Deion Sanders

Deion Sanders

Cowboys cornerback, 1995-99
Nicknames: Prime Time; Neon Deion
Career Stats: click here

Breakdown: With Kevin Smith often injured and Larry Brown often overmatched, the Cowboys needed a shut-down cornerback to bolster their secondary. In Sanders, they added perhaps the best man-to-man cover guy in the league’s modern history (apologies to Night Train). Opposing receivers dreaded seeing Sanders across the line.

Pearlman’s take: Nice guy who has since seemed to turn around his life, but the Cowboys can now look back and acknowledge the signing of Neion Deion as the beginning of the end. Yes, Dallas won the ’95 Super Bowl. But in giving Sanders soooo much money, Jerry Jones was taking away from other key positions. Furthermore, Sanders’ presence in the locker room was cancerous. Neither a hard worker or a positive influence for young players, Sanders was the cause of many rifts.

From Boys Will Be Boys: On one of his earlier days with the team, Sanders ran into Alundis Brice, who just so happened to wear uniform No. 21, Sanders digits of choice, at a Dallas-based BMW dealer. The rookie defensive back had long wanted to own a BMW 325i, and he was here to make it a reality. “Brice, what are you doing?” asked Sanders.
“I’m gonna buy this car tomorrow,” he said. “But I first have to call my agent and set it up.”
“It’s your first sports car?” asked Sanders.
“Yup.”
“Are you gonna pay cash for it?” Sanders asked.
“Yup.”
Sanders nodded and drove off.
The next morning, Brice reported to Valley Ranch and was dismayed to spot his dream car—a brand new metallic blue 325i with all the trimmings—parked in the players’ lot. “I can’t believe this,” he thought. “Somebody bought my car.”
When he approached his locker, Brice noticed the keys on his stool alongside a note from Sanders. It read: NOW GIVE ME MY DAMN JERSEY!
“I wore numbers 22 and 38 in college (at the University of Mississippi), but they gave me 21 with the Cowboys,” Brice says. “I had no emotional attachment to it. So when I read that note, I took my jersey down, hung it in his locker and got a new number. I’ll never forget him doing that.”
With such acts of grace and kindness, it took Sanders little time to develop a following in the Cowboys clubhouse. Like any American office space, Dallas had its cliques, usually divided among lines of race and age. White veterans like Aikman, Daryl Johnston and Jay Novacek could be found in one pocket. The black defensive linemen, headed by Haley, were in another. Now, Sanders was fronting a new group—the younger defensive players who envied both his game and his lifestyle.
This is where the problems began.
For all his Jim Thorpe-esque skills, Sanders was sleeping-dog lazy. In practices, he went all-out every third or fourth play and refused to wear shoulder pads because, he would say, “I’m not gonna tackle anyone anyway.” In meeting rooms, he was known to doodle and doze off. Told early on that Cowboys who refused to participate in the team’s weight training regiment would be fined, Sanders dramatically whipped out his checkbook and jotted down a five-digit figure.
When Mike Woicik, the team’s gruff strength and conditioning coach, complained about Sanders’ indifference, Switzer sided with his new star. “We’re talking about Deion Sanders here,” Switzer told Woicik. “If he doesn’t want to do something, he doesn’t have to.”