I’ve just finished the latest in tragicomedy — tragic, because the book in question is an… I’ve just finished the latest in tragicomedy — tragic, because the book in question is an autobiography of a man fallen from grace, and comedy, because that man is Rod Blagojevich.

“The Governor” is a f*cking golden opportunity to discover what the ex-governor of my home state, Illinois, has to say for himself.

Before I picked up this book, I expected to laugh my way through it. The back cover photograph, intended to portray Blagojevich as a tough fighter, instead makes him look like a constipated Muppet.

Page 36 contains a gem. He recounts the wake of his great-uncle, during which his father hit him when Blagojevich defended his brother for taking a shot of whiskey.

Blagojevich, a newly minted 6-year-old, said it was “the first time I can remember being falsely accused of something, where I stood up for the truth and for what was right and ended up getting an *ss-kicking for it.” It’s almost as if his kindergarten class voted to impeach him!

Blagojevich appears to be a bitter and downright paranoid man. The book is full of references to people selling other people out, even when it is a completely tangential reference, like the “woman in red” giving John Dillinger away to federal agents in 1934.

He rages against faceless manipulators like “Ivy League-educated bureaucrats” who treated “innocent civilians like those in Kosovo [as] just pawns.”

He accuses these state department wonks of having formed a cabal to peel Kosovo away from Serbia and implies that the United States betrayed Serbia by bombing the Milosevic government in 1999.

Then there are the things he doesn’t talk about.

Much of the book is given to repeated incantations of his innocence, but Blagojevich never mentions what, exactly, he is innocent of — other than every single nasty thing anybody has ever said about him.

Tony Rezko hardly rates a mention, only that he was a slippery guy who fooled — fooled, I say — poor, honest and gullible Rod.

For all his attempts to paint himself as a victim betrayed by those he thought were his friends, Blagojevich is not convincing when he says he knew nothing of the corruption to which his chief of staff pled guilty.

Though Blagojevich talks about the wiretapped conversations, he never discusses the most “f*cking golden” of them: filling Barack Obama’s Senate seat.

He also brushes aside criticism of his most controversial decision: not to live in Springfield while governor, which was seen as a slight by Downstate residents.

I will never forget when a security guard in Springfield asked my parents and I to tell the governor they missed him down there.

Blagojevich justifies his decision to govern from Chicago by saying he just wanted the best for his kids, that he didn’t want them to get swelled heads by living in the Illinois Executive Mansion.

Never mind that swelled-headedness might come more from what your dad does for a living than from where he lives.

Blagojevich also does not discuss why he watched a Blackhawks game in Chicago while the Illinois General Assembly was about to vote on a proposal — one that the governor wanted to have passed — during an emergency session that the governor had called.

He makes some indictments, too.

He accuses Illinois Speaker of the House Michael Madigan and his daughter, Attorney General Lisa Madigan, of conflict of interest, attempting to shake Blagojevich down for campaign funds and generally not being nice people.

He calls Jesse Jackson a media hog.

He implies that his father-in-law, Alderman Richard Mell of Chicago, is a manipulative scoundrel.

Finally, and most hilariously, Blagojevich says most members of the Illinois General Assembly drink heavily and pass laws while hungover.

Ultimately, “The Governor” is a fine autobiography despite its shortcomings. It was an interesting, though at times maddening and baffling, read.

I hope Blagojevich does something more than hurl nasty rumors. He mentions that some of the wiretapped conversations would incriminate other politicians, which raises a possibility.

If Blagojevich turned state’s evidence, the effect would be sensational.

He should swallow his distaste for U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald and go down in history as something other than a disgraced governor with good hair.

If he testifies in court and lays bare the disgusting foundations of the corrupt castle surrounding the Illinois halls of power, it might destroy politics as usual, and maybe — just maybe — it will make Illinois the kind of state that is no longer a national embarrassment.

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