The roar starts low—a rumble beneath the concrete bones of Ford Field. It’s not for a touchdown, not for a sack. It builds during a timeout. A man in a gold jacket emerges near the Detroit Lions’ sideline. Suddenly, 65,000 voices crash like a wave: “BAR-RY! BAR-RY!” Decades removed from his last carry, Barry Sanders still stops the show. It’s a ritual Detroit knows by heart. And the Lions’ wide receiver Amon-Ra St. Brown, who also channels the same energy as Sanders, is not unfamiliar with the legendary running back’s aura.

Remember how, despite having a remarkable rookie season, St. Brown gave all the credit to his teammates and coach. “It’s a credit to my teammates, credit to the coaches, and to the people around me. Without them, I couldn’t have done what I’ve done this year,” St. Brown had said at the time. So, when Amon-Ra recently sat down for a podcast with his brother Equanimeous St. Brown and Ashton Jeanty, it wasn’t surprising that the conversation quickly turned to the Lions’ legend.

On the latest episode of the St. Brown Brothers podcast, Amon-Ra St. Brown tried to bottle that magic for his guest, Ashton Jeanty, the Boise State phenom-turned-Las Vegas Raiders rookie. The conversation pivoted to pure reverence. Amon-Ra asked, “Who’s your gold running back? Is it Barry?” Jeanty didn’t hesitate: “Barry?”

For Equanimeous St. Brown, Barry’s greatness transcends live action. It’s etched in grainy footage that defies logic: “Never seen a game but I’ve seen his highlight film—” Amon-Ra cut in, pinpointing the absurdity: “—he’s doing jukes in, like, tennis shoes.”

Equanimeous landed the perfect description: “It’s like a high-school film in the NFL.” Their awe isn’t hyperbole. Sanders’ numbers scream his greatness: 15,269 rushing yards on a staggering 5.0 YPC, 10 straight 1K seasons, and that 1997 MVP year where he ripped off 2,053 yards and 14 consecutive 100-yard games—an NFL record.

It’s no wonder that CBS ranked Sanders’ 1997 season as the best ever running back. The Lions’ legend bested the likes of some all-time great backs, including Eric Dickerson, Terrell Davis, O.J. Simpson, Jim Brown, LaDainian Tomlinson, Walter Payton, and Adrian Peterson. His abrupt retirement at 31, just shy of Walter Payton’s record, cemented his mystique—greatness preserved in amber. To honor Sanders, the Lions unveiled an eight-foot bronze statue of Barry Sanders outside Ford Field on September 16, 2023.

No wonder why Ashton Jeanty, who is also a running back in Las Vegas, was a fanboy when talking about his NFL idol during the podcast with St Brown brothers.

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Amon-Ra affirmed, the weight of history in his tone: “He’s really golden, bro.” Ashton Jeanty knows that legacy intimately. Last fall, as he chased Barry’s iconic 1988 NCAA single-season rushing record (2,628 yards) at Boise State, the Lion himself tweeted support:

“Got my popcorn ready @AshtonJeanty2 – Good Luck!” and later, “Records are made to be broken & I am rooting for you.” Jeanty finished agonizingly close (2,601 yards), earning Barry’s public praise: “Congrats… I will be watching for you in the @NFL.” It was a torch-passing moment as pure as a Sanders cutback.

The younger St. Brown painted the scene only Detroit understands: “Like, at the games? … When there’s a timeout, they’ll bring him out. And he’ll be standing there, and bro, the stands just go crazy. I’m like, ‘damn.'” Hoots ablaze, stadiums abraze. How does Barry compare to the other running back legends?

Close to Perfection, Jeanty nodded, the truth undeniable: “He’s still that guy.” Amon-Ra concluded, the simplicity speaking volumes: “He’s a legend, bro.” For Amon-Ra (coming off back-to-back All-Pro seasons: ’23: 119 REC, 1,515 YDS, 10 TD; ’24: 115 REC, 1,263 YDS, 12 TD), Barry Sanders embodies the soul of the Lions—a humble superstar whose ghost still electrifies the building. Jeanty, the Raiders’ new engine (1st round, 6th overall), arrives in the league already understanding the weight of that gold jacket.

And seeing Sanders on the sideline isn’t just nostalgia. It’s a live wire connecting past, present, and future. It’s a reminder that true greatness isn’t just stats on a sheet—it’s the ability, decades later, to make hardened pros and wide-eyed rookies alike whisper in unison: “He made NFL look like high school.” And in those moments, Ford Field isn’t just a stadium; it’s a shrine to the golden ghost who redefined impossible. As the trio agreed in discombulation, “It’s crazy, bro.” “It’s insane.” “Ridiculous.” It surely is, all three of those and more.