ESPNMAG.com - Don't pity the fool

So, the question is whether Deion Sanders will enter the Hall of Fame as a Falcon, a 49er, a Cowboy, a Redskin, or a martyr.

He's put out the word that the Redskins forced him to retire by hiring Marty Schottenheimer. That Marty was actually going to make him huddle up. That Ray Rhodes never used to make him huddle up. That Marty never should've run Rhodes out of town. That Marty should've called and asked Deion's opinion about that. That Marty should've shown some damn respect. That he couldn't trust Marty or Marty's brother or Marty's son, or any other Schottenheimer who is soon to be on the Redskins staff.

So that's it.

That's why he quit, according to sources close to Deion. He also didn't like the Redskins fans who booed him last year. He didn't think he played to his usual standards last year. And he didn't want to be just an ordinary cornerback.

But hell if he was going to give back his $8 million signing bonus! And the best way to keep that in the bank was to send his retirement letter to 280 Park Avenue and be on his way.

So that's it, that's the end -- and you can feel sorry for Deion if you want to, but I'm not buying it.

He leaves a legacy, all right, and I'll list a little of it right here:

Greatest selfish player of all time

Best-bandannaed player of all time

Killed wide receivers and salary caps

Go ask any of the four teams he played for, and see if he'll get into their "Ring of Fame" or "Ring of Honor" or whatever. Maybe in Dallas, because Jerry Jones can use the PR -- but basically, Deion either talked himself out of town (Atlanta) or priced himself out of town (San Francisco). He ripped the coach in one town (Dallas), and then ripped the coach in another (D.C.).

Not to say he wasn't downright brilliant. Because he was.

He was the closest a defensive player's ever been to Gale Sayers. Watch the Sanders highlight reel, from Florida State and beyond, and you'll want to hit the rewind button over and over again. Hammer tried to teach him to dance, and George Seifert tried to teach him to tackle -- even if they couldn't accomplish either, Deion Sanders still took away half the football field.

In the end, he got by on reputation, scoring one of his final touchdowns (on a punt return for the Cowboys against the Redskins) thanks only to a blatant clip that was never called. He holds the NFL record with 18 touchdowns on returns (fumbles, kickoffs, punts and interceptions) at the tender age of 33 -- and you can feel nostalgic about Deion if you want to, but I'm not buying it.

He seemed to care about three people and three people only: he, himself, and him.

When he waved at the punters, doing a Michael Jackson moonwalk as he waited for their kicks, it reeked of self-promotion. When he dumped water on Tim McCarver, either it was funny or he looked like a vindictive fool. When he claimed the Georgia Dome was "my house, and will always be my house," either it was funny, or he looked like a vindictive fool.

When he found God -- and I hope it was legit -- we had a hard time believing him, had a hard time buying that tender preacher voice he'd use, and the "I love Jesus" bandanna he'd wear.

It was the boy-who-cried-wolf syndrome that hurt him. He'd said or done so many outrageous things (the helicopter ride to the World Series, the fight with Andre Rison) that the Billy Graham routine was hard to fathom.

Even so, we probably let him off the hook because he could talk a good game, and play one too, particularly on Monday nights. There'd be 80 players on the field, and for some reason, we always stared at him -- probably because he made us stare at him.

But last year, his one year in Washington, exposed him -- in the worst way. It started when Detroit's Johnnie Morton lit him up in the Silverdome, and teams started bombarding him instead of the other corner, Champ Bailey.

And the Washington fans booed -- probably because he'd scored on them as a Falcon, and scored on them as a Cowboy, but never once scored for them. He had a 57-yard punt return against Tampa Bay in overtime to set up a win, but not once in 2000 did he dance in a Washington end zone. And they let him hear about it every time he went back to return a punt, pointed to himself and to the sky ... and then fumbled.

There's only one thing worse than a braggart -- a braggart who can't play.

So that's what happened to Deion -- mediocrity. Or, at least that's where he was headed. He could always play these teams for the fool -- the Falcons, the Niners, the Cowboys, and the Redskins -- but when the skills began to erode, the fool wore No. 21.

Remember him for the touchdowns, but also remember him for his exit: egregious.

Tom Friend is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tom.friend@espnmag.com.