Chapter Seven: We Should All Wear Ray-Bans to the Office

By Dr. John Eliot

"There is no such thing as too much confidence."
                                             - Dr. Bob Rotella

I agree.  In fact, as a very confident protégé of Rotella’s, I would go even farther and say that great performers require a measure of confidence that would strike many as absurd,

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unfounded, in fact, downright irrational.  They believe in themselves utterly without question – even when everyone else is questioning how good (or sane) they are. 

How confident is that?  This confident:  Rolling into Tallahassee, Florida for pre-season football camp as an undersized, unproven freshman entering Florida State University’s national powerhouse program – with “PRIME TIME” emblazoned on your license plate.  That’s what Deion Sanders did in 1985.  He had been a left-handed option quarterback in high school but switched to defense in his first year in college because, as he announced to teammates, “I want to be special.  Anyone can play quarterback!”  Deion insisted that the team create a special poster featuring Deion to be sold at games.  Before the opposing team punted, he’d walk over to their bench to warn them that he was going to return the punt for a touchdown – and he’d dare to do that in the opposition’s home stadium!

In 1989, The Atlanta Falcons selected Sanders high in the first round of the NFL draft, offering him $400,000.  “That’s nice,” responded Deion, “but I’m worth way more than that.  You’re going to have to pay me $11 million.”  And by the way, he was already playing baseball for the New York Yankees.  Drafted by the Yankees in 1988, Deion held out of the NFL draft so he could give college baseball a try.  His “hobby” generated a record number of stolen bases, a trip to the College World Series for Florida State, and a pro contract.   Did I mention that in college Deion also ran track when he had the time?  He won an NCAA 400 meter relay event – wearing a pair of baseball pants – because he had a spare 15 minutes between games of a doubleheader.  Deion hustled back for the start of the second game and proceeded to knock in the winning run.

The Falcons were dumbfounded by Deion’s ridiculous salary demand.  In the history of the NFL, no defensive back had ever signed for a million dollars, and here was this kid, barely 21 years old, who had never played a second in the National Football League, demanding eleven – “to make it fair.”  The Falcons refused.  But Deion knew he was better than the average wage.  He was also busy thinking about making the jump to Yankee Stadium, which he pulled off after fewer than 100 games in the minor leagues – while winning no fans in the New York media by announcing “Football is what I love; baseball is my girlfriend.”  By the end of baseball season, the Falcon’s finally gave Deion a $4.4 million deal, short of the eleven mil. he had asked for but still the highest salary every paid to a defensive player.

Pretty outrageous, no?  Surely, the definition of “sheer arrogance.”  The press certainly thought so.  They ripped him for not being well conditioned, insisted that no athlete could be in both football and baseball shape at the same time; and they accused him of dogging it in both of his occupations, deriding Deion relentlessly for avoiding tackles and striking out against good pitching.  They all laughed at the self-annointed “Neon” Deion – who proceeded to run back a punt for a 68 yard touchdown just five minutes into his first professional game, win Super Bowls with the San Francisco 49ers and Dallas Cowboys, start in the Pro Bowl every year, lead the Major Leagues in stolen bases, and hit over .500 in the World Series.  Deion Sanders is the only player to hit a homerun and score a touchdown in the same week.  He’s the only person to have suited up for a professional baseball and professional football game on the same day.  He holds the NFL record of running back 14 interceptions for TDs, and he averaged 16.9 yards every time he possessed the ball.  For 12 years, Deion’s high-wattage personality, and daily confidence level that seemed to be stuck at “irrational,” nettled management – especially his insistence that he should be playing every second of every game, offense and defense – and drove headline writers to overkill.  Deion – well, Deion remained Deion, and he certainly didn’t give a damn about what a bunch of over-weight sports columnists thought of his mental health.  He knew what he was going to accomplish.  “When I get the ball, I’m taking it to the house, thinking about scoring every time I touch the ball.”