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Shedeur Sanders’s inexplicable slide in the 2025 NFL Draft had nothing to do with what he did on the field. This was personal.
What happened to Shedeur — being picked much later than projected — looked, smelled, and felt like a message: that this brash, Black, privileged quarterback had to be put in his place.
More than that, it seemed the league made an example out of him and everything he represents: the new-age college athlete, already famous and well-compensated through name, image, and likeness (NIL) deals, who wouldn’t play by their rules.
Conform or suffer the consequences.
And that ultimatum echoes beyond football. It makes me think about people from every walk of life who get punished for what they represent, not for how well they do the job. It’s a dull agony, knowing that in this political moment, being Black, excellent, knowledgeable, and confident still invites resentment — and punishment.
That’s what it felt like, watching team after team pass on Shedeur, a player many draft analysts regarded as the most “NFL-ready quarterback.”
Despite everything he achieved on the field — and staying out of trouble off it — they made an example of him for reasons that had nothing to do with football. Meanwhile, athletes who’ve done far worse got treated with more grace.
Because it felt so familiar — that same old song where Black excellence meets white resentment — I couldn’t help but think about what it means to walk into majority-white workplaces knowing that your evaluation is never just about what you do.
It’s about how you look and what you symbolize.
While most top high school recruits chase “blueblood” programs like Alabama, Ohio State, and Georgia, Shedeur chose Jackson State, an HBCU, playing for his father. He went 23-3 there, won the Deacon Jones Award as the top HBCU player, then followed his father to Colorado.
In his final season, he helped Colorado go 9-4 — after the program had gone 1-11 the year before he, Deion Sanders, and Travis Hunter arrived. He also won the Johnny Unitas Golden Arm Award, given to the nation’s top upperclassman quarterback.
Turning around one program is hard. He did it twice.
And in an era where top college athletes can earn millions through NIL deals, Sanders stood among the wealthiest, with an estimated $6.5 million valuation. His college earnings will outpace what he makes on his rookie contract with the Browns.
Was it the wealth that made him slide? Or was it the story he told just by being himself?
In a league built on players rising from hardship, Shedeur’s background — privilege, two involved parents, visible success — cut against the usual draft-day narratives.
On NFL draft broadcasts, we always hear about humble beginnings. Talent plus hardship plus the benevolence of a team equals the American dream.
But Shedeur, with his diamond jewelry, backwards cap, and brash confidence, didn’t fit that script.
During the pre-draft process, where prospects are expected to showcase humility — to play the game — Shedeur didn’t.
He skipped workouts at the NFL Combine, East-West Shrine Bowl, and Big 12 Showcase. Then came the anonymous whispers: He didn’t interview well. He seemed entitled. Disinterested.
When they can’t understand you, they slander you. That same old song.
***
Shedeur Sanders isn’t the first quarterback to buck the system.
Johnny Manziel — a brash, white former quarterback — had his own run-ins. He flashed the money sign after touchdowns. He reportedly broke NCAA rules by getting paid for autographs.
During his pre-draft process, he got into trouble at a charity golf event. According to his former agent, Manziel took his shirt off, appeared intoxicated, and broke clubs over his knee before throwing them into a pond.
That hurt his stock. Instead of going No. 1 overall in 2014, the Browns picked Manziel at No. 22.
But the Browns didn’t wait three full rounds to pick Manziel.
They let Shedeur Sanders fall to the fifth round — 144th overall — before selecting him.
it’s always special to hear that sound 🔈 pic.twitter.com/dM6p7kA4FS
— Cleveland Browns (@Browns) April 26, 2025
The message rang out loud and clear.
Do as we say, or else.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, I heard my father’s voice, the same words he told a boy who liked running to the beat of his own drum:
You can’t do what they do.
Message received.
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