Since I was a kid, I had always prided myself on my discipline in the things that really mattered—in the weight room, on the court (forget the refs), defense, rebounding, in how I play the game. Off court was my business; but suddenly things had changed.

After the motorcycle accident, my agent, Darren Prince, was so worried about my partying that he called in the cavalry, my former bodyguard, Wendell "Big Will" Williams—a six-foot-four-inch, 400-pound black man to whom people, including Dennis Rodman, tend to listen. Wendell was coming out of bodyguard retirement to make sure I did what I was supposed to do when I was supposed to do it. He started out strong at the Radio Music Awards in Las Vegas. It was exactly a week after the Treasures motorcycle crash. Despite my usual protests—"I don’t want to do this. This is bull. It’s not gonna help my career"—that afternoon Wendell managed to get me, sober no less, to this series of round-robin interviews with every radio station in America.

This went on for hours before the actual awards show that night, and Wendell wouldn’t let me drink. Afterwards, it was like I’d just run a marathon, and I went out by the pool to relax with a cool one while he went upstairs to shower. When Wendell got back down, I was wasted. This was all new to him. In the three years since he’d worked with me, I’d started spending much more time with my friend, Herr Jägermeister, and this was his first time to see Dennis Rodman, Daytime Drunk.

Darren was on my ass. Wendell was on my ass. My best friend, Thaer, was on my ass. Even my wife, Michelle, was on my ass. Anyway, after the motorcycle accident and my skid-row-drunk performance at the Radio Music Awards, ESPN sat down Michelle for an interview.

"IÂ’m done. IÂ’m ready for a divorce," she told the interviewer.

This from a woman who has "Mrs. Rodman" tattooed just above her butt in letters about an inch high.

By the end of October 2003, I was royally screwed. My wife and family were gone; Darren, Wendell, and Thaer had one foot out the door; and my NBA dream was over. Hell, even the "Dennis Rodman" entertainment franchise was in danger.

Reality Check: After almost a decade of steady partying, I wasn’t having the party—the party was having me and having me good.

Shortly after the accident, I found myself sitting there, taking a look across the room at what was left of Dennis Rodman, and I was left wondering: "How exactly did this happen? How did I get here? Is there any way out?"

Whether it was helping Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls win three-straight NBA titles in the 1990s or showing up to a book signing in a dress (and full make-up), Dennis Rodman has always distinguished himself as one of the great and most polarizing personalities in the sports world. The controversial and flamboyant former basketball star, who has played with the Long Beach Jam of the ABA in hopes of getting another shot at the National Basketball Association, is back in the national spotlight once again with I Should Be Dead By Now.

The new book from the two-time best-selling author details RodmanÂ’s struggles in life since he stopped playing in the NBA, including the breakup of his marriage to movie and TV star Carmen Electra and his problems with alcohol. I Should Be Dead By Now is a look at the life of one of AmericaÂ’s most recognizable sports stars since the lights of professional basketball stopped shining as brightly, and how Dennis Rodman hopes to make a successful return to the game that made him famous.