Last week, University of Colorado quarterback Shedeur Sanders didn’t participate in the NFL combine. The soon-to-be franchise signal-caller — whose marquee college career began with two stellar seasons at historically Black Jackson State University — opted to complete the on-the-field display of his pro-day in Boulder later this month.

Sanders, however, was no stranger to the “shaking hands and kissing babies” portion of the annual spectacle, moving from room to room and reporter-to-reporter with the swagger of a seasoned, supremely confident politician during campaign season. In four years between Colorado and Jackson State, Sanders compiled 14,327 yards, 134 touchdowns and 27 interceptions. Routinely praised throughout his final season at Colorado as the most accurate passer and one of the toughest leaders in the country, the charisma Sanders carried with him in Indianapolis was, well, hereditary.

“We went from Jackson State to Colorado and changed two programs back-to-back,” Sanders said last week. “You don’t think I could come to an NFL franchise and change a program again? It’s history. It’s always going to repeat itself.”

Sanders’ decision to hold off on displaying the arm and mind that earned him the Johnny Unitas Golden Arm Award, given to the country’s top quarterback, wasn’t a shock. Top prospects opting out of the combine isn’t a new phenomenon. In recent years, No. 1 picks like Andrew Luck, Matthew Stafford, Kyler Murray and Joe Burrow all declined to showcase their skills at the combine. Last year, the top three picks, Caleb Williams, Rookie of the Year Jayden Daniels, and Drake Maye did, too.

The conversation around Sanders during the combine revolved around his character. A quarterback coach of a team drafting in the top-seven picks viewed Sanders as “brash” and “arrogant” and, according to veteran NFL reporter Josina Anderson, told multiple people around the league that Sanders’ demeanor was a reason to perhaps refrain from drafting him.

“This is how pre-draft evaluations can get jacked because of evaluators who don’t seemingly possess the discernment to detect intangible traits that are connected to the will and drive to win without being a star, delineated in an analytics report,” Anderson wrote on social media.

This wasn’t the only criticism of Sanders either. Todd McShay, The Ringer’s draft analyst, said on the Monday episode of The McShay Show that other team employees were also perturbed by the quarterback’s aura. 

“The two people that I spoke to were in meetings and had these individual meetings [with Sanders] … teams in the top 10 drafting that need a quarterback,” said McShay. “The two people that I spoke to in these positions left the meeting feeling like Shedeur Sanders was not overly concerned with what they thought of him. They had a 15-minute meeting with him, and when they were done, they both said in different ways, different words, they did not feel like Shedeur Sanders cared all that much about what that organization thought of him.”

Let me get this straight. Sanders’ detractors didn’t seem to care (or mention) whether or not he could help the organization. They didn’t even mention if Sanders was disrespectful. But caring about what Sanders thought of them beyond a transactional level is wild to me.

Matthew Berry of NBC Sports said Sanders left less-than-stellar impressions with two teams, who said the quarterback appeared unprofessional and disinterested.

“Both also said that after the meeting they had a lesser opinion of him than prior. These same people both met with [Miami Hurricanes quarterback] Cam Ward as well, and both said they loved Ward, and it was a great meeting,” Berry said. “Now, I’m not trying to kill the kid. So, I want to give a bunch of caveats. These were just two people.”

That train of thought by the unnamed quarterback coach indicates a far more considerable thought, one that has been as detrimental as it is fatal. Muhammad Ali’s most dangerous punch was never a jab or haymaker that came after a rope-a-dope. His voice and bravado were his grandest weapons, a combination that would rob him of the prime years of his career after boycotting the Vietnam War. Ali only became a lovable figure and American hero when his health declined, and he was no longer able to speak.

Allen Iverson is a beloved NBA icon now. Yet, part of the Iversonian mystique is that his very existence as a Black man — his fashion, culture and voice — was challenged with every crossover at the turn of the century. The same “brash” and “arrogant” comments levied at Sanders were frequent targets for the media’s coverage of Iverson then — with “thug” and “ghetto” often sprinkled in. His confidence and vulnerability were used against him. Iverson admitted he made it easy at times. Yet, when examining the NBA’s focus on player individuality, Iverson is the big bang that created many swaths of the current NBA and overall cultural landscape.

In 2025, there is perhaps nothing more American than football — a sport that commands more than half of the week. The country and the sport are two superpowers with Black labor, Black talent and Black injustice at the root of their very existence. Very rarely is anything in pop culture apples to apples or a straight line. But hearing the all-too-familiar commentary about a quarterback who looks like Sanders conjures memories of such high-profile critiques that seemed to go far beyond job qualifications.

Lamar Jackson’s confidence resulted in him opting out of running the 40 at the 2018 NFL combine. The Heisman winner understood how his speed would be used against him as a quarterback — which many pundits believed he couldn’t successfully play professionally at the time. Meanwhile, Angel Reese was called everything but a child of God following Louisiana State University’s 2023 national title for her trash talk to superstar guard Caitlin Clark even though it was just part of the game.

According to a 2023 report published by the Center of U.S. Workers, 41 percent of Black men and women say they have experienced some form of workplace discrimination compared to eight percent of whites. So, were those unnamed sources wrong in their assessment of Shedeur Sanders? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps Sanders was off-putting. Perhaps that was his way of saying, “Don’t draft me.” But words matter, especially when it involves Black folks and places of employment.

My grandfather, John D. Marshall, was many things, but he was undoubtedly imperfect and an astute observer of college football through the lens of the larger society. As a football coach at schools like Livingstone College and Virginia State University, he’d often tell people that the integration of college football would make predominantly white institutions rich and leave Black schools to survive the economic downfall. Almost as a direct talking point, he’d follow up by saying that society would condition itself to believe Black football players were necessary for winning games and championships, but the cherished legacies would be reserved for white players and coaches.

What these unnamed NFL scouts and coaches need to learn is partly what Josina Anderson addressed. College athletes are brands now. College football is just that — football played at colleges. Amateur athleticism, or the concept of it, is a thing of the past. High-profile, potential franchise quarterbacks like Shedeur Sanders, the top NIL earner, are conglomerates in the making. Such a new world will come with its fair share of headaches and busts. Yet, it never ceases to be frustratingly comical how only one race gets labeled “brash” or “arrogant.” 

For some in this country, no matter the touchdowns, the wins or euphoric moments, it doesn’t matter. You’re not allowed to be what America never envisioned you as. Shedeur’s last name is Sanders. His father’s name is Deion. He was never going to humble himself. The fact that some unnamed quarterbacks coach or front office personnel thought this stage would scare him may prove that one of them doesn’t belong on the biggest stage.

Spoiler alert. It’s not Shedeur.