You may not be the type who’s bothered about this sort of thing.

But in case you are...

Yep, celebrity junkies, the end for Brad and Angelina was about as teary as it gets.

This was the fairy tale wedding that worked — the two gorgeous superstars who spent a decade together and THEN got married, shared six kids, made a gazillion dollars (alone and together), spent tons of family time while being adored in Hollywood and doing charity work everywhere else in the world.

It was perfect.

And then it wasn’t.

Of course you know by now that Angelina Jolie, still telling friends that she’ll “love Brad every day of my life,” nonetheless filed for divorce — ironically signing the petition claiming irreconcilable differences as “Angelina Pitt.”

Only the couple’s closest confidants saw the split coming.

Just last year, they did a movie together called “By the Sea,” about a couple whose marriage is coming undone.

Jolie wrote and directed it, and she certainly gave no hint that there was any suggestion of autobiography.

Jolie told People magazine that her shared experiences with Pitt only strengthened them and that “they both appreciate the beauty in each other’s changes...and look forward to even more years together.”

SO WHAT happened?

In a word…

Fame.

To be that well-known, that unreal (at least to mere mortals), to attempt living a semi-normal life and raise kids who have some basic context of what a regular existence might be like...

And to do it while still making movies...

Still winning awards...

Still being staggeringly handsome (Brad) and breathtakingly beautiful (Angie)...

Still being followed by the paparazzi while taking the kids for an ice cream...

Still selling any type of magazine by gracing its cover...

Still being the top-earning male and female actors over the past five years (combined movie income alone of roughly $500 million)...

THAT’S NOT any kind of real life.

To preserve their marriage — and both parties, along with everyone who knows them, insists they remain in love and adore their kids — Brad and Angelina needed to make the decision that so few superstars can manage.

They needed to walk away.

Jamie Lee Curtis did it, and a few others have, as well.

Jodie Foster refused to participate in the Hollywood life even as she began her movie-star breakthrough.

But it’s tough.

Walking away isn’t just about glamor, either. Both Pitt and Jolie are exceptional talents and want to challenge themselves as moviemakers, and it’s hard to do that from a mountaintop in Montana.

Plus, each of them is committed to global humanitarian causes that necessarily put them in the spotlight — not quite the red-carpet treatment, but hey, they’re still Brad and Angelina.

You couldn’t exactly walk past them on a street corner in Tennessee and fail to recognize them.

YOU MAY laugh out loud at how I know just a bit about this subject, but hey...

Be my guest.

Please understand, I am making only the tiniest, tiniest comparison here, but I have actually spent a little time as a mini-celebrity.

Before the giggle becomes TOO raucous, now, I can defend myself a bit by saying I’ve written 14 books — including a few that included signing events attended by several hundreds of people seeking an autograph.

That’s a bit of a rush, to be honest.

But it’s not the type of celebrity I want to discuss.

No, the truly crazy period was the four years I spent as a lead sports columnist for the Denver Post.

At first blush, you wouldn’t think that’s such a big deal, but Denver is a sports-mad city, and the Post was distributed over five states — what the paper used to call the “Rocky Mountain Empire.”

There were two daily papers in town at the time, which meant LOTS of marketing and competition.

And that meant my picture on every newspaper rack in those five states and, even more embarrassing, my not-quite-a-model-mug blown up to massive size on the sides of the trucks that hauled papers all over the countryside.

I remember the first time I pulled up to a stoplight in downtown Denver — with a date in my car — and a Post truck screeched to a halt alongside us. There was my face, about 12 feet high.

Oh, my God!

AT FIRST, it was great fun.

Radio stations paid for my opinions in little 10-minute blocks. A bar/restaurant paid even more, just so I’d host a luncheon with one big-name sports guest every Tuesday.

Golf courses and ski areas made it known I could be their guest...no charge.

I actually met a wonderful woman — whom I might have stayed with if I’d had any sense — when we were both waiting with friends for tables at a popular restaurant.

I blurted out my name to the guy who was seating people and this gorgeous young lady said: “Steve Cameron? You’re not really HIM?”

Assured that I was, she actually gasped. I used that brief pause to start a conversation and a relationship began.

Anyhow, that’s what it was like to be me in Denver.

But it was also weird.

People stopped you on the street. Interrupted you at dinner in public. In one case, sent a death threat over a differing opinion.

Eventually, I went to a psychiatrist for the first and only time in my life because, frankly, I didn’t quite know where “Steve Cameron the columnist” and “Steve Cameron the person” started, stopped, connected, disconnected, etc.

Who in the hell was I ... really?

THE OFFICE was on the fifth floor of a medical building, it was winter and thus dark in the later afternoon, and you could see cars bumper to bumper on both of the freeways that crawl through downtown Denver.

It looked like there were a million taillights.

“Besides taking a lot of time trying to get home,” the doc said, “do you know what all those drivers have in common?”

I was blank.

“None of them,” he said, “give a damn about you. So just go out and do what you think is best. For you and anyone you care about. Forget what other people think, because they really don’t care.”

To be honest, I thought about that visit when I heard the news about the Brad-and-Angelina split.

I wondered, honestly, if these super-famous people had actually let the world around them make their decision for them without even knowing it.

Kind of wished I could have shown them the rush-hour traffic in Denver and repeated the best advice I’ve ever heard.

• • •

Steve Cameron is a special assignment reporter for The Press. Reach Steve at scameron@cdapress.com.