The modern NFL quarterback isn’t just calling plays; they’re commanding headlines, shaping narratives, and redefining what it means to lead a franchise. Two names exemplify this evolution: Caleb Williams and Shedeur Sanders. These aren’t your traditional pocket passers quietly studying film; they’re superstars who arrived in the league with Instagram followers, media entourages, and the kind of cultural cachet that once took veteran quarterbacks years to build.
Let’s roll the clock back to February 28th. “If you ain’t trying to change the franchise or the culture, don’t get me,” Shedeur Sanders declared at the NFL Combine press conference. Here was a college quarterback boldly demanding that franchises either embrace his transformative vision or pass entirely. It was the kind of statement that blurred traditional boundaries – part football evaluation, part brand positioning. Unfortunately for Sanders, NFL decision-makers took him at his word, creating what some called a stunning show of solidarity, others labeled “collusion.”
The son of legendary cornerback ‘Prime Time’ Deion Sanders entered Draft Day 2025 as the ultimate wild card. Projections scattered him everywhere from first overall to the late twenties, but no one predicted his dramatic slide to the fifth round, 144th overall, where the Cleveland Browns made him their second quarterback selection. The numbers supported a higher pick – Sanders was the Big 12 Offensive Player of the Year with a record-setting 71.8% career completion rate. But NFL teams weren’t just evaluating arm talent; they were weighing the celebrity package that came with it.
This scenario feels eerily familiar when we rewind to Caleb Williams‘ rookie season. The Chicago Bears‘ first-overall pick in 2024 embodied the same superstar-quarterback hybrid, complete with painted nails, fashion statements, and social media savvy that made him as much brand as player. On October 27th, 2024, Williams stood 23 seconds away from a 5-2 record that would have silenced early critics. Instead, Jayden Daniels launched a 52-yard Hail Mary that found Noah Brown‘s hands via deflection, dropping Williams to 4-3 and shifting the narrative entirely.
That single play became a defining moment in contrasting quarterback philosophies. Daniels, the more understated second-overall pick, guided his Commanders to an NFC Championship appearance and claimed Offensive Rookie of the Year honors. Meanwhile, Williams found himself trapped in a web of “what-ifs” as the Bears stumbled to 4-12, his superstar persona becoming both asset and liability under Chicago’s intense spotlight.
The ripple effects reached NFL front offices everywhere: substance over noise became the new evaluation criteria, or more precisely, substance minus the noise over substance accompanied by the noise. Teams began questioning whether the media glare and fan expectations surrounding celebrity quarterbacks might hinder development, making quieter talents like Daniels more appealing than flashier prospects who arrive with built-in circus atmospheres. Is that why Sanders slid in the draft round?
So, what makes a superstar? Well, one look at the image above answers that question for Shedeur Sanders. But what makes Caleb Williams more of one than Jayden Daniels? Well, to answer that, let’s roll the clock back again, one last time, to remember a College Football icon: Johnny Manziel, the first freshman Heisman winner.
The prelude and the rise of the college football superstar
Drafted by the Browns (in round one), Manziel’s football career was short-lived due to off-field controversies and lifestyle choices. Among those, an autographs-for-money scheme while in college that made him around $30,000 and landed him in trouble with the NCAA. Well, as much trouble as a half-game suspension can be. But there’s a certain irony here. If he were to be playing this year, or any year since 2021, he would not need to do the autographs. He would be making millions of dollars for his NIL rights.
Let’s stick to Johny Football’s story for just a bit longer. After all, when it comes to celebrity college quarterbacks, he certainly deserves a seat at the table. 12 Nov 2012 is etched in college football lore. The day humble Texas A&M pulled off a shocking upset over Nick Saban’s Alabama on the hallowed turf of the Crimson Tide. For a military school that had just made the jump to the SEC, it brought more than just glory. It brought in the cash. Donations doubled to around $740M in under a year, bringing a windfall for the head coach and funding a raft of facilities upgrades for the university. But for Manziel?
Well, a first-round selection by the Browns was on the cards. About $8 million in NFL earnings, approximately another $10M in endorsements, and, of late, a Netflix documentary. Well, this is where we leave him behind and catch another train of thought. Those are the kinds of figures that some athletes are making in college football nowadays.
Consider, for example, the Duke Blue Devils’ QB, Darian Mensah, who, according to CBS Sports’ John Talty and Chris Hummer, received an NIL package of $8M over two years last December. Or Bryce Underwood, or Arch Manning, who have reportedly received a four-year $12M package and a ~$6.5M AAV package, at Michigan and Texas, respectively. All while Super Bowl runner-up Brock Purdy was earning around $1M a year as a starting QB in the NFL. This oddity is part of a rising trend.
The 2021 U.S. Supreme Court ruling that granted college athletes the right to profit from their name, image, and likeness (NIL) didn’t just shift policy—it rewrote the economics of college sports. Suddenly, money that once flowed exclusively into athletic departments began funneling directly to players. In its wake, universities found themselves navigating a new reality—one where athletes could openly market themselves and field offers, forcing programs to rethink how they attract talent and stay financially competitive.
Nowhere was the new power dynamic more obvious than at Colorado—and no player embodied it more than Travis Hunter. A two-way phenom, Hunter followed Deion from Jackson State to Boulder and turned into a two-way phenom driven by sheer willpower. In a single game vs. TCU, he played 129 snaps, grabbed an interception, and caught 11 passes for 119 yards. He wasn’t just a top college player—he was the show. And the acknowledgements rolled in. He became the first player to win the Chuck Bednarik Award (best defensive player) and the Fred Biletnikoff Award (best receiver) in the same year, to accompany a Heisman.
Sources estimate Hunter’s college NIL earnings exceeded $3M, boosted by deals with Celsius, American Eagle, and more. But the real value? His presence helped Colorado land over $28M in donations in one offseason and made them the most-streamed team in college football in 2023. His play drove institutional windfalls. That aura carried over to the NFL. In a statement move, the Jacksonville Jaguars traded up to the No. 2 overall pick in 2025 just to select him, making him the highest-drafted two-way player in NFL history. And while the front office initially sounded averse to letting him play on both sides of the ball in the Pros, he is now getting plenty of reps on either side of the scrimmage line.
Hunter, like Shedeur and Caleb, didn’t just elevate his profile—he redefined what a player could demand. And that shift was built on money and talent. With the NIL ruling, the power balance began to tilt a little more in favor of the players, and away from universities. Now, that effect is spilling over to the NFL.
Shedeur Sanders and Caleb Williams lead college athletes, tilting the NFL’s power balance
Consider, for example, something historic that happened in the NFL this year. Fully guaranteed second-round contracts. The Houston Texans went first, handing No. 34 pick, Jayden Higgins, a fully guaranteed contract two weeks after the draft. This virtually forced the Browns to do the same with the No. 33 pick, Carson Schwesinger. Fair play to those franchises. But what was truly interesting was what followed.
Every other second-round pick set their expectations for the same treatment, even holding out on inking contracts in unison until mere days before the start of training camp. Seven of the top eight second-rounders got fully guaranteed contracts, including No. 40 pick, Tyler Shough, who got an additional $3.3M guaranteed from the Saints. Meanwhile, over in Cincinnati, 17th overall pick Shemar Stewart employed similar tactics to squeeze guarantees out of the Bengals, a franchise that is still playing hardball over a few million dollars and contract length with a cornerstone like Trey Hendrickson. In short, crop after crop of college football graduates is pushing that needle further in the direction of player power.
And here, we return to our protagonists. Shedeur Sanders, whose jersey now hangs in the rafters at Colorado, and Caleb Williams, the Heisman winner and first overall pick. Their college trajectories reveal a mirror of today’s football economies.
Shedeur’s story started in a different spotlight—one cast by his father. Deion Sanders coached him at Jackson State, an HBCU, where Shedeur immediately shattered expectations. In 2021, he threw for 3,231 yards and 30 TDs, earning the Jerry Rice Award for top FCS freshman. In 2022, he elevated his play even more—3,732 yards, 40 TDs, and led the Tigers to a SWAC title.
Then came the move. Following Deion to Colorado, Shedeur jumped from FCS to Power Five—an uncommon leap. But he silenced critics early. In his first FBS game, he torched TCU for a school-record 510 passing yards, then followed it with wins over Nebraska and Colorado State. The Buffaloes cooled off, but Shedeur didn’t. He finished his college career with 7,364 yards, 64 touchdowns, and 13 interceptions in his two years at Colorado, making 651-of-907 passes at an eye-popping 71.8% completion rate, the best ever for an FBS career.
Off the field, Shedeur’s marketability skyrocketed. His reported $4.8M NIL valuation was courtesy of brand deals from Mercedes-Benz, Gatorade, and Topps. But with it came criticism—some scouts questioned whether he saw himself more as a celebrity than a teammate. His public persona, flashy cars, and confident (some say brash) interviews set him apart. But few questioned his production. Then came the NFL Draft.
At this point, we’re all aware of the Browns’ QB conundrum, complicated by the presence of 4 rather distinct quarterbacks with no established pecking order. But despite the presence of veteran Joe Flacco, former first-round pick Kenny Pickett, and picked ahead of Shedeur, Dillon Gabriel, it’s Sanders who’s grabbing the most headlines. And those headlines are both a symptom and a cause, impacting the NFL charts in other ways. Shedeur Sanders’ jersey recently ranked 14th on NFL Shop’s top-selling items, supposedly netting him around $14M before taking a single NFL snap.
Despite everything, one can argue that the Browns have handled the situation adequately so far. They have done well to leave a path open for him, just as for any of the others, to be QB1. They have also worked on his image, with some effective PR, such as high school visits, without letting the narrative get out of control. But the real challenge begins once they take the field.
What if the think tank decides to go with Flacco or Pickett as their Week 1 starter, and they struggle in their initial two or three games? Imagine the clamor not just on social media but also in the stadium, half decked out in Shedeur jerseys. Kevin Stefanski will have to balance the pressure of demands for their favorite to be given the job with what he sees in practice and thinks is best for his playbook.
But that’s a hypothetical scenario. Let’s look at some cold, hard facts, reflecting on Caleb Williams, who has already lived a version of it.
Caleb Williams wasn’t just a five-star recruit—he was the No. 1 dual-threat quarterback in the nation in 2020, and the expectation was clear: future face of college football. He began at Oklahoma, sitting behind Spencer Rattler until Lincoln Riley made the midseason switch in 2021. From the moment Caleb entered the Red River Rivalry and erased a 21-point deficit against Texas, the legend began. He posted 27 touchdowns to just 4 interceptions in 11 games as a true freshman.
Then came the power move: when Riley left for USC, Caleb followed, flipping the transfer portal into a talent pipeline for elite QBs. At USC, he exploded. In 2022, Williams threw for over 4,500 yards, 42 touchdowns, and won the Heisman Trophy. More than that, he embraced the Hollywood persona—painted nails, designer fits, and a swagger that attracted both brands and criticism.
But even as his brand ballooned—Caleb was reportedly pulling in $8–10 million in NIL earnings, top among all athletes—his on-field results started to slide. USC’s porous defense contributed to back-to-back late-season collapses in 2022 and 2023. Still, his output stayed elite: 30+ TDs in each season, career 66.9% completion rate, and just 14 INTs across three years. Williams wasn’t just a top prospect—he was a business entity, even attempting to restructure his rookie contract as an LLC to treat himself as a brand rather than an employee.
On the field, Caleb Williams’ offense struggled with Matt Eberflus as the head coach. The Bears took note. Now, Eberflus is gone, and DC at the Cowboys. Replaced by former Lions OC, Ben Johnson. Then they spent their 2025 offseason making it clear: this is Caleb Williams’ team. They drafted pass-catchers Colston Loveland and Luther Burden III to give him more weapons, while upgrading the offensive line with Joe Thuney, Jonah Jackson, and Drew Dalman. The goal? Protect their franchise QB and unleash Ben Johnson’s offense. That raises a question: what if the franchise bet fails, a la Deshaun Watson?
Still, the approach isn’t exactly out of left field for a franchise that saw its QB set the all-time rookie record for most consecutive passes thrown without an INT (326, nine straight games). But then again, did we point you to the ten straight losses contributing to that 5-12 record? Those included a 19-3 loss to New England and a 6-3 yawnfest against the Seahawks. That stretch of 326 passes, like most of the rest of the season, saw Caleb draw criticism for playing it overly safe. Perhaps even prioritizing his stats over the team’s needs. Especially once the season started to slip from their hands. Whether you agree or disagree, there’s no denying that the media glare played its part.
This is something that Shedeur will have to contend with, too. For all the pressure that his celebrity status puts on the decision makers at franchises, the flip side of the coin is that pressure reflecting on himself.
For good or bad, the NIL influence is here to stay
What Shedeur Sanders and Caleb Williams represent isn’t just a blip—it’s a blueprint. The next wave of NFL quarterbacks will arrive not as blank slates, but as prepackaged icons, complete with million-dollar valuation sheets, national ad campaigns, and curated social media personas. These players aren’t just stepping into a locker room—they’re stepping into boardrooms. And that shift cuts both ways.
On one hand, it’s empowerment at a scale college athletes have never known. They’re no longer beholden to booster whims or academic limitations. They can choose programs that invest in their brand, walk into NFL meetings with leverage, and command contracts that reflect their celebrity, not just their stats. But there’s a cost.
The line between confidence and entitlement, marketing and distraction, can blur fast. Shedeur’s recent off-field headlines—luxury cars, cryptic social posts, skipped press obligations—echo the cautionary tales of players who struggled to separate persona from production. For every Caleb building an LLC around himself, there’s a Manziel memory lingering in the league’s subconscious.
The NFL, for its part, is already adjusting. Rookie contracts are starting to reflect branding clout as much as draft position. Teams are hiring PR strategists and NIL consultants alongside scouts. Coaching staffs are learning how to manage egos before they manage schemes.
So yes, Caleb and Shedeur may be outliers now. But soon, they’ll be the standard. The 2021 NIL ruling didn’t just change college football—it planted the seeds for a new NFL, one where “quarterback” might no longer be the most important word on the jersey. “Superstar” might be.
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