Eschewing the charms of “Cheaters”, Newsday’s Wallace Matthews declares the Alex & Cynthia Rodriguez freak show to be “the best reality show sports has to offer,” while writing of the latter’s choice of tank top, “Anna Benson and her husband got exiled to Baltimore by the Mets for a lot less than that.”

What possessed the wife of a man earning more than the gross national product of many small countries to add such a cheesy item to the wardrobe, let alone sport it at hubby’s workplace?

Silly questions, of course. The Rods, C and A, are poseurs extraordinaire, the tank top, manufactured by Chrome Hearts, a faux-grunge couturier, is the latest thing among the rich who want to look as if they are keeping it real.

How totally gangsta.

Of course, Dr. Melfi would tell you it is all a desperate plea for attention. C-Rod wearing that top to the ballpark is the equivalent of A-Rod going shirtless in Central Park. You know somebody is going to spot you. In fact, you’ll be mortified if they don’t. Then, when they do, you can whine about having your privacy invaded. For the wild and crazy Rodriguezes, it truly is a no-lose situation.

It is the same for us. Following the adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez is a happy diversion, an opiate, like watching “American Idol” instead of C-Span or the nightly news. It distracts your attention away from the real issues at hand, such as the sickening possibility that for the first time in more than a decade, the proud and haughty New York Yankees might wind up being sellers, not buyers, at the trading deadline.