It began, as all great legends do, with an absurdly simple idea.
Two words, scribbled in the middle of the night by an ad man with a wry sense of humour: Bo Knows.
The year was 1989. Nike, fresh off its “Just Do It” revolution, had a new challenge. They had invented the cross-training shoe, but needed an icon — someone who could represent power, agility, and versatility across sports. And in Bo Jackson, they found their myth made flesh: an NFL running back who also hit towering home runs in Major League Baseball.
Bo wasn’t just an athlete. He was a phenomenon.
And that’s when Jim Riswold, the brilliant (and mischievous) copywriter at Wieden+Kennedy, had a spark. One evening, over drinks with Nike marketing head Tom Clarke, they joked about famous “Bos”: Bo Derek, Beau Brummell, Little Bo Peep… and then, Bo Diddley.
That name lingered. Riswold went home, thought about it, and dreamed the whole commercial. When he woke up, he had the punchline:
“Bo, you don’t know Diddley.”
The next morning, Riswold storyboarded a spot that would become the stuff of advertising legend.
It opened with Bo Jackson trying his hand at every sport imaginable — baseball, football, basketball, cycling, hockey, and running. Each time, a fellow superstar nodded:
“Bo knows baseball.”
“Bo knows football.”
“Bo knows basketball.”
And then came the twist. Bo Diddley, guitar in hand, strummed a riff, winced at Bo’s clumsy attempt to play along, and quipped:
“Bo, you don’t know Diddley.”
The concept was instantly approved. Joe Pytka, one of the era’s most famous directors, was brought on board. Filming took place across multiple states — from California to Kansas — to capture cameos from Michael Jordan, John McEnroe, Wayne Gretzky, Joan Benoit Samuelson, and others.
At one point, Jackson was asked to mimic skating in a Kansas gym, sliding around in socks because the crew feared he might hurt himself on actual ice. Ironically, when he accidentally ploughed into Pytka on set, the director ended up with a bloody nose.
The spot was as wild and unpredictable as its star.
Nike decided to debut the ad during the 1989 MLB All-Star Game. As fate would have it, Bo Jackson led off the game — and on the very first pitch, launched a monstrous home run into the stands.
The bar in Portland where Riswold and his colleagues watched fell silent. Then, the ad aired.
Bo smashed baseballs on screen, tackled opponents, dunked baskets — and finally, fumbled his way through Bo Diddley’s guitar solo.
Riswold turned to his friends and whispered:
“I think God is a Nike fan.”
That night, Bo won All-Star MVP. And “Bo Knows” became an instant cultural phenomenon.
“Bo Knows” wasn’t just a slogan — it became part of the American vocabulary.
From hip-hop lyrics (A Tribe Called Quest’s Scenario) to Saturday morning cartoons (ProStars), Bo’s legend spilt beyond sports. T-shirts read Bo Knows Your Mother. The New Yorker ran a parody titled “Bo Knows Fiction.” Sportswriters joked that Bo had delivered a baby girl — “Bo knows obstetrics.”
By the end of 1990, Nike’s cross-training line had exploded — growing from $40 million to $400 million in sales. “Bo Knows” helped Nike reclaim its crown from Reebok.
For a fleeting, golden moment, Bo Jackson was the most famous athlete on earth — even more recognisable than Michael Jordan.
But myths, like muscles, can only stretch so far.
In 1991, during an NFL playoff game against the Bengals, Bo broke away for one of his trademark runs — and never got up the same way again. His hip was dislocated, ending his football career and dimming the larger-than-life aura that Nike had helped shape.
As writer Dick Schaap later put it, “The gods of sport decided to punish Bo because he came too close to them.”
Even as Bo tried to return to baseball, the magic wasn’t the same. Riswold — ever self-aware — began creating ads that poked fun at the mythology itself. In one, Bo breaks the fourth wall mid-shoot and says, “I’m an athlete, not an actor.” It was a fitting end to a campaign that had blurred the line between man, myth, and marketing.
In just two words, “Bo Knows” captured the spirit of an era — bold, brash, and impossibly larger than life.
It proved that advertising could create not just sales, but cultural icons.
And it reminded the world that sometimes, the silliest midnight ideas — scribbled on a napkin after a bar conversation — can change everything.
As Jim Riswold later said, half in awe and half in disbelief:
“I’m always surprised by how big something as inconsequential as an ad can become. But Bo was something new — a shiny new toy. That was the best example of how big these things can get.”
“Bo Knows” wasn’t just a campaign. It was a modern American fable — about genius, chance, and the fleeting brilliance of a man who, for a while, seemed to know everything.
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