Shedeur Sanders Has a Jeb Bush Problem

Legacy branding and its limitations

Shedeur Sanders has a big problem and it’s the same problem Jeb Bush had: his daddy.

Think the analogy is far-fetched? Because one father is the ultimate establishmentarian in his profession and the other a rogue disruptor? Stick with me.

A few days ago the University of Colorado quarterback was projected as a top-5 pick in the NFL draft, but by the weekend, he’d slid all the way to the fifth round, at the 144^th pick, a slot usually reserved for players with just an even shot of making an NFL roster at all.

Rather than attend the draft and sit backstage ready to star in the NFL’s own choreographed draft TV show, Sanders had set up his own draft room, fully branded with his “2Legendary” moniker, a name also borne by his podcast. The “2” is a reference to his chosen jersey number – which CU-Boulder inexplicably retired last week, presumably at Daddy’s urging. Like his father – who in college adopted the nickname “Neon Deion,” before shifting to “Prime Time” as a pro – Shedeur is not just a football player, he’s a walking trademark.

Maybe that’s his problem.

Shedeur didn’t become a worse player over the last week, but the shadow of Coach Prime, the brashest, trashing-est coach in any level of football, got longer with each pick teams didn’t use to select him. Every backup QB in the NFL has a daddy who thinks he ought to be a starter. But Deion will be the only backup QB daddy who has a well-attended press conference every day. When Deion decides his son should come off the bench, he has the power to say it in way everyone hears it.

The last thing any NFL team wants is a quarterback controversy. Second- or third-team signal callers are supposed to be invisible – until an injury to the starter necessitates they take the field and try to just not screw up the offense.

The NFL overall prides itself on being an organization of 33 logos, and just 33 – 32 team icons and The Shield, the league’s own. At the NFL headquarters on Park Avenue in New York, the hallways are covered in dramatic football action shots, but one thing catches your eye: there are no players’ names or faces visible in any of them, even numbers are hard to make out. The murals are a mass of humanity colliding, but it’s the jerseys you identify and not the people wearing them. Unlike the NBA, this is not a players’ league; the NFL is a league of franchises and “2Legendary” is not one of those.

Being groomed by his daddy into a separate brand is Shedeur’s achilles.

For the phenom, this is a catch-22. Up until April 24, 2025, it has advantaged him to be Neon Deion’s son every single day. He got Hall of Fame genes and expert coaching from the day he could walk. Daddy Deion was also able to make him a college starting quarterback in his first day on campus, to surround him with talent that included a Heisman winner. He then got them both promoted to a power-conference spotlight. One of only a couple modern players to succeed in two different pro sports, with a megawatt personality and knack for marketing, Deion could not have given his sons more tools.

This is not unlike the advantages former President George H.W. Bush imparted to his sons. Congressman, Chair of the Republican National Committee, CIA Director, Vice President, President – the pedigree and connections the Bush sons inherited were impeccable. One, George W., went all the way to the White House, but the more politically talented son blew a massive lead and couldn’t even win one primary against Donald Trump, who ran on a platform of toppling the very establishment the Bush Family embodied. Like Shedeur, the one thing that had empowered Jeb’s rise tripped him in his penultimate moment.

What if Jeb Bush had not run for president as the establishment darling in 2016? What if he’d been the disruptor? What if he’d adapted his platform to the discontent of the Republican primary base instead of asking to be treated as the party’s savior from it? What if the thesis of the Jeb candidacy had been about the voters instead of in spite of them?

And what if Shedeur Sanders had approached the NFL draft without the neon? What If he’d been a hell-on-wheels, gunslinger QB eager to learn a playbook? Someone focused on representing a team’s fanbase, wearing the team’s logo, instead of his own?

It’s hard to imagine Jeb Bush being any less Kennebunkport than he was by the time he was running for president at age 63. But Shedeur Sanders is just 23, and a helluva football player. He is a young enough dog to learn a new trick. He should ditch his marketing machine, go to Cleveland, put his head down, and work every day to be a drama-free backup quarterback.

Daddy’s brand has gotten Shedeur Sanders as far as it can take him. The only thing left to do is play football for the fans of the jersey and not the legacy.