Don’t take your eyes off Coach Prime
I rarely watch early bowl games that don’t involve Army, Navy or Air Force.
On Saturday, I made an exception and watched the Celebration Bowl from start to finish. The reason was Deion Sanders. I’m betting I wasn’t alone. Jackson State went into the game with an 11-1 record in Sanders’s first fall as the school’s coach. What’s more, three days before the game, cornerback Travis Hunter, considered by many to be the top high school player in the country, decommitted from Florida State (Sanders’s alma mater) to sign with Jackson State so he could play for Sanders.
A top recruit passing on a Power Five school to play for a Football Championship Subdivision school? Unheard of — unless the FCS school is led by Coach Prime.
For 14 years, Sanders was one of those athletes you couldn’t take your eyes off. Some of it was his sublime talent. He’s in the Pro Football Hall of Fame and is generally considered the greatest cornerback in NFL history. Sanders was also a very good baseball player. He played in the major leagues for nine years, hit .263 for his career and stole 56 bases for the Reds in 1997. He also hit .533 for the Atlanta Braves in the 1992 World Series.
Then there was his personality. Sanders wasn’t called “Prime Time” and “Neon Deion” for nothing. He had a flair — some would call it a flair for hot dogging — but he always backed his postgame act with his play. He was opinionated, outspoken and occasionally found trouble — arguing with Carlton Fisk after not running out a popup in Yankee Stadium, dumping ice water on Tim McCarver during the celebration after the Braves won the 1992 National League pennant.
One thing many people missed — including me initially — was that Sanders was both smart and thoughtful. The first time I interviewed him, during that ‘92 baseball season, I asked him what he had majored in at Florida State. He laughed, shook his head and said, “I majored in getting to the NFL and making a lot of money.”
Sanders made that comment to me on a hot August afternoon sitting in a corner of the visitors’ clubhouse at Shea Stadium. I was working on a baseball book that year and hadn’t planned to talk to Sanders because I thought he was more flash than substance. Several Braves I respected — notably Terry Pendleton, Tom Glavine and John Smoltz — told me I would be missing out if I didn’t try to talk to Sanders.
Bill Acree was the Braves’ travel director and clubhouse manager. Sanders trusted him, and when Bill asked him if he would talk to me, he agreed. By then, he wasn’t doing interviews in Atlanta because he was angry about some of the things the local media had said and written about him.
We talked for two hours. It was quickly clear that Deion’s teammates had been right. He was honest and funny, and his story was compelling. Toward the end, I asked him why he was no longer speaking to the Atlanta media. He shrugged, smiled and said, “They had a privilege, they abused the privilege, they lost the privilege.”
During the National League Championship Series that October, Terence Moore, the very fine Atlanta Journal-Constitution columnist, asked me about my interview with Sanders, which had become something of a sensation in Atlanta, since he hadn’t been talking to anyone. I had known Terence for years and liked and respected him. Because I thought it was funny, I repeated the “privilege” line to him — a mistake, if only because I should have saved it for the book.
As luck would have it, that was the weekend Sanders was playing for the Braves on Saturday night; flying to Florida to play for the Falcons on Sunday afternoon; then flying back to Pittsburgh to play Game 5 of the NLCS on Sunday night, arriving a little bit late. He also had a TV crew trailing him. Many — including McCarver and some teammates — criticized Deion for what appeared to be a publicity stunt. He wasn’t happy about that. He was even less happy when he read Moore’s story Saturday morning, which included the “privilege” quote.
After the Braves won Game 5, he came after me — TV crew trailing him — in the clubhouse. “I gave you all that time, and you turned on me like that?” he yelled.
I looked at the camera over his shoulder and said, “Deion, I’ll gladly talk to you about this, but not as part of your TV special.”
He smiled, turned to the TV guys and said, “Fellas, wait here.” He steered me to an empty corner of the room and said, “Talk.” I told him I had made a mistake, if only because I had shared a great quote with someone else. He calmed down. “I gave you a lot of time,” he said quietly.
I knew he had and I felt badly, although I pointed out that the quote was funny.
“I gave you a lot more than that.” I agreed, and we shook hands. Twelve years later, I was working on a book on the Baltimore Ravens when Ravens defensive back Corey Fuller talked Deion out of retirement. He joined the team the night of the last exhibition game. I was, honestly, nervous about how he would react to me: Would his memory of me be an angry one? Perhaps he wouldn’t remember me at all.
In the locker room, before the game, Fuller said, “Deion, I don’t know if you know John Feinstein.”
“Absolutely I do,” Deion said shaking hands. “Atlanta in ‘92, right?”
I nodded. “Good to see you again,” he said. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Deion is 54 now and, as always, he is impossible not to notice. Even though his team lost to South Carolina State on Saturday, there’s little doubt that If he stays at Jackson State, he will create an FCS dynasty.
My hope is that a Power Five school will be smart enough to hire him soon.
A year or two from now, someone will be smart enough to hire Sanders. He will bring instant attention to the school. And I’ll bet he’ll also bring great players and plenty of wins. He’ll be smart, funny and honest — something big-time college football could use a lot more of these days.