Dennis Rodman's height is one of those facts that everyone knows and nobody can agree on. The NBA listed him at 6 ft 7 in, or roughly 2.01 metres, for most of his career. Fans who watched him scrap with seven-footers insist he was shorter. Fans who saw him beside Michael Jordan swear he was taller. Rodman himself, never one to let the truth get in the way of a decent anecdote, occasionally floated 6 ft 8 in instead. The result is a measurement about as reliable as a weather forecast written in crayon.
The awkward reality is that height in basketball has always been a bit of a marketing exercise. Teams measured players with their trainers on, rounded generously, and then nudged the number up again on the roster because a taller listing sounds more intimidating. Strip off the shoes, stand a bloke against a wall in his socks at nine in the morning, and half the league shrinks by an inch and a half. Rodman played through an era when a 6 ft 7 in power forward was expected to be a punchbag for the giants, which makes what he actually achieved sound considerably more ridiculous than the official figure suggests.
Then there is the late-growth story, which is genuinely one of the strangest in sport. Rodman was a relatively ordinary-sized teenager, left high school without a single university scholarship offer, and took a job mopping floors at an airport in Texas. Over the following couple of years he grew a startling amount, reportedly close to nine inches, and turned up at a small college in Oklahoma as a completely different physical proposition. Very few professional athletes have effectively been assembled on a delayed delivery schedule.
What his height never explained was the rest of it. At around 2.01 metres, Rodman was routinely giving away three, four or five inches to the centres he was asked to defend. Shaquille O'Neal, David Robinson and Hakeem Olajuwon all had him comfortably covered in the vertical department, and none of them enjoyed the experience. He won seven consecutive rebounding titles by studying angles, timing and the frankly unnerving habit of never standing still. Height helps you reach a ball. It does not tell you where the ball is going to land before the shooter has even released it, which was Rodman's actual party trick.
He was also, by his own cheerful admission, not especially bothered about the number. Rodman built a career out of being underestimated, and a fuzzy official height suited him perfectly. If opponents assumed he was too small to matter, that was their problem and his advantage. Five championships, two All-Star selections, a place in the Hall of Fame and a wardrobe that could be spotted from orbit later, the measurement remained gloriously unsettled.
So what is the honest answer? Officially, 6 ft 7 in. Practically, somewhere in the region of tall enough to cause seven-foot multimillionaires a great deal of personal distress. In socks, on a cold morning, with a clipboard and a stern expression, the truth is probably a shade under. In the fourth quarter of a play-off game with a rebound hanging in the air, he was whatever size he needed to be.