Manny’s back.

Back in the Los Angeles Dodgers lineup, starting Friday night, following a 50-game suspension for his foolish foray into the use of performance-enhancing drugs.

Manny’s back to being Manny, in all his self-centered, egocentric, it’s-all-about-me, Manny mentality.

The fans in L.A., being fans, will welcome him back with open arms and warm hearts.

Hey, not for nothing is L.A. known as “la-la land.”

Who cares, the loyal lemmings of L.A. fandom will say, if Manny is a cheater, just like the Giants’ Barry Bonds – a rival long-despised, often-criticized, and frequently ridiculed by Dodgers fans?

Manny may be a cheater, the adoring Dodgers fans will say, but he’s our cheater, and we love him.

You’ve got to love that sort of fan behavior. How else to explain it other than: Fans being fans?

Which is to say, fans are every bit as self-interested as Manny.

Which is saying something.

Manny had the fans in Boston fooled for years. Because he was one of the game’s great hitters, Sox fans willingly pulled the proverbial wool over their own eyes, shrugging off his selfishness and overlooking his bad behavior – treating him like a gifted, spoiled child who didn’t know any better and didn’t really mean any harm.

It didn’t bother the Fenway Faithful that Manny couldn’t be bothered joining his teammates when they visited wounded veterans at Walter Reed Hospital in February of last year. Those vets may have lost limbs while fighting for their country, but Manny wasn’t going to lose any sleep over ignoring them.

Sox fans even were willing to let bygones be bygones when Manny shoved 64-year-old traveling secretary Jack McCormick to the floor in the clubhouse in Houston because McCormick was unable to fulfill an outrageously large, as well as ridiculously late, request for tickets.

That incident occurred shortly after Manny had slapped the face of always-hustling teammate Kevin Youkilis in the dugout at Fenway.

It was just “Manny being Manny,” when he sometimes failed to hustle, or refused to pinch-hit. Or, when he did deign to come off the bench and step to the plate -- as he did one night against Mariano Rivera and the arch-rival Yankees -- he took three called strikes and sat back down, never having taken the bat off his shoulder.

In the weeks before the trading deadline last season, Manny developed a mysterious knee injury that he said prevented him from playing, even though he didn’t bother to show up to get treatment. The club had an MRI done on both of his supposedly ailing knees, in case Manny forgot which one was hurting. Not surprisingly, the tests revealed no damage. The MRI should have been of Manny’s head, because that’s the only place there was a problem.

By then, Manny had become too much of a problem for even his teammates to tolerate. He’d quit on them once too often, and now the players in the clubhouse were ready to agree with the execs in the front office that it was time for Manny to move on.

So Theo Epstein – who’d placed Manny on irrevocable waivers after the 2003 season, only to see his highly paid slugger go unclaimed – arranged a three-way trade that sent Ramirez to L.A., where the Sox would continue to pay the majority of his salary, and brought Jason Bay to Boston from Pittsburgh.

Once with the Dodgers, Manny’s knee miraculously healed and, eager to gain favor – as well as a large, new contract – with his new club, he went on a batting binge. Hitting .396, with 17 homers and 53 RBI, in 53 games, he led the Dodgers to the division title and convinced fans in L.A. that the folks back in Boston were dead wrong about him.

But Manny and his uber-agent, Scott Boras, were dead wrong when they thought clubs would fall over themselves bidding for his services this season. L.A. owner Frank McCourt said the Dodgers were “bidding against themselves,” and, after prolonged negotiations, signed Manny to a 2-year deal, rather than 4-to-5 year contract he wanted.

Then, on May 7, Manny was suspended for 50 games after testing positive for a banned substance. Now he’s back, having “rehabbed” – an interesting choice of word, in his case – in the minor leagues, where the fans treated him, not like a pariah, but like a star. And not a fallen one. Quite the contrary – Manny was greeted with affection and reverence, rather than disappointment and disdain. He was cheered, not booed.

Now he’s back in the bigs, where, at least in L.A., his reception will be as warm as a sunny, summer day in southern California, rather than cold as New England in mid-winter.

He’ll be cheered by fans wearing Ramirez jerseys. There’ll be “Welcome back, Manny!” signs.

Which makes you wonder what all the fuss over drug-using players really is about. Obviously, the fans don’t care. Not as long as the offender plays for their team, anyway.

Manny being Manny. Fans being fans. The foolishness goes on.