Why I ripped Deion Sanders all football season

At this point, Deion Sanders has more in common with Jim Jones than with Nick Saban.

Jones, of course, is one of America’s most notorious cult leaders. In the 1960s and ’70s, he used a mash-up of Christian theology, Marxism, racial idolatry, and “social justice” to convince a large group of followers to relocate to a jungle in South America. He promised his congregants they would build an oppression-free paradise in Guyana.

A little more than a year after their arrival, on November 18, 1978, Jones talked his church members into drinking cyanide-laced Flavor Aid. Nine hundred and nine people died. Seventy percent of Jones’ followers were black. Forty-five percent of them were black women.

Abused Christian theology, Marxism, racial idolatry, and “social justice” have been combined and used repeatedly to make fools of black Americans. Too often, black people find racialized religious doctrine irresistible.

In hopes of building an oppression-free football paradise in Boulder, Colorado, Deion Sanders has used the same formula as Jim Jones. Coach Prime cast himself as one cup evangelical motivator, a tablespoon of racial justice warrior, a gallon of “American Idol,” and a full-blown useful idiot for Marxists.

Throughout the fall, black celebrities and sports fans flocked to one of the whitest locales in America to worship at the feet of their football cult leader, buying whatever apparel or other nonsense Coach Prime sold. After a 3-0 start, Deion was “Coach Deity,” an untouchable hero, a threat to Nick Saban as college football’s greatest coach. Any critique of Sanders brought allegations of racism or race betrayal.

Coach Prime epitomizes unrepentant idolatry. He’s been the spokesman for the pleasures of idolatry for 40 years.

Coach Deity had turned Colorado’s years-long football whine into life-sustaining water.

Well, late Friday night and early Saturday morning — on November 18, 2023 — the Coach Prime cult suffered its Deiontown Massacre. In the battle for last place in the PAC-12 Conference, the Washington State Cougars destroyed Coach Prime’s Buffaloes, 56-14.

That’s right. For all the hype and bluster, Deion’s rebuilt Buffaloes will finish in the same spot as last year’s team — looking up at every other team in the conference. Even with an unlikely victory in the season finale — a road game against Utah — Colorado cannot escape the Pac-12 basement. At best, it can finish tied for last place with a 2-7 conference record.

For those of you who drank the Coach Prime Flavor Aid, thankfully all you will suffer is wounded pride and ego.

I hope this is a teachable moment about the dangers of falling for a cult of personality and of pledging allegiance to anyone based on skin color rather than a solid set of values.

Throughout the football season, I have been repeatedly ridiculed and demonized for criticizing Deion’s coaching style and methods. I have been accused of being obsessed with the Hall of Fame football legend.

My genuine obsession is with sharing a worldview that leads to improved decision-making and rids people of their idolatry. We live in an era ruled by idolatry, the religious worship of idols, whether it be food, sex, money, popularity, material goods, youth, race, or the alleged “heroes” and influencers popular culture celebrates. Idols control our behavior and interfere with our obedience to the truths spelled out in the Bible.

I suffer from idolatry. The only idol I’ve truly conquered is hero worship. Everything else remains a day-to-day struggle, a battle I fight with prayer, meditation, song, and study of the Word.

I also fight idolatry by engaging in daily conversations about its dangers. Deion and Colorado football provided me with the perfect topic to analyze the pitfalls of idolatry consistently.

Coach Prime epitomizes unrepentant idolatry. He’s been the spokesman for the pleasures of idolatry for 40 years. While claiming Christian faith, he flamboyantly and unapologetically chases money, popularity, youth, material possessions, sex, pride, and racial justice.

His cult followers defend his lack of repentance by arguing, “He’s always been this way. Deion hasn’t changed.” His defenders claim Deion has mastered the art of being “relatable” to kids.

It’s not impossible to win football games with Deion’s immature and secular approach. But games are not worth winning if the approach sours souls rather than saves them.

Their defenses are an indictment. No man should relish his inability to evolve and mature. And no grown man, especially a father and leader, should desire to be “relatable” to kids. That’s not our role. We should want to be seen as wise.

A child should relate to his peers and seek wisdom from adults. The pursuit of “relatability” acts as a beard for avoidance of the responsibility of manhood. Deion doesn’t want to grow up. He’s made youthfulness an idol. The gold chains, the hoodie, the sunglasses, the friendship with rappers half his age are all symptoms of his fear of aging.

We all can relate to that. I certainly can. I dye my hair three or four times a year. Getting old is uncomfortable and scary. It’s pointless to fight it. Rather than fight a losing battle, we should spend our last days sharing all that we know with the younger generations.

The sharing of wisdom lessens the chance of the next generation repeating our mistakes.

I spent the entire college football season attempting to educate fans about how Deion’s early success was fool’s gold. It was never sustainable. Colorado’s offensive strategy allowed Deion’s son to pad his stats at quarterback, but it undermined the development of the offensive line and cost the team games later in the season.

Deion’s insistence on centering himself and his Coach Prime brand worked against building the kind of locker-room chemistry that could handle inevitable adversity. Deion’s outsized, hey-look-at-me persona guaranteed that his team would always face an emotionally inspired opponent.

Beyond the winning and losing, Deion’s representation of Christian faith was always most problematic. Deion’s remarkable lack of humility calls into question the sincerity of his faith.

You cannot claim the King of kings while making yourself the king. Deion made himself an idol. He sought victory through trying to persuade his players, the media, and fans to worship him.

Of all of his blasphemous slogans, “I am him” is the worst.

More than anyone, I hope that Deion Sanders has learned the most from my Daily Dose of Deion segments and columns. It’s never too late to learn, repent, and transform.

Deion has much wisdom to share if he’s capable of self-evaluation. He can put away his gold chains, the rap music, his desire to be popular and relatable. He can build a locker-room culture centered around uplifting and educating every player on the team.

It’s not impossible to win football games with Deion’s immature and secular approach. But games are not worth winning if the approach sours souls rather than saves them.