Dennis Rodman with Tim Keown
Blurb: Fifty percent of life in the NBA is sex. The other fifty percent is money. On an April night in 1993 I sat in the cab of my pickup truck with a rifle on my lap, deciding whether to kill myself. I don't expect Scottie Pippen to forgive me for what I did to him. I don't expect him to forget about it either. I've been homeless. I've worked at 7-Eleven. I'm a real person, with real experiences, not some image that somebody in the NBA office created. When you talk about race in basketball, the whole thing is simple: a black player knows he can go out on the court and kick a white player's ass. I used to go through the whole routine - dress up, wear makeup, act like a girl. Those guys in San Antonio can kiss my ass, especially Gregg Popovich, the general manager...Popovich wanted to be the guy who tamed Dennis Rodman. Madonna looked at me all sexy and said, 'You're staying with me, in my room.' How much do you really want to win when you have as much money, attention, and fame as Shaquille O'Neal does? White women get into relationships with black men because they think the sex is going to be better. I knew I would have been just another nigger if I didn't play basketball. I wanted to be white because I was black, and black was never the right colour. I left the table-by-myself-and went to see Madonna. We were in a stairwell, and she was saying, 'You love me. You want to be with me. Leave with me right now and forget your girlfriend.' The Spurs might be more of a basketball team if David Robinson didn't freeze every time they play a big game. You're going to have to find a way to stop me on your own, bro, and nobody's found it yet.
ISBN: 0733800556 (Paperback)
Year: 1996
Publisher: Bantam Books
Pages: 259 (Non-Fiction)
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