04/27/2025
Shedeur Sanders Isn’t Special for Facing Bias — He’s Special Because He Refuses to Bow
It should come as no surprise that Shedeur Sanders is facing bias as a Black quarterback prospect. That’s not new. It’s a tradition.
Warren Moon, a first- to second-round talent, went undrafted because the NFL decided Black men couldn’t lead. Lamar Jackson, a Top 10 prospect, fell to the last pick of the first round under whispers that he should switch to wide receiver. Deshaun Watson, projected Top 5, slid to #12, passed over for lesser white quarterbacks. Justin Fields dropped from a Top 3 prospect to the eleventh pick after false, damaging rumors. Geno Smith, once considered the #1 overall pick, fell to the second round, swallowed up by media narratives crafted to diminish him.
And every time someone mentions Tom Brady — as if that comparison matters — Tom Brady was never expected to be anything. He was a backup quarterback. He was a longshot. His story was a fairy tale, not a script written to diminish him. Big difference.
Because the NFL Draft isn’t really about skill. It’s about entertainment — entertainment for an audience that is overwhelmingly white, overwhelmingly male, and overwhelmingly comfortable with a familiar story: the grateful Black kid from poverty, overwhelmed with emotion, ready to pledge undying loyalty to the system that "saved" him.
But Shedeur Sanders doesn’t fit that script. He’s not broken. He’s not desperate. He’s the son of Deion Sanders — and all that implies. Legacy. Preparation. Confidence. Awareness.
Had Shedeur come from a broken home, had he worn his poverty like a badge, he would have been celebrated for his "grit." His confidence would have been forgiven — because it would have been fragile, controllable.
For the dimwits saying, "Jayden Daniels and Caleb Williams got drafted high, so Shedeur Sanders facing bias is a moot point" is like saying "Barack Obama became president, so racism is over."
It completely ignores structure.
Individual success does not erase systemic patterns.
Jayden and Caleb are exceptional talents — but their draft success doesn't mean every Black quarterback is judged fairly, nor does it erase the deep-rooted discomfort with Black men who project ownership instead of gratitude.
Shedeur is different because he refuses to play the part — the part of the grateful underdog, the part that asks permission to be confident. His struggle isn’t about talent; it’s about the discomfort he causes by showing up with entitlement to excellence — not just hope for it.
One or two exceptional cases don't undo decades of a rigged culture. If anything, they’re used to cover it up, and here you go defending the system and the same bu****it as expected.
This is a different story. Shedeur is a different kind of Black man. And America has never known what to do with him. Young Deion Sanders was arrogant and worked hard so that his son could be confident. That is the sign of a good father. Shedeur represents something the NFL is simply not ready to celebrate: a Black dynasty.
It’s fine when white families pass down excellence: the Matthews family. The Mannings. The Longs. But a Black father raising sons with expectation, not just hope? A Black father who stands proudly beside his sons, not as a shadow, not as a burden, but as a die-hard supporter and guide? That unsettles the narrative.
And you know good and well — this isn’t about Shedeur alone. It’s about his heritage.
It’s about his father, Deion Sanders — proud, defiant, brilliant — refusing to disappear after his own career ended, and instead teaching his sons and other young Black men how to stand taller than he did. It’s about a Black father ensuring his son knows the traps, the games, the corporate betrayals that consume so many young players who thought they had "made it," who thought they were participants of a system, rather than tools of it.
The NFL isn’t built to celebrate that.
They are built to exploit players who have nowhere else to turn. Players who won’t have a father in the meeting room. Players who will smile and nod and know better than to speak up.
And make no mistake: Coach Prime’s presence would be a disruption, and that alone could make many teams hesitant. He would ensure his son isn’t mistreated. He would ensure the team knows this young man is not alone. That kind of advocacy — the kind that white families have enjoyed for generations — is a threat when it comes from a Black man. He wouldn’t be welcomed like the other legacy families to rounds of golf, cigar hour, or charity dinners.
The NFL doesn’t want well-mentored, well-prepared, well-loved Black sons. They want bargains. They want desperation. They want players who will be silent when disrespected, grateful when shortchanged, and replaceable when broken. They need players whose confidence can be controlled.
And that’s why some of our own people — hurt by the same system — are quick to say Shedeur should “be more humble.” Humble for who? Humble for what or who? For their comfort? For their insecurity? Hell no.
He should not shrink to fit someone else’s small vision.
I know this dynamic personally.
I have walked into Black communities with plans to build, to donate, to uplift — only to be met with suspicion, mistrust, even hostility.
“Who is this guy?”
“Why are you here?”
“We don’t need no outsiders.”
Meanwhile, white developers come in these very same communities, steal land, gentrify neighborhoods, exploit and displace the same people — and no one says a word.
I have seen firsthand how we sometimes distrust Black excellence more than we distrust white exploitation. How we will attack a Black man’s confidence but celebrate a white man’s audacity.
We have to change that. America has always reserved the full privileges of dynasty, entitlement, and respect for white families. Black families were meant for broken homes, prison records, Section 8 housing — and any Black man who dares to defy that is punished.
The NFL is no different. It’s a $3.5 billion a year system designed, like so many others, to ensure that Black achievement never outpaces the comfort of the dominant society.
In the end, Shedeur Sanders doesn’t need the NFL nearly as much as the NFL needs him.
He and his father have the platform, the resources, and the vision to build something far bigger than a draft pick.
They could walk away from the draft tomorrow and build a billion-dollar empire on their own terms. And maybe they should.
The minute you stop begging to be included, the minute you realize you don't have to play the game at all — that’s when you are truly free. I honestly think he will become a free agent, or picked so far down that he has to work his ass off and PROVE himself and BEND the knee.
For those who believe these systems are about merit, and not race, I leave you with the words of Christopher Columbus describing the Indigenous people he met:
"They are very gentle and without knowledge of what is evil... They love their neighbors as themselves... They are very generous with their possessions... They willingly give with such kindness as if they were giving their very hearts.
They would make fine servants. With fifty men, we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want."
Subjugation was always the plan.
It just looks neater now — packaged in billion-dollar TV deals and draft night celebrations.
But the core has not changed.
It never has.
