Deion Sanders seems to think he’s God … Maybe he’s right

I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not take the name of the Coach in vain.

I know what you’re thinking — there’s a typo in the Ten Commandments above. The religious doctrine attempting to pervade American school classrooms has nothing to do with sports.

Meet Deion Sanders then. But you better not call him by name.

The head football coach at the University of Colorado and the subject of multiple FFRF complaints, Sanders was a star athlete in the 1990s on both the football field and baseball diamond. His skill, paired with his flashy personality on and off the field, earned him the nickname of “Prime Time” and a God-like status among America’s sports elite. Deion’s celebrity status has risen once again — and this time it seems like he himself is the deity.

In 2020, Sanders claimed “God called” him to be the head football coach at Jackson State University, a Historically Black College/University (HBCU). Yet just three seasons later, he left Mississippi for a five-year, $29.5 million contract to coach the University of Colorado Buffaloes. His speedy departure from Jackson State drew laughs on “Saturday Night Live,” where Kenan Thompson — playing Sanders — remarked: “I truly believe that God called me [to Jackson State] and he said ‘this is your destiny.’” When Colin Jost pointed out that Sanders left for Colorado just a few years later, Thompson remarked, “Yes, that’s right. Because God called me again and was like, ‘My bad.’”

Sanders is famously religious beyond his supposed telephonic connection with God. He often wears a gold cross necklace on the sidelines, refuses to curse, and is quick to issue religious proclamations in an interview. Yet perhaps unsurprisingly, Sanders doesn’t seem to practice what a “good Christian” should.

Upon his arrival at Colorado, Sanders gave an infamous speech to his new team, in which he uttered the phrase “I’m coming” 25 times. Regarding the roster, he told them he was bringing his own “luggage” and that it was “Louis” — a reference to luxury brand Louis Vuitton. In other words: The student-athletes sitting before him weren’t good enough to bother hanging around. A mass exodus soon followed. Well over 40 players on Colorado’s existing roster transferred out of the program, and Sanders’ staff told the university’s 13 committed recruits to find new homes just weeks before they were to sign with the Buffaloes.

To be clear, college football is a cutthroat business. Coaches often turn over rosters upon arriving at a school, and players are left with no option but to transfer. What’s uncommon, though, is the self-absorbed way Sanders went about this process. To not only focus so heavily on himself during the speech, but also to have his son upload it to YouTube where it has since been viewed 4.8 million times, certainly sent a message to the college football world. What became clear: Deion Sanders thinks a lot of Deion Sanders — and he thinks you should, too.

But possibly Sanders’ shadiest charade came just over a decade ago in 2012, when he co-founded a preparatory school in Texas named Prime Prep. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sanders gave his pitch for the school bearing his nickname from behind a pulpit in a Texas church — a building that was to serve as one of the campuses for the state-supported charter school. He claimed to be in it for the kids, using the same “calling” refrain he brought to his press conferences at Jackson State and Colorado. Sanders told the parents in attendance that all of the shiny features of the new school would be “ab-so-lute-ly free.”

But when schools are made free to children and their families, someone still has to cover the costs. Apparently, God left that part out of the phone call.

Less than two years after the school opened, it was under investigation by the same Texas Board of Education that granted it approval, facing allegations of conflicts of interest, failure to perform criminal background checks, inadequate financial reporting, and violations in the National School Lunch Program, among other things. The school reportedly faced $400,000 in unpaid bills. And Deion Sanders filmed portions of his own reality TV show, “Deion’s Family Playbook,” at the school for free.

Just three years after Prime Prep opened its doors, the school shuttered under a mountain of unpaid bills, leaving hundreds of students scrambling to find a new place to learn. Sanders — despite being fired from and rehired by his own co-creation multiple times — attempted to dig the school out of its hole through financial donations. It proved to be too little, too late.

Yes, that’s right: Deion Sanders founded the high school equivalent of Fyre Festival. He even had to personally defend a lawsuit alleging fraud through the school’s participation in federal funding programs. But this time, the losses came in the way of opportunities for kids who didn’t know any better. Because Prime Prep wasn’t properly accredited, its graduates had college scholarships retracted and in some cases were even refused admission because they couldn’t meet the curricular standards. Students had traveled from other countries, eager for the opportunity of an American education offered by Prime Prep. Many saw their athletic careers end and struggled to find an academic home — opportunities were over nearly as soon as they began.

Contrast their paths with Deion’s. The global superstar simply moved on to his next venture, where he now makes nearly $6 million per year coaching football while starring in national Aflac insurance commercials and selling personally branded products ranging from sweatshirts and sunglasses to caffeinated energy drinks.

Deion Sanders’ actions are not unfamiliar. He plays favorites (his sons both start on his team and command much of the publicity), demands idolization and specific use of his name, and deserts those he claimed to serve after leaving them in dire straits — all while facing zero consequences himself and catering to thousands of adoring fans.

Maybe he is God after all.