I’ve been on a run lately. I know it, you know it, even the skeptics in the back of the room—the ones who sit there with their arms crossed, waiting for me to stumble, waiting for the moment my analysis fails to meet the reality of the scoreboard—they know it. My last few columns have been surgical. They’ve been definitive. They’ve been, quite frankly, undeniable. When I speak, it isn’t just noise; it is an autopsy of the current state of sports. And so, when I sit down to discuss what is happening in Boulder, Colorado, I am not coming to you with mere observations. I am coming to you with a verdict.
Let us begin with the man at the center of the storm. Deion Sanders.
Now, we have all seen the headlines. We have read the reports about the bladder cancer diagnosis. We have heard the whispers regarding the blood clots. We have seen the uncertainty that hangs over a program when its figurehead is fighting for his very life. And when Deion stands before the microphones and says, “I’m good, I’m good,” there is a certain level of respect that must be afforded to a man who has navigated the highest peaks and the deepest valleys of professional sports. You cannot deny the resilience. You cannot deny the spirit.
But let me tell you something about Deion Sanders: The world does not just need him to be “good.” The world needs him to be *present*.
And for the first time in a long, agonizing stretch of uncertainty, he was. At the Colorado spring game, he wasn’t sitting in a darkened room contemplating his health; he was on the field. He was in the end zone. He was hovering over his defensive backs like a hawk watching a field mouse. He was hands-on. And that is a development that should send a shudder of both hope and terror through the entire landscape of college football.
Because when Deion Sanders is hands-on, the spotlight doesn’t just shine on him—it incinerates everything in its path.
I watched this man play in an era where every yard was earned in blood and sweat. I have seen the way he commanded a room, a field, and a league. And seeing him back at Folsom Field, taking stock of his troops, tells me one thing: The “Prime Effect” is not a marketing campaign. It is a physiological necessity for this program. He admitted it himself. He said, “Everybody inside these/these doors can tell you, it’s different when I’m here.”
He isn’t being humble. He is stating a mathematical fact. Without the conductor, there is no symphony; there is only noise. And last season? That wasn’t a symphony. That was a cacophony of errors, a 3-9 disaster that left the Buffaloes looking less like a powerhouse and more like a cautionary tale.
But let us move from the man to the machinery. Because even if Deion is healthy, even if his heart is strong, the engine of this team has been completely overhauled. And this is where I must play the prosecutor.
We are seeing a total upheaval of the coaching staff. We have Chris Marve stepping in to lead the defense, replacing Robert Livingston, who has moved on to the Denver Broncos. We have Brennan Marion taking the reins of the offense, stepping into the shoes of Pat Shurmur. Now, I am not one to dismiss change. I have seen greatness born from transition. But I have also seen programs burn to the ground because they mistook “new” for “better.”
I said this regarding the situation at A&M—I have seen coaches attempt to ride the wave of a single decision only to find themselves shipwrecked by the reality of talent gaps. And here in Boulder, the stakes are astronomical. You cannot simply swap out names on a clipboard and expect a 3-9 team to transform into a national contender overnight.
Enter the “Go-Go” offense. Brennan Marion brings this high-octane, creative, fast-paced scheme to town. On Saturday, we saw glimpses. We saw Julian Lewis connecting with Danny Scudero. We saw the potential for rhythm. But let me be clear: A “scheme” is not a substitute for execution. You can have the most beautiful, intricate, “Go-Go” blueprint in the world, but if your players cannot execute the movement under the pressure of a Saturday night in the Big 12, then you are nothing more than an architect of disappointment.
And let’s talk about these players. Danny Scudero comes in with numbers that demand attention—88 catches, over 1,200 yards. That is a statement. When Deion reaches out to legends like Julian Edelman to provide mentorship? THAT is a statement. It shows an obsession with excellence. It shows a refusal to accept mediocrity. It is the kind of legacy-building move that defines why we watch this game.
But I have seen players check all the “boxes” before—I think back to my analysis of Victor Wembanyama, where the numbers were astronomical, yet the critics remained skeptical about the actual impact on winning. In football, as in basketball, you can have the stats, and you can have the hype, but if you don’t have the *result*, the numbers are just ink on a page.
And then… there is the shadow. There is the part of this spring game that no amount of “Go-Go” offense or defensive coaching can mask.
The presence of number 7, Dominiq Ponder, on that roster list.
I do not speak of this lightly. I am a man of sports, but I am first a man of humanity. The loss of a young man, a quarterback with promise, taken by a preventable tragedy… it is an affront to the very spirit of the game. To see the tribute video, to see the weight of that loss hanging over Folsom Field… it serves as a grim reminder of the responsibility that comes with greatness. When we talk about “legacy” and “status,” we must never forget that the lives of these student-athletes are the heartbeat of this institution. The tragedy of Ponder’s passing, fueled by reckless decision-making, is a wound that will take much longer to heal than any coaching change or transfer portal acquisition. It demands a level of accountability that transcends the X’s and O’s.
So, where does that leave us? Where does that leave the Colorado Buffaloes as they march toward a season that will determine whether Deion Sanders is a builder of dynasties or a master of hype?
Deion wants more. He wants visibility. He wants spring games to matter again. He wants to challenge the status quo, even suggesting scrimmages against Colorado State to drum up national attention. And in a way, I respect the audacity. I respect the hunger for relevance. Because let me tell you something about this sport: If you are not making noise, you are being forgotten.
But there is a fine line between seeking visibility and seeking validation.
If the Buffaloes emerge from this spring with nothing but a shiny new offense and a healthy coach, but without the fundamental discipline to win close games, then all of this—the “Go-Go” scheme, the Edelman connections, the defensive blitzes—it will all be for naught.
I am watching. I am waiting. I am looking for the substance behind the swagger.
Because Deion Sanders says he is “good.” He says the staff is “tremendously better.” He says they are going to “make it better.”
Well, Coach, the eyes of the entire sporting world are upon you. We have heard the promises. We have seen the spring highlights. Now, we demand the results. Because in this league, you don’t get points for being hands-on. You don’t get trophies for having a legendary connection with your receivers. YOU GET TROPHIES BY WINNING.
AND UNTIL I SEE A WINNING RECORD IN THE COLUMN, I WILL CONTINUE TO VIEW THIS AS A PRELUDE TO A POTENTIAL CATASTROPHE.
The verdict is not in yet. But the prosecution is prepared. AND WE ARE WATCHING EVERY SINGLE MOVE.