The Post, trying to make up for not breaking the story in the first place, adds some delicious details. Apparently, the "muscular," stripper-loving third baseman paid a visit to Madonna's apartment on the Upper West Side the night after his poor blonde wife Cynthia gave birth to their second daughter back in April. The paper also notes that Rodriguez has taken to visiting Kabbalah centers in south Florida, where both he and Madonna have homes. (Kabbalah being Madonna's faux-Jewish mystic belief-system of choice.) This is in addition to the fact that they both once worked out together seven months ago; they both share the same manager, Guy Oseary; and the fact that Madonna and her kids once visited Yankee stadium to watch Rodriguez play.
Also, evidently "All the doormen are talking," so there's that.
Predictably, all parties involved continue to act like nothing is happening. The Daily News reports that Madonna on Monday arranged "a late al fresco dinner with her husband on the roof of their building, complete with the music of Ella Fitzgerald." On Tuesday, the singer and husband Guy Ritchie held hands and looked like "a normal couple" at an eatery on the Upper West Side.
A list of all comments made by the involved parties:
Rodriguez: "I'm not talking about it. No Comment."
Rodriguez's publicist: "No comment."
Rodriguez's mother-in-law, Evangeline Scurtis: "No comment. You can talk to Alex."
Rodriguez's wife: Yet to say anything.
Madonna: Yet to say anything.
Madonna's publicist, Liz Rosenberg: "They're just friends." Also: "Madonna's husband Guy arrived in New York last night to be with his wife and family (not in a last-ditch attempt to save his marriage which does not need saving). There are no plans for Madonna and Guy to divorce."
Rosenberg, who previously lied through her teeth about Madonna's plans to adopt a baby from Malawi, has painted herself into quite the corner. Simply denying the rumor that Madonna and Richie are splitting is one thing; adding flourishes about how they are totally happy and canoodling on rooftops listening to jazz reeks of overkill. Unless, of course, they are.