A Yankees fan once asked me why all Red Sox fans hate A-Rod. I replied that one day a memo went out to all Red Sox fans that said, “Hate A-Rod,” and so we do.

For Red Sox fans, the reasons to hate A-Rod are varied and plentiful, beginning with the fact that he plays for the Yankees. There’s a reason that the book “Faithful,” in which novelists Stephen King and Stewart O’Nan chronicle the 2004 baseball season — you know, the one that ended when the Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in 86 years — features a photo of Sox catcher Jason Varitek stuffing his mitt in A-Rod’s face. If A-Rod played for the Red Sox, we’d probably love him — I mean, we’ll forgive Manny for just about anything, including throwing a hissy fit and assaulting a man twice his age — but he doesn’t. And so we exult in everything bad that happens to A-Rod, especially because these messes are usually the result of his remarkable inability to keep his private affairs private, and his mouth shut when dealing with reporters. I mean, what is up with this guy? It’s almost like he wants people to hate him. I’ve never seen a guy try so hard to be liked, and fall so miserably short.

Lately, the Yankees fan keeps complaining that she doesn’t want to hear anything about A-Rod’s sex life. Normally, I wouldn’t want to hear anything about a famous person’s sex life either. Each week the magazine US Weekly arrives in my mailbox, and each week I toss it in the recycling bin without even looking at it. Why does this stupid magazine come to my house? Because when Premiere magazine folded, the magazine company started sending me US, instead. For a few weeks, US was a bit of a guilty pleasure, and I’d skim through it when I got home from work, catching up on Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson, Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn. Then one day I glanced at the pseudo-celebrities featured on the cover — Lauren Conrad and Spencer Pratt — and thought, “Who are these people?” It seemed I had finally exhausted my ability to take an interest in the sex lives of celebrities. I could no longer stomach US Weekly, even as a guilty pleasure.

Then A-Rod and Madonna came along, and reports that they were studying the Kabbalah together, and I found myself wondering just what the hell was going. Madonna I happen to like. Whenever I’m in a bad mood, I play “The Immaculate Collection,” her stellar greatest-hits CD. But then there’s A-Rod, whom I happen to hate. What does Madonna see in this clown? Why is she giving him the time of day? Last week I caught a snippet of sports talk radio, where some guy was wondering why the rich and handsome A-Rod wanted to pal around with a woman in her 50s. Well, because she’s Madonna, you fool, I thought, before flipping to another station.

So I admit it. I’m interested in Madonna and A-Rod. It’s not quite enough to make me feel like reading US Weekly again, but I’m not sure anything is. In the meantime, it’s just another A-Rod disaster, not quite as bad as his inexplicable cold spells in the playoffs, or his ill-timed announcement last year that he was opting out of his contract, or his much-photographed dalliance with a stripper. When my dad walked into the living room and said, “So I guess A-Rod’s getting divorced,” I replied, “Shocking,” without so much as glancing up from my book. Because it isn’t remotely shocking, given the personalities involved. But am I enjoying it? Sure. I’m a Red Sox fan.