BY PAUL DAUGHERTY
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Deion Sanders walks back to the dugout after striking out Saturday. (Saed Hindash photo) | ZOOM |

PLANT CITY, Fla. - We've seen Deion Sanders score from first base on a single, so he could probably run from the Cincinnati Reds to the Dallas Cowboys in a few hours if he had to. He has scored from second on a groundball between home plate and the pitcher's mound. The run from baseball curiosity to baseball player shouldn't be so tough. You'd think.

''With his speed, on (artificial) turf, he could score 125 runs,'' Reds hitting coach Denis Menke said Saturday.

''You can't get him out if he hits the ball on the ground,'' said Reds manager Ray Knight.

So why are some of us so skeptical? Sanders listens to his coaches and works hard, two facets of his personality usually lost in all the Prime Time, look-at-me noise. The man dances, yes. But he has earned it.

He is also arguably the best cornerback ever to play in the NFL. For sure, he is the loneliest, now that opposing quarterbacks have decided to ignore him. If Deion played baseball the way he does football, every at-bat would be an intentional walk.

Does baseball suit him?

So why the skepticism?

It's not the layoff, or the broken bone in his eye, or even the notion he's never batted more than 303 times in a season. For someone of Sanders' skills, 303 at-bats is a lifetime.

It's this: Baseball is not a natural skill, unless you are Ken Griffey Jr. or Roy Hobbs. Ask Michael Jordan. Sanders is 29, late to be learning to hit like a leadoff man.

And this: Baseball is not Prime Time. Until October, it's not even prime time. Unlike the once-a-week footlights of the NFL, baseball is a six-month drudge. And I wonder if it suits Deion's temperament.

And this: He likes to pull the ball. Sanders is built like a football player. He likes to use that strength, but he's no power hitter. As a left-handed batter, he hits lots of fly balls to right field, traits as useful to a leadoff hitter as a good change-up.

In 494 big-league games, he has averaged a strikeout every six at-bats; he has more than twice as many whiffs as walks. In '95, his last full season, Sanders' on-base percentage was .327, i.e. mediocre.

The Reds are working on him, and it's a strange notion. Deion Sanders: Project.

He must produce now

Menke wants Deion to ''hit the top half of the ball.'' Meaning, grounders and line drives. Knight wants him to hit to the opposite field. ''Widening the field,'' Knight calls it. Everyone wants him to pay more attention to the strike zone and look at more pitches.

Sanders is taking it all in. He has his own thoughts. We figured he might. ''I'm not going to agree I'm a pull hitter,'' he says. ''You want to learn to hit the ball where it's pitched. You want me to hit the ball the other way. But you don't want to overemphasize that, because you'll lose your aggressiveness.''

Knight says, ''We want him to get on base any way he can, going as deep in the count as he can.''

Sanders says, ''You can do that. But why should I take a fastball right down the middle? You don't want to throw a lot of balls to me. You don't want to walk me. Waiting on pitches, fouling pitches off. That's not me.''

OK. Who is he? Potentially ''as good as any leadoff hitter in the game,'' as Knight suggests? Or the poor man's Bo Jackson, if there is such a thing.

This year, we find out. In the summer of 1997, baseball to Deion Sanders won't be a hype or a hobby or an excuse to resume commuting between sports via helicopter. If he's going to be a two-sport star, now's the time.

The Reds want Sanders to hype the gate, sure. They also want him to steal 50 bases and score 100 runs. If he can juggle several balls at once, that would be good, too.

Sanders is already better than Vince Coleman, last year's Opening Day centerfielder. Of course, Cesar Geronimo is better than Coleman. Right now.

Call Paul Daugherty at 768-8454.

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