Freaks are labeled freaks and are viewed as such because they are human beings who trigger our most profound fears and wants to resonate deep inside us. I become worried when I discover that there's a Fort Lauderdale party planned for my time with Dennis Rodman. Not only because we're in Florida, where the outbreaks seemed to happen every week, but also because we're talking about Dennis Rodman. I have no idea how to prepare for whatever may occur at a party given by one of history's most legendary partygoers.
The party will be held at Salt7, which promotes itself as an elite restaurant that doubles as a nightclub. He comes in a black SUV in front of a crowd expecting the whole Dennis Rodman experience, and he delivers with his look: His hair is brilliant orange, and he's dressed in leopard-print sweatpants with a teal tank with a flamingo in the middle. Custom Crocs and light-colored sunglasses, which highlight his gold eyeshadow, round off the look. Then, he walks up to the red carpet, all of his new venture's officials clearing a path, and poses for photos.
Tonight is a commercial event for a line of male supplements Rodman has lately begun endorsing—a product called ManTFup, intended to "boost energy levels" and "enhance vitality" or something. It's the type of thing you'd see on ESPN throughout the day. He may not be an eager salesperson, but at 60, he is shamelessly himself.
There's a very South Florida bunch gathered on the terrace—not quite Miami, but rather its elder relative. White linen slacks and loafers are paired with skimpy skirts and four-inch heels. Everyone's skin appears to have been sun-kissed for a bit longer than dermatologists prescribe, but they're suffering the August heat just for Dennis. The individuals were surrounding him he's gathered throughout the years and those attempting to get close to him right now. He's in his element, greeting partygoers left and right, taking photos with the dozen or so paid models, and turning on Instagram Live to share the fun with his admirers who couldn't make it.
Salt7 has a wide outside seating area, and I'm vaccinated, so I'm content to mill around and watch others ogle him. One man offers Dennis $200 in cash to take a picture (Dennis agrees), while another begs him to sign a basketball for his charity. Whatever else is going on, Dennis has his cigar and all the beverages he wants, and he's surrounded by a slew of gorgeous, young models. There doesn't appear to be anything that may derail his plans.
Dennis partied incessantly when his NBA career unexpectedly ended at the turn of the century. He once claimed to have slept with 2,000 women in his lifetime and, more frighteningly, to have shattered his penis three times during intercourse. He was nearly 40 at the time, yet he still partied like it was his job. It was at times. Dennis, like other celebrities, was allegedly paid up to six figures from clubs all over the world to appear as the main attraction for a night.
However, he was still spending money faster than he was earning it. Without the framework of NBA life, without an outlet for all of his energy, he found himself adrift, not for the first time in his life. "When I was 40 years old, they had betting in Vegas on what year I was going to die," he tells me. "You go in like... what do you call it? The sportsbooks are found at casinos. You go in and say, "Oh, 10 to 1 Dennis Rodman will die this year." That's the type of stuff."
Basketball had been the only element that provided structure in his life, so three years after quitting in 2000, he sought to stage an NBA return and was on his way to signing with the Denver Nuggets. Then, in October 2003, he was involved in a motorbike accident outside a Las Vegas strip club. Dennis eventually pleaded no contest to driving under the influence, and a leg injury shattered his dreams of returning to the NBA. Instead, he was surrounded by individuals who never wished him well if they wanted him anything at all.
More solid characters in Dennis' life, like his former Chicago Bulls coach Phil Jackson, would occasionally try to intercede. "I enjoy having a good time, guy. "It's good, pure fun," Dennis says. "However, it was a little shady for a time." That's when Phil Jackson pulled me aside, and that was the first time Phil Jackson ever became emotional with me. 'Dennis, I don't want you to die,' he added.
For all the striking external manifestations, he's been carrying a lot of anguish within, the pain he's usually kept to himself, and that the partying has never cured. However, it hasn't stopped him from trying. However, in recent years, he has been more open to the public. Now that he's older, he's beginning to think about his past, and he wants to make apologies, but he's not always sure how.
When he was 25, he was taken by the Detroit Pistons in the second round of the 1986 NBA draft, 27th overall. Despite never playing organized basketball before college, he had an outstanding collegiate career at Southeastern Oklahoma State University. However, Dennis was viewed as more of a project than a prospect by the Pistons, and with a roster that included Isiah Thomas, Joe Dumars, Rick Mahorn, and Bill Laimbeer, he needed to find a way to stand out and make himself important. As a result, he decided to concentrate nearly entirely on defense and rebounding, two aspects of the game that demand a significant amount of energy and play to his strengths.
He understood practically quickly that his power was insufficient. Dennis expected to have to study up to play defense against the league's top stars—"Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, James Worthy, all these players, legendary superstars," he adds. "I needed to learn how they played, so I had to sit there and focus, focus, focus," he adds. Dennis determined this was his duty and developed it into a craft he practiced in his spare time. He was a crucial member of the renowned Bad Boys, a physically frightening, no-nonsense Detroit squad that often beat up on a teenage Michael Jordan and his Chicago Bulls in the playoffs.
At six feet seven, he was far smaller than most typical big men. Yet, despite his physical limitations, he led the league in rebounds per game for seven seasons, occasionally averaging more than 18 per game. He elevated rebounding to the level of an art form, like to a no-look pass or a slam. He understood where he should be on the floor at any given time better than nearly any other player in league history. "If you look at some of my films, when I see the ball go up, see how I position myself beneath the basket," Dennis argues. "Because gamers aren't aware of it." They're always fixated on the ball. They aren't looking at me."
Things eventually went apart with the Pistons. Coach Chuck Daly, whom Dennis saw as a father figure, had left the team by 1993. Suddenly, he found himself without the solidity on which he had counted. That was the year he sat alone in The Palace of Auburn Hills' parking lot and nearly killed himself. He confined himself inside his house for about two months after that occurrence.
Dennis Rodman, as we know him now, was born during this period of transition. Dennis wanted a trade after the season and ended up with the Spurs. He colored his hair in San Antonio. He started obtaining piercings and additional tattoos. On the court, he began shouting at officials and was frequently expelled from games. He discovered a new culture away from the court: "In San Antonio, I started going to LGBT bars." I began going to drag clubs. I began inviting drag queens to sporting events." Dennis discovered people living as brazenly as he desired, unconcerned with what was considered acceptable in the mainstream—people who desired freedom above all else.
Dennis Rodman was one of the first Americans to meet Kim Jong-un, North Korea's supreme leader and the heir to Kim Jong-il, in 2013. He went to an exhibition game with a Vice documentary team. The Kims were reportedly ardent Bulls fans, which opened the way for "basketball diplomacy."
And here we are, feeling loved again. Dennis craves affection so much that he will accept it from anybody who will offer it to him. While there is something compassionate to be appreciated, it causes massive blind spots. He still doesn't understand what he did wrong. Dennis tries to reassure me that he has helped to free Americans from North Korean jail camps. (These individuals include Kenneth Bae, an American missionary who publicly praised Rodman, and Otto Warmbier, a college student.) Dennis has also claimed credit for the historic 2018 encounter between Kim and former President Trump, whom Dennis met while competing on The Celebrity Apprentice.
He's at home and eager to stay all night. He might go to a homosexual club after this because he still visits three or four times a week. When he's alone, worse ideas begin to enter his mind: thoughts about his death, thoughts about how much time he has left on Earth. @via Haut Fashion and GQ.
