Move over, Perle Mesta
We’d never say drug and alcohol rehab centers are the last refuge of a scoundrel, but Dennis Rodman has now entered one.
The Big Dip is an official member of the dipsomania society.
When you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen and go to the cozy privacy of self-admitted hospitalization. It’s more like a sequestered Zen monastery. It’s the place of last resort, short of spending a month at Club Med.
Rodman’s drunken paeon to a despot he calls his dear friend raised eyebrows, then hackles. Now, instead of facing the music, Rodman is hip hopping down the rabbit hole.
We have also heard from one disgruntled former NBA slug hog that he meant to go on the trip and demands to be paid $20,000 for his good intentions. Craig Hodges feels that his non-diplomatic role deserves a paycheck, and to suggest otherwise is blatant racism.
Rodman’s brilliant strategy to bring former NBA stars to North Korea to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ to a psychopathic political leader has been an abject lesson in how not to win friends or influence people positively.
Kim Jung Un’s birthday party ended with a brisk game of b-ball and pin the tail on the jackass. Rodman was the perfect foil.
No one knows how long Rodman will enter the rehab facility. It’s a good guess he will stay until he decides the coast is clear for more self-centered diplomacy and dipsomania.
Rodman puts the dip in both as unofficial ambassador, the host with the most. As Senator John McCain so eloquently stated: “I think he’s an idiot.”
Just call him madman, with apologies to Perle Mesta.