Sideline Cut / Keith Duggan: The most hilarious and provocative radio broadcast of recent weeks came courtesy of Mario Rosenstock's Daniel O'Donnell character.
During one of the regular Gift Grub sketches, the Donegal crooner was lamenting the fact the contestants on Celebrity Big Brother had managed to get inside his head. So when his mammy offered him a wee cup of tea, he was liable to explode in a fit of rage in the camp Liverpudlian drawl of Pete Burns. "Daniel" then gave uncanny impersonations of each of the contestants.
It did not matter whether you were familiar with them or not. When Rosenstock is taking off George Galloway or Maggot (Don't know either), it is worth hearing. And so, briefly and unforgettably, as poor old Michael Hutchence might have put it, two worlds collided. The lilting voice of Daniel, the wistful voice of Whatever Happened to Old Fashioned Love? merged flawlessly into the husky, nasal drawl of the one-time bad boy of American sport Dennis Rodman.
It was typical of the wild imagination and stingingly accurate timing that make many of those Gift Grub sketches so strong. But it also hammered home that years after he stopped achieving at his one true gift in life, Rodman has at last made an impression on this side of the water. He was axed from the Big Brother house during the week, but he will reportedly make a return, of sorts, to basketball in England this weekend when he guests, at the age of 44, for the Brighton Bears against the Guildford Heat in Burgess Hill.
Persuading Rodman to join the Bears' backcourt was a terrific public-relations coup. His motivation for joining the Bears' cause is harder to figure. Although it could well be down to his reasons for entering the Big Brother madhouse: boredom and money. Perhaps Rodman wants to reinvent himself as a thoroughly modern English gentleman, much as his girlfriend of yesteryear Madonna seems to be carrying off a passable impression of Enid Blyton in her spare time.
Perhaps he has burnt his celebrity credit in America. Of all the desperados who entered the Big Brother house, Rodman was probably the most obscure to the show's audience. But he was easily the most extravagantly successful and talented in his field. And his rise is a perfect example of how in sport, particularly American sport, there are no limits and no boundaries if you happen to excel at something.
Rodman's particular - and invaluable - skill was to be able to grab more rebounds on a basketball court than, well, anybody else in America. He came to prominence during the renaissance years of the NBA, starring as a punkish rookie on the ultra-tough Detroit Pistons teams who engaged in a series of bruising and infamous games with the great Boston Celtics team of the 1980s.
But like many black teenagers who made it to the pinnacle of American basketball, he came with a troubled past. His father, who worked in the Air Force, was an absent figure, leaving the family when Rodman was still a child. He was a cripplingly shy adolescent and at the age of 18 was working in Dallas's Fort Worth airport as a night watchman. During that period, he was arrested for breaking into a gift shop and stealing watches. And then, out of the blue, he grew 11 inches and landed himself a basketball scholarship. By 1987, he was living in a vast suburban mansion in Detroit, which remained mostly unfurnished except for video game machines like Pacman.
For the next 10 years, he worked studiously on his game and on becoming the NBA's number one oddity. He dyed his hair in absurd rainbow confections, posed naked on a motorbike for the cover of his autobiography and promoted it by appearing at signings and on talk shows wearing a bridal dress. He dated Madge. He hung out in gay bars. He did whatever it took to keep himself in the limelight though he remained intensely awkward in dealing with people.
His public life might have petered out except for a daring and brilliant acquisition by the Chicago Bulls in the late 1996. As a member of the Pistons, Rodman had taken pleasure in beating up on the Bulls' more skilful stars, regularly taking Michael Jordan to the floor but focusing particularly on the more psychologically fragile Scottie Pippen. Now, the Bulls had Jordan, the god of American sport, and Rodman, its anti-hero, wearing the same uniform and working to the same goal.
Over the 1995/96 season, when the Bulls dominated in a way no team had since the LA Lakers of 1971/72, America fixated on Rodman's every move. When he fouled out or got thrown out of a game, he made a show of stripping off his vest and firing it into the crowd. It was guaranteed to feature in the sports bulletins and newspapers. It took Rodman's notoriety and celebrity to a new level and significantly increased his endorsement power. He sold himself differently from Jordan but it was all selling. It was all dollar signs.
He now appeared on Leno and Letterman without ever having to say much. There is a passage in David Halberstam's great study on Jordan, Playing for Keeps, where General Colin Powell asks NBA commissioner David Stern, "Do you think that the average NBA fan knows that when Dennis Rodman goes home at night, he actually sits in his darkened room by himself and listens to Vivaldi?"
He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Jordan during the last great NBA dynasty and finished with five NBA championship rings, having picked up two as a youngster with Detroit. His sporting career made him a millionaire many times over, and for 10 years his was among the most recognisable faces in America. But he managed to remain a stranger throughout. In a perverse way, he managed to retain a degree of privacy that eludes almost all American icons, including Jordan.
But his unexpected and bizarre reappearance in the seamy realms of British tabloid television reinforces the point that for all great sportspeople, what to do in the afterlife beyond competition can be problematic. For 15 years, Rodman led a life marshalled by flights, by practice, by 100 games a season, by privilege and by money. Then it ended and he was cut loose and adrift, back in the same place he had been as an 18-year-old. When you are restless by nature, invitations to appear on reality television shows probably seem as good an idea as any other.
Much like Georgie Best moonlighting for all kinds of clubs in the winter of his football life, Rodman's appearance in Brighton has a touch of the fallen god about it.
Of course, there is something sad about it. But at least he will be back in a place he belongs. At least when he sits down in the dressingroom, he will be back in the game, back among people who know Rodman was an original, someone who came and left on his own terms. And on his great nights he gave an unforgettable show. Guess he has that much in common with Daniel.
