one had thought to furnish him with a translator. Chicharito's textbook English was never going to cut it here**; his thoughts were already back in Mexico, pining for the almost forgotten warmth and raucousness of his own family.

Just as the unhappy Mexican newcomer was about to slap himself on the forehead, mentally berating himself for making such a hasty decision, a voice like warm honey melted through the swirling torrent of homesickness and regret.

'Hola,' said Fernando Torres. Receiving no answer, he cocked his head quizzically at the young man, who was staring at him with the brightest, most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. He tried again. 'You speak English, no?'

'Si!' Hernandez answered hurriedly. 'I mean, yes. Yes, I speak English.' Why was he so flustered? Maybe it had something, or everything, to do with the handsome Spaniard looking at him, a friendly smile playing on his lips. He couldn't help but admire the casual, loving manner the Spanish player's shirt draped his broad shoulders, its bright red colour the perfect complement to a shock of golden hair that fell carelessly over clear brown eyes...”

* He'll probably move his family there, away from the Mexi drug cartels, at the first chance he gets! /stereotyping 

** not true, really