The photo shoot was progressing the way they often do, becoming a war of wills pitting the perfectionists with the cameras and the lighting and the smoke machine against the impatient subjects arrayed in front of them. Between poses, Deion Sanders was getting fidgety.
The coach of Colorado was surrounded by his people: His agent, the school’s chancellor and athletic director, and 99-year-old superfan Peggy Coppom were among the entourage. As the photo crew pored over details, Sanders lobbed one-liners at his sons—social media maven Deion Jr., Buffaloes quarterback Shedeur and safety Shilo. He wrapped his arm around his daughter, Colorado basketball player Shelomi, kissing her on the temple. He bent over to speak so tiny Peggy could hear him. (Peggy is Deion’s match in terms of personality. “I thought I was coming for the Swimsuit edition,” she said.)
But eventually, this shoot at Folsom Field needed to wrap so Coach Prime could get back to coaching. “We’re doing one more shot,” he said, light but firm. “Let’s go.”
One more shot turned into two, with a change of backdrop. Sanders paced between shutter clicks and strobe flashes, talking ball with a visitor, fretting about the tight turnaround for a Friday road game. At that point the Buffaloes were 4–6 and had lost four straight in a rugged Pac-12, three of them by one score, two of them at the very end.
“The Oregon game, I’ve forgotten it,” Sanders said of his team’s lone blowout to that point. “I’ve moved past it. The others stay with me. Three points, seven points—details, consistency. We want to win now.”
Then the photo crew called Sanders to his mark, a square of black tape on the ground where he was to stand with about 100 students roaring behind him. Sanders hit the mark, struck the requested pose; it was glow time. Shades on, diamond-and-gold whistle gleaming around his neck, the Duke of Drip unveiled one of humankind’s most luminous smiles.
Coach Prime lit up on command, as few others can, and his work was done. In a larger sense, his paradigm-shifting, precedent-shattering work—in Colorado and in college football—might be just beginning.
