If I’m A-Rod’s teammate or a fan of his team, I’m ready to explode at him, to grab him by the lapels and ask him one question: Where’s the passion?

OK, make that two questions: Where’s the real human being behind that carefully constructed Potemkin-village façade of good manners and perfect deportment?

We’ve seen the A-Rod android manufactured by public relations consultants, and it’s a fine imitation of a human being, polite, well-mannered and charitable. But last year, it was a lousy imitation of the best player in baseball.

If there’s a real flesh-and-blood human being with raw passion and rage still hiding underneath that perfect exterior, it’s time to let him out.

That was obvious Sunday when he arrived in Tampa for the start of spring training.

The Red Sox have been sniping for four months at the richest Yankee, putting him down, calling him out. Now was his chance to reply in no uncertain terms, to tell the Sox to shove their whiny sniping where the sun don’t shine, and meet him on the field in April.

Instead, what did A-Rod say? He said the Red Sox are right. He said he hasn’t done the things he needs to do to be a real Yankee.

Good lord, man. They’ve questioned your manhood. That’s gotta hurt. How about showing it?

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It’s tough to criticize A-Rod. He dresses perfectly, is perfectly polite, has never been seen drunk in public, has never been accused of taking advantage of women, doesn’t even have a speeding ticket. He always talks to the media, sometimes asking interviewers afterwards how he did and how he might improve his performance. He even says, “Thank you.”

If he were just arrived in the game, I might think it was a refreshing show of humility. But I know from his contract squabbles with Seattle and the demands he made of luxury suites and private planes and $25 million a year that he’s not humble. And I know from the sniping he did at Derek Jeter a couple of years ago that he’s human.

But we don’t know who he really is. He’s played nine full seasons and has spent time on big-league rosters for eleven years, and the number of unscripted moments we’ve seen from him wouldn’t fill two note cards. That’s a long time to keep up an act, but, with rare exceptions, that’s what he’s done, kept up an act.

You know there’s something else there. You remember the pouting in Seattle. You saw him surrender to rage and go after Boston catcher Jason Varitek last year. You know he feels disappointment and anger and all the other human emotions.

You know it because he’s human, and human beings are anything but perfect. That’s a great thing for athletes. Rage and anger and imagined hurts are all powerful motivators. The desire to crush a tormentor and rub his face in the dirt isn’t pretty, but it wins ballgames.

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