The Forbidden Number

Why the NBA Won’t Allow 69

The first time I heard that the NBA had banned the number 69, I assumed it was the sort of internet hoax meant to lure in the most gullible among us—right up there with the myth that swallowing gum takes seven years to digest or that a college professor will cancel class if fewer than ten students show up. It seemed too on-the-nose, too perfectly immature for a multi-billion-dollar sports league to take a firm stance against a number that, let’s be honest, has never done anything to hurt anyone. And yet, it’s true: the NBA does not allow players to wear 69.

Now, the official reasoning behind this isn’t some lengthy dissertation on preserving the dignity of the game or upholding the rich tradition of basketball numerology. It’s simply “unwritten policy.” If that phrase sounds like the passive-aggressive text message of the rulebook world, that’s because it is. No formal law, no article in the NBA’s operations manual—just a quiet but absolute refusal to let anyone step onto the hardwood with those digits stretched across their back. It’s as if the commissioner’s office collectively decided that 69 was just too risqué for an audience that regularly watches seven-foot-tall men hurl themselves at each other for a leather ball.

The most famous near-69 incident came in 1999, when Dennis Rodman—who, if given the chance, would absolutely list “disrupting social norms” as his full-time job—tried to register the number upon signing with the Dallas Mavericks. Rodman had already worn numbers like 10, 91, and 73, so it wasn’t as if he had some deep sentimental attachment to traditional digits. No, 69 was clearly chosen because it was 69, a choice that was, at once, both childish and entirely on-brand for a man who once showed up to a book signing in a wedding dress. The league shut it down immediately, forcing him to settle for the far less eyebrow-raising 70.

The NBA’s squeamishness over the number is especially odd when you consider that other leagues have had no issue with it. The NHL? Go ahead, be your best self. The NFL? Fine, though expect a few chuckles from the commentators. Major League Baseball? Sure, as long as you’re ready to spend most of your career in Triple-A with a jersey that makes 12-year-olds giggle. The NBA, however, remains steadfast in its commitment to keeping things clean, as if preventing the number 69 from existing will keep the league’s reputation unblemished—this, in a sport where players have been arrested for everything from nightclub brawls to defrauding the very healthcare plan meant to support them in retirement.

And what makes this especially hilarious is that the NBA has embraced numbers that seem, at least in theory, far more problematic. Players have worn 00, which feels like a mathematical insult, and 88, which has a history of unfortunate associations in certain circles. But 69? Absolutely not. Think of the children.

Of course, one could argue that banning 69 is just the league’s way of avoiding unnecessary distractions. No commentator wants to navigate the minefield of discussing a player’s performance while saying, with a straight face, “69 is really working hard in the paint tonight.” And sure, maybe it’s for the best that we don’t have to hear Charles Barkley analyze how “69 has been unstoppable in the backcourt.” But then again, wouldn’t that be part of the fun? Basketball is, after all, a game.

So, for now, the ban remains, and no NBA player will ever have the opportunity to take the floor with 69 stitched proudly across their back. It’s an odd,

arbitrary hill for a professional sports league to die on, but then again, professional sports are built on arbitrary decisions. Until then, we’ll always have Dennis Rodman, standing just outside the league’s metaphorical gates, laughing.