Opinion: Shedeur Sanders’ Draft Slide Exposed the Danger of Nepo-Celebrity Fandom

Shedeur Sanders’ high-profile fall to the fifth round of the 2025 NFL Draft wasn’t just a football story. It became a cultural flashpoint—especially online, where a vocal subset of his fan base, often dubbed the “Auntie Squad,” turned a day of disappointment into a referendum on race, respect, and recognition.

These fans, many of whom found their way to Colorado football through the larger-than-life persona of Coach Deion Sanders, have remained fiercely loyal to Shedeur. But loyalty without context—or football literacy—can become something else entirely: a distraction, and sometimes, a distortion of truth.

On draft night, as quarterback after quarterback came off the board before Sanders, a storm of social media outrage erupted. Accusations of racism flew, despite the draft being filled with Black first-rounders and a league where Black quarterbacks are more prominent than ever. Suddenly, Shedeur’s slide wasn’t about inconsistent tape, injury concerns, or fit—it was framed as systemic injustice.

It’s not that racism doesn’t exist in sports. It does. But when it’s used as the default explanation for every setback involving a popular Black athlete, we risk diluting the gravity of real, provable discrimination. And in this case, it became a smokescreen for harder conversations—about nepotism, entitlement, and accountability.

Let’s be honest: Shedeur Sanders didn’t fall because of his skin color. He fell because teams had legitimate questions about his decision-making under pressure, his tendency to hold onto the ball too long, and how much of his success was scheme-driven. Fair or not, the name on the back of his jersey—Sanders—invited both inflated expectations and inflated scrutiny.

The “Auntie Squad,” many of whom aren’t lifelong football fans but supporters of Coach Prime and his family, turned Colorado games into social media events and fashion runways. That enthusiasm was contagious—but it often came without a grounding in the game itself. When Shedeur played well, it was gospel. When he didn’t, the critics were labeled haters, or worse, racists.

But this isn’t just about Shedeur. It’s about a growing trend in the Black community: a deep, sometimes blind, loyalty to familiar faces, particularly children of celebrities. There’s a collective pride in watching someone “make it”—even if they started with advantages most never dream of. We cheer their wins as our own, even when the road was paved smoother than average.

But at some point, admiration must be separated from merit. When Black fans rush to defend a son of a Hall of Famer as a victim of a rigged system, while thousands of truly overlooked Black athletes go undrafted and unheard, we have to ask: What are we really doing?

Sanders may yet prove every team wrong. His talent is real, and his confidence never wavers. But his story also needs to serve as a reminder: fandom is fine—but accountability, humility, and honest evaluation matter more.

Root for Shedeur, sure. But root for a truly equal playing field even harder.