BOULDER — The new sheriff of Boulder County rode into the room wearing a black cowboy hat, his right foot draped in a black sock, left foot stuck inside a cowboy boot, fashionably late.
Deion Sanders disembarked slowly from his steed — not a horse, but a black-and-gold Segway, adorned with his now-familiar “PRIME21” logo up the front and glittering CU gold hubcaps at the base. The left wheel featured Sanders’ autograph, which spun as he rode like the label on an old LP.
“What’s the show I’ve been watching?” the Buffs’ new football savior asked a staffer Sunday afternoon, kicking off the very first news conference of his very first spring on the job.
“’Yellowstone,’” came the reply.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Coach Prime continued, “I’ve been watching a lot of ‘Yellowstone.’ This explains everything. My foot is about to bust, though.”
“Favorite character?” a reporter queried.
“Who would you think is my favorite character?” Prime replied. “I’m a boss. So who’s the guy?”
“John Dutton,” the scribes replied.
“Thank you. How could you ask me that? But the daughter (on ‘Yellowstone’), she’s gonna win an award. I mean, she’s unbelievable.”
So, yeah, this is new. The cowboy hat. The Segway. The swag. Sanders has been here barely four months, a southern man of God who landed in a northern, hippie mountain town, with all the fish-outta-water stuff that comes with it. (Also, there’s a documentary crew tracking almost every step, so behave.)
Sanders headlines write themselves, whether it’s invoking his faith at a public institution or saying the quiet parts whispered at the NFL combine out loud. (Although Sanders’ son, Shedeur, comes off as a fine, upstanding quarterback who also grew up with divorced parents. For every unwritten rule, there are dozens of exceptions waving back.)
No, with Coach Prime, the actions are the tell. Buffs football needed a good flushing, to put it kindly, and Sanders rolled up with a plunger in one hand and his Louis Vuitton in the other.
Wrong socks? Get outta my weight room.
Want a number this spring? Gotta earn it.
“I’m old-school,” Sanders explained. “Anybody over 45 here? (Back then), we had to earn every (darn) thing we got.”
Last fall, those over-45s left at halftime rather than watch a 1-11 football team finish getting clobbered. Now the Buffs are talking about not only charging $10 to watch a scrimmage at Folsom Field in April, but actually selling the thing out.
Oh, and did we mention ESPN is carrying the thing live?
“I didn’t know that,” Sanders said, tongue-in-cheek, playing it up. “Say that again?”
“You’re the only college program,” a reporter said, “that’s going to have ESPN come out …”
“Wow,” Sanders interjected. “That’s something.”
“So with all the cameras, all the distractions …”
“How is that a distraction?” Sanders asked. He picked up a smart phone with his left hand.
“(It’s) a blessing. Every kid in America is on (these phones), right? Every day. It’s not a distraction. It’s a blessing. These kids want notoriety. That’s the way they get to the next level. That’s the way to get to the NFL. That’s the way they get an (Name/Image/Likeness) deal.”
That’s the way you change a narrative. About an hour before Sanders spoke, I poked my nose inside the CU fan store, the one across the concourse from the Champions Center.
“How’s the Deion stuff moving?” I asked.
“Did you know,” the fella behind the cash register replied, “that we’re the best-selling Fanatics store in the country?”
“Anywhere?”
“Anywhere. That’s what they tell me. That’s the Coach Prime Effect.”
There’s a new sheriff around here. And the law’s never going to look the same.
