Sanders Has Dallas Buzzing -- Whether Prime Time Or Deion, Style Rules

DALLAS - Deion Sanders and Prime Time keep bouncing off of each other, like the doctor named Henry Jekyll does with Mr. Edward Hyde. Two personalities hang out in one body. Deion is the thoughtful family man, the avid fisherman, the teammate known for his work ethic. Prime Time is about sass and jewelry and limousines and, always, flash.

Sometimes, as with a foggy horizon, the line is obscured. Mystery attracts company if not money. Sybil kept them guessing, too.

Deion is the two-sport athlete, the only man to play in the Super Bowl and World Series. Prime Time is his hype-mongering marketing man. Deion intercepts passes. Alter ego Prime Time looks back and high-steps into the end zone.

Both wear sunglasses indoors.

Deion now makes $5 million a year playing football. Prime Time makes his millions out of the arena. One is private, one public. Deion rounded up some 35 Super Bowl tickets in January for friends and former coaches back home in Fort Myers, Fla. Prime Time cut a rap album early this year, featuring the single "Must Be The Money."

Deion homered and scored a touchdown in the same week. Prime Time hosted "Saturday Night Live." Prime Time likes nightclubs. Deion prefers the fishing pond and doting on his children, Deion Jr. and Deiondra. Prime Time travels with entourage. Deion is a mama's boy who wasn't close to his troubled, late father until the end.

Both just bought a home in suburban Plano, Texas, that was listed for $2.9 million, right around the corner from golfer Fred Couples.

Deion suited up for an NFL game and a baseball playoff game in the same day. Prime Time sells the commercials. Deion insists he's real. Prime Time wouldn't dare. One's rap is that he doesn't like to tackle. The other's rap passes for music.

Both like to wear boxer shorts picturing $100 bills.

Deion dislikes the nickname Neon. Prime Time lives for bright bulbs. Deion declined repeated requests from the Dallas Morning News for an extended interview, citing a desire to avoid being a distraction to his teammates. Prime Time shows up on network television and magazine covers. Deion is sensitive to criticism. Prime Time doesn't let on. So it must have been Deion who poured water on broadcaster Tim McCarver on national television.

Neither, of course, goes anywhere without the cellular phone.

You know the difference between WANT and NEED? For whatever reasons, Deion wants Prime Time as a persona. As for Prime Time, he needs Deion, or he doesn't exist.

Iguana Mirage nightclub, Thursday night in September: Deion Sanders, in town to mansion hunt, stopped in with fellow jewelry exhibit Michael Irvin.

"He was very quiet," said Chris Arnold, the radio-television personality who emcees Thursday parties at the club. "Very quiet. It was like he was taking it all in."

Iguana Mirage nightclub, Thursday night in October: Electricity jolts through the place for the announced party welcoming Deion "Prime Time" Sanders to Dallas. An overflow crowd of mostly women crams, shoulder to shoulder, into the 1,300-capacity club. An estimated 3,000 more, mostly women, wait outside at various times, lined up for blocks.

Police end up barricading the parking lot. News crews equipped with TV satellite trucks set up. Inside, Prime Time posters decorate walls and life-size Prime Time cutouts dot the room. Anticipation and energy build as if the heavyweight champion is en route to the ring or a rock star is arriving.

IS THAT HIM? IS HE HERE? WHEN'S HE COMING?

At 10:40 p.m., Prime Time, accompanied by an entourage of at least six, makes a movie star entrance. Dressed in purple jacket, black top hat and - this is redundant - dripping in jewelry, he heads for a roped-off VIP section. Music blares, the place rocks and Prime Time slow dances with wife Carolyn. And Arnold, mike in hand, lets everybody know what they already had figured: "Deion, in the house! Prime Time, welcome to Big D."

Emmitt Smith walks in at 10:50. An animated Prime Time grabs the mike at 11:05 and rap-talks with the crowd. At 11:10 he breaks into a rap song. Surrounded by his entourage, he mingles with the masses. A few ticks after midnight, he's up on center stage, as he had requested, singing three of his rap songs, including "Prime Time Keeps on Ticking," and gyrating through an aerobic workout fit for weight reduction.

"He was a whirlwind," Arnold said later, shaking his head. "People just wanted to see him with their own eyes. It was like Michael Jackson or something."

Teammates turn out to see it - Smith, Irvin, Leon Lett, Shante Carver, Kevin Williams, Ray Donaldson. Louis Burrell - MC Hammer's brother, president of Busted Records, the label for Prime Time's rap album - and rapper Eric B. accompany him, too. And Jamal Mashburn stops in for a look.

By 1:30 a.m., Prime Time still is in the party mood - though he drinks water, not alcohol - and lines of people still wait outside in hopes of getting a glimpse at the man who wants to be an entertainer and movie star when he's done with sports.

"I want to thank everybody for welcoming me to Dallas," Prime Time said into the microphone. "I'm so glad I decided to come to Dallas."