The former football and baseball player Deion Sanders is blessed with a charm that leaks through the armor of his arrogance. Back in the early 1990s, when he was proving himself one of the greatest athletes in living memory, playing cornerback for the Atlanta Falcons and outfield for the Braves, Mr. Sanders responded to the critical comments of the baseball announcer Tim McCarver by dousing him with ice water. Still, the athlete’s status as a dazzler, a fun lover, a guy with whom you’d love to share a Coors Light or six, suffered no lasting fracture.
When the cameras show up, Mr. Sanders knows how to beguile. Seeing him on his new reality series, “Deion & Pilar: Prime Time Love,” (which begins Tuesday on the Oxygen channel), traveling through his mansion on a motorized scooter, like an 82-year-old navigating O’Hare, seems only to confirm his particularly entitled brand of genius.
“Prime Time Love” is the latest in a long list of reality shows that tries to tap into the wifely grievances of women across the class spectrum who can’t stop shaking their heads in disbelief at their husbands’ domestic inadequacies. It is a short distance from an Erma Bombeck column to something like “Snoop Dogg’s Father Hood,” which showcases the rapper’s suburban lollygagging and spousal disobedience.
Living on a hundred plus acres in the suitably named Prosper, Tex., Mr. Sanders and his wife, Pilar, a former model-actress, argue about chores and child rearing. In him you are meant to see your own lovable lug, but the conceit is a total canard. While your husband may not be able to tell the difference between a box of Cascade and a box of cake flour, he also hasn’t put you up in a 40,000-square-foot house with a video arcade and a marital bed that looks like a large pie.
Read more: The New York Times