Deion Sanders creates high drama. He wears fabulous do-dads. He squeezes franchises and speaks with breathtaking bluntness and controls the levels of distortion to his liking. He is better at this than anyone. Coach Marty Schottenheimer could moan all he wanted to about how the Deion Sanders affair took on "a life of its own," but what did he expect? This is what Deion does.
The Washington Redskins presumably knew what they were getting when they signed Deion Sanders -- didn't they? Is it possible they didn't? Is it possible that owner Dan Snyder was so busy panting boyishly over gridiron heroes and acting the titan of industry that he forgot who he was dealing with? And is it possible that the egalitarian Schottenheimer really thought Deion needed the Redskins more than they needed him? Because the truth is that Deion has never needed a team. He was never going to let the Redskins strong-arm him into showing up at training camp in Carlisle, Pa. And now that he is retired he will still be rich and fabulous, and we will all be poorer without him.
Deion doesn't do things the way other people do. Deion makes decisions based on his peculiar mixture of savvy and whimsy. This is what Deion does, and it is why, even at 33 years old, with his talents and his status fading, he nevertheless had his audience and an entire franchise transfixed for an entire week. To review: Sanders's contract with the Redskins required him to report to training camp Sunday at risk of forfeiting very large sums of money. The contract allowed him to miss mandatory Redskins functions like practices and games only if he was playing big league baseball.
How many athletes tell a franchise, "Take this job and shove it"? How many give up money in favor of self-determination?
Deion does.
This summer, Sanders decided to play baseball for the first time since 1997, and thereby engaged the Redskins in a contractual chess match that was both hilarious and fascinating to watch. When he went 3 for 3 in his May 1 debut with the Cincinnati Reds, it looked like he could have things any way he wanted them. But then he batted just .173 in 32 games, and was released by the Reds. Sanders kept toying with the Redskins. He took another baseball job, with the Syracuse SkyChiefs of the Toronto Blue Jays' organization. When the Blue Jays showed no interest in promoting him -- he was batting just .245 through Wednesday -- he cheerfully cleaned out his locker. After signing autographs.
Now, the contractual implications were that if Sanders refused to show up at Redskins camp, he would forfeit as much as $6.8 million of his $8 million signing bonus.
All along, Sanders expressed audible disenchantment with Schottenheimer, whom he said he didn't trust, and did not want to play for. For a time it seemed he would force the Redskins to release him to get under the league's salary cap, which is what Sanders really wanted -- if they released him he still collected grown-up bucks on the contract. However, Schottenheimer cut enough players and renegotiated enough contracts that the team didn't have to release him for cap reasons. So Sanders had to show at camp, or take the financial hit. Schottenheimer seemed to have gained the upper hand.
Uh-huh.
This presumes Sanders cared.
It presumes he cared about the money, and that he cared to play for the Redskins. This is the guy who wore No. 2 at Florida State and said, "It should be number 1." This is the guy who spent his entire career jumping from dugout to sideline, four major league teams and as many NFL teams, and yes, he leveraged them for all they were worth, but he gave them what they paid for, too, in a fair business exchange. He demonstrated devotion on the field, and was a flamboyant media star off the field, and all in all was a man of rare smarts and substance, the first two-way starter in the NFL since 1962 and the only guy to play in a Super Bowl and a World Series -- if the ringless Schottenheimer wants to compare résumés. Ever since he came out of FSU in 1989, he adroitly parlayed his dueling talents, and understood how not to be used, but rather to use. He fought the commodification of his body, and controlled all attempts by pro franchises and the media to manipulate him. Remember when he left the Atlanta Braves' dugout in mid-game to join the Falcons, with whom he had a four-year agreement worth $4.5 million?
Last year, he told Esquire magazine: "They never give athletes credit for knowing who they are. As an athlete, you're in business. And I knew how to market my business. The Lord intended me to be different. He intended everyone to be different. I never tried to emulate anyone, ever. I was the first Deion Sanders, and I'll be the last Deion Sanders. I created something that could command me millions of dollars, and it served its purpose. But I was playing a game, and people took it seriously."
So if you think Deion was the one leveraged here, if you think that the Redskins had him where they wanted him, and the team was calling the shots, forget it. Schottenheimer admitted that the Redskins would be a better team with Sanders than without him. And Sanders knew he would be a better person without the team.
One definition of leverage is the ability to write a really large check and tell a boss, "I don't need this job." And that's what Sanders did. He forfeited a portion of the signing bonus -- how much is as yet unclear -- and let the Redskins have their cap relief, rather than cave to Schottenheimer. He will retire, at least for now.
The funny thing is, weren't we all secretly delighted that Sanders, one man, kept an entire powerful franchise guessing? Right up until 6:30 last night, when the NFL forwarded a copy of his retirement letter to the Redskins, the team had no idea what he would do, and neither did anyone else. So who controlled whom?
Who was calling the shots? Deion was calling the shots. Know why?
Because this is what he does.