For his zealous attempt to solve the mystery of the Strange Case of Rula Lenska, Roger Rosenblatt (Op-ed, Aug. 6 and 13 and . . . ) deserves credit. Credit, if for nothing more than providing the only comic relief in an otherwise dull, hot summer.

It may well be that these were columns born of desperation -- a desperate search for a subject by a writer gone crazy with the heat, as we say in the South. But, once the subject was stumbled upon, failure to follow through to its Deeper Meaning is deplorable. Even inexcusable. No kudos will be forthcoming from Sigma Delta Chi.

The Golden Rula was cited: "You're nobody till somebody loves you." True enough, as far as it goes, but certainly the rule should have been carried one step farther: "Everybody loves somebody sometimes." Or, in the case of Americans, make that loves somebody "all the time." Americans love living in a world of illusion. To put it more accurately, but less kindly, we love to delude outselves. Essential to our well-being is having some personality to focus on, preferably someone with charisma, glamour, an air of mystery -- and a foreign accent doesn't hurt any.

Another commercial Mr. Rosenblatt undoubtedly caught, since he seems to spend a great deal of time in front of the tube, is the one in which an elegantly clad couple step out of a post nightspot in some glamorous city, Rome probably, and immediately are pursued by papa-razzi. They, too, are nobody, but the trappings are such that you feel the lady must be Jackie Onassis, or, at the very least, Sophia Loren.

Rula's reign may indeed be brief, but I think it incorrect, if not downright nearsighted to say that after the commercial has ended all she'll have left in perfect shape is her hair. Goodness, the camera doesn't lie.

Besides, if Farah Fawcett could go on to glory on the strength of not much more than her hair, then why not Rula? She strikes me as a lady very much in command of the situation who knows where she's going and why. I foresee a day, maybe even just a few years from now, when, at the peak of world fame, she is in Washington for an appearance at the Kennedy Center. The media are clamoring for an interview. But the word is out: No press.

But then Miss Lenska has second thoughts. The gleam in her hair matched only by the fire in her eyes, she turns to her agent and says:

"Find a guy named Roger Rosenblatt. Tell them to send him."

That's just Miss Lenska's Rula the road.