Tag Archives: Cleveland Browns

Carrying the Weight of History: Why Black America Sees Itself in Shedeur Sanders

December 11, 2025 By in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , Leave a comment

PHILADELPHIA, PA – To watch Shedeur Sanders play quarterback—with his pre-snap poise, his audacious no-look passes, his celebrated, unflappable “Shedeur Face”—is to witness more than a talented athlete. It is to observe a cultural reclamation project. His overwhelming support within the Black community, often chalked up simplistically to his confidence and swagger, is rooted in something far deeper than style. It is a profound, collective recognition. It is the applause of a community that sees in his assured success not just one man’s triumph, but a symbolic redress of a brutal, systemic history—a history whose scars are woven into the very DNA of Black American experience.

The Foundation: American Apartheid on the Playing Field
That history is an American Apartheid, a regime of exclusion not confined to the Deep South but sanctioned at the highest levels of national life, including the playing fields. From its inception in 1906 through the early 1970s, the NCAA operated as a gentlemen’s agreement for segregation, formally barring Black athletes from member institutions, particularly in the powerhouse conferences of the South. For seven decades, the Paul Robesons, Jackie Robinsons, and Jesse Owenses were brilliant, solitary exceptions proving a cruel rule. The Civil Rights Movement forced the gates open, leading to the rapid “tanning” of revenue sports by the 1980s. But the institutional response was not embrace, but a strategic recalibration of exclusion.

The Bureaucratic Barrier: When “Eligibility” Became the New Gate
When blatant segregation became illegal and immoral, the mechanisms of denial became bureaucratic. The NCAA’s evolving “initial eligibility” rules—Proposition 48, the Core Course requirements, sliding GPA scales tied to standardized tests—were weaponized as a more nuanced gate.
Legends like Georgetown’s John Thompson II and Temple’s John Chaney, towering figures who used their platforms without apology, called this what it was: racism. “The NCAA is a racist organization of the highest order,” Chaney declared in 1989, framing the rules as a new punishment for Black kids already punished by poverty. Thompson saw the cynical cycle: athletes were used as integration’s pawns under the guise of benevolence, then discarded with the same paternalistic logic when their numbers grew too great.

The Instinctual Knowledge: A Community Remembers What Was Lost
This is the buried trauma in the collective memory of Black sports fandom. It is the instinctual knowledge that for every Shedeur Sanders lighting up a Power 5 stadium today, there were countless Willie “Satchel” Pages, “Bullet” Bob Hayeses, and Doug Williamses of yesteryear who were denied the stage, their stats relegated to the glory of HBCU lore, their professional careers delayed or diminished. It is the understanding that the path was not cleared, but grudgingly conceded, inch by contested inch.

This brings us back to Shedeur. His journey is a direct rebuke to that entire historical project of exclusion.

Shedeur as Historical Agency, Not Just Athletic Talent
He began not at a traditional blue-blood program, but at Jackson State University, an HBCU, under his father’s tutelage. There, he didn’t just play; he dominated, showcasing a talent so undeniable it forced the mainstream to look to the HBCU, reversing the decades-long drain of talent from them. His subsequent transfer to Colorado and his record-shattering performance—37 touchdowns, 4,134 yards, Big 12 Offensive Player of the Year—wasn’t an assimilation. It was an annexation. He carried the HBCU-developed swagger into Boulder and made it the epicenter of college football.

His confidence, therefore, is read by the Black community as more than personal bravado. It is historical agency. It is the embodiment of a truth: “You could not keep us out forever, and now that we are in, we will not perform with grateful humility. We will excel with the unmistakable flair of those who know the cost of the seat we now occupy.” His much-discussed “swagger” is the posture of liberation from the historical narrative of being the excluded, the regulated, the “problem” to be managed by NCAA legislation.

The Echo in the Draft: A Familiar Story Reinforces the Bond
The fact that his prolific college career culminated in a fifth-round NFL draft pick—seen by many as a slight given his production—only reinforces the narrative. The community, schooled by history, sees the echoes: the subtle devaluation, the search for flaws in the Black quarterback, the institutional reluctance to anoint him the franchise cornerstone his college play warranted. Yet, even in that perceived slight, the support does not waver; it intensifies. Because the story is no longer about what the gatekeepers decide. It’s about what Shedeur, and by extension the community that sees itself in him, has already proven.

An Unfinished Battle, and a Symbol of Its Progress
The contemporary NCAA debate continues, now often couched in the softer language of “unintended consequences” for minority students, as noted by groups like the National Association for Coaching Equity and Development. But the shift from Chaney’s and Thompson’s explicit charges of racism to today’s milder objections itself tells a story of a battle partly won, yet ongoing.

Shedeur Sanders walks onto the field bearing the weight and the defiance of that unfinished battle. The Black community’s embrace is a celebration of his individual talent, yes, but it is also a collective, cathartic affirmation. It is the joy of witnessing a grandson of American Apartheid not just cross the forbidden line, but do so with a dismissive wave, a nod to the crowd, and a perfect spiral into the end zone. His confidence is their vindication. His swagger is their memory, weaponized, and set free.

The Unforgivable Sin of Black Confidence: Angel Reese and Shedeur Sanders are Challenging a Deep-Seated American Taboo

November 25, 2025 By in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

By Delgreco Wilson

CAMDEN, NJ – In the high-stakes arena of American sports, where we claim to celebrate grit and triumph, we are witnessing the rise of a new generation of Black athletes who embody a potent, unyielding confidence. Angel Reese, the WNBA and former LSU basketball star known as “Bayou Barbie,” and Shedeur Sanders, the Cleveland Browns rookie and former star quarterback for his father Deion’s Colorado Buffaloes, are not just exceptional talents; they are cultural phenomena.

Their athletic prowess is undeniable, record-breaking, and thrilling. Yet, for all the celebration, a palpable undercurrent of disdain follows them. The comment sections boil over with vitriol; sports talk radio callers huff about “arrogance”; and a certain segment of the populace seems genuinely unnerved. To understand this visceral response, we need to excavate a term from the ugliest chapters of the American lexicon: the “uppity Negro.” While the phrase itself is now largely relegated to the shadows, the social control it represents is very much alive, and it is the most potent framework for understanding the backlash against these two young Black icons.

The Ghost in the Stadium: A History of “Uppity”

The word “uppity” is an old English adjective for someone putting on airs above their station. But in the American context, particularly in the antebellum South and the Jim Crow era, it was weaponized into a specific and terrifying racial slur. White supremacy required a rigid social hierarchy where Black people were expected to perform subservience—to be grateful, obedient, and to never, ever challenge their “place.”

An “uppity Negro” was anyone who violated this unwritten code. The crime wasn’t just success, but any behavior that suggested equality: a Black man owning a successful farm, a Black person speaking without the obligatory “sir” or “ma’am,” dressing well, or—most fundamentally—looking a white person in the eye with unflinching self-assurance. The accusation of being “uppity” was a tool of enforcement. It was a warning and a justification for punishment, a linguistic precursor to social ostracization, economic retaliation, or far, far worse. It was the mechanism for maintaining a caste system.

In the modern era, the explicit phrase is (mostly) taboo, but its spirit thrives in coded language. When a Black person in the public sphere is called “arrogant,” “cocky,” or “angry,” or when their achievements are dismissed as a product of “affirmative action” or mere nepotism, they are being subjected to the modern “uppity” accusation. The underlying message is unchanged: You are transgressing an unspoken social boundary.

A New Vanguard: The Unapologetic Reign of Reese and Sanders

Enter Angel Reese and Shedeur Sanders. Their rise has been rapid, dramatic, and steeped in a self-belief that refuses to be quiet.

During LSU’s 2023 national championship run, Angel Reese became a national lightning rod. After hitting a game-sealing shot, she famously trailed her opponent, pointing to her ring finger—a gesture signaling where her championship ring would go. The celebration was branded “classless” and “disrespectful” by many, while similar antics from white male athletes are often celebrated as “competitive fire.” Reese, a young Black woman, was not conforming to the passive, grateful archetype often demanded of her. She was, in the historical sense, refusing to perform subservience. She was owning her moment with a theatrical flair that said, “I belong here, and I will celebrate as I see fit.”

Shedeur Sanders’ confidence is of a different, but equally potent, strain. As the quarterback and son of Coach Deion Sanders, he operates with a preternatural calm and an unshakable belief in his own ability. He carries himself with the polish of a CEO, his demeanor often cool and unbothered even under extreme pressure. This is not the “grateful-to-be-here” athlete. This is an athlete who expects to win. When he led a last-second, game-winning drive against Colorado State, his post-game comment was not one of relief, but of expectation: “It’s just a regular operation, you know? We do it in practice all the time.” For critics, this isn’t seen as poise, but as arrogance. He is not waiting for permission to be great; he simply assumes it.

The Root of the Discomfort: A Challenge to the Racial Order

So why does this confidence cause such disconcerting feelings among many white Americans? The reasons are buried deep in the national psyche.

First, it is a direct challenge to white supremacy and entitlement. The ideology of white superiority depends on Black inferiority. An unapologetically confident, successful Black person who does not seek approval or defer to white sensibilities shatters this foundational myth. It challenges an unearned sense of entitlement to social deference.

Second, it creates profound cognitive dissonance. For generations, racist stereotypes have depicted Black people as lazy, ignorant, or simple. Figures like Reese and Sanders—articulate, strategic, and dominant—force a confrontation with these stereotypes. The easiest psychological escape from this dissonance is not to abandon the stereotype, but to pathologize the individual as an exception who is “getting above themselves.”

Finally, it represents the erosion of a controlled identity. The “uppity” Black athlete is the antithesis of the “good Negro”—the humble, non-threatening, and subservient figure who “knows his place.” By defining their own identities—Reese with her “Bayou Barbie” glamour and trash-talk, Sanders with his CEO cool—they refuse to be controlled by white expectations. This act of self-definition is, in itself, a radical and threatening act in a framework built on their subjugation.

A Playbook for the Next Generation

For young Black athletes who will inevitably find themselves navigating these same treacherous waters, the path forged by Reese and Sanders, though rocky, provides a crucial blueprint.

  1. Own Your Narrative. Do not let others define you. Angel Reese leaned into the “Bayou Barbie” persona, turning criticism into a brand of empowerment. Control your story on social media and in interviews.
  2. Let Your Work Ethic Be Your Shield. The most unassailable defense is undeniable excellence. The vitriol aimed at Shedeur Sanders often evaporates in the face of a perfectly thrown fourth-quarter touchdown. Performance can silence critics when logic and reason cannot.
  3. Find Your Community and Mentors. The weight of this scrutiny is immense and unfair. Building a support system of family, trusted coaches, and peers who understand the unique pressures of being a Black athlete in the public eye is non-negotiable for mental and emotional survival.
  4. Understand the History. Knowing that the backlash is not really about you, but about a deep-seated historical anxiety, can be a source of strength. You are not the problem; you are confronting a legacy of control that long predates you.

The visceral response to Angel Reese and Shedeur Sanders is not a simple story of sports rivalry or personal dislike. It is a modern manifestation of an ancient American anxiety. Their confidence is interpreted as a threat because it is one—a threat to a racial hierarchy that has, for centuries, demanded Black submission. They are not just playing games; they are, with every pointed finger and coolly delivered quote, expanding the boundaries of what a Black athlete is allowed to be. And in doing so, they are forcing America to confront the ghost in its stadium.