Deacon Jones was the most colorful and one of the most
dangerous NFL players to ever take the field. To say he redefined the defensive
end position was an understatement. He was a powerful man and a humorous
entertainer. His death this week has ripped a hole in the fabric of the
football world.
When Deacon
entered a room, the room was his. He was the most vocal member of the Fearsome
Foursome. Merlin Olsen was a quiet, gentle man, Rosey Grier was a humble,
peaceful man. Lamar Lundy was humble, peaceful and quiet. Deacon, who nicknamed
himself after the Rams drafted him, was neither quiet nor humble.
But he had
the right to brag.
When Tony
Cordasco of Red Bull and I helped promote his Living Legends of Sport roast in
May 1998, taped for broadcast on ESPN from the Orleans Hotel and Casino in Las
Vegas, we had the honor of sitting in a suite with the Fearsome Foursome for
hours. The room held just the six of us, and we watched them sign autograph
after autograph meticulously and with pride. They truly loved one another and
cared about each others physical health long after they retired. We sat and listened to the four of them tell
story after story. Olsen was the statesman, Rosey the reverent one and Lundy
the personable one. Deacon was constant generator of passion and fire. His
motor never stopped after he played. Even then he couldn't sit still for long
and dodged in and out of the suite.
Cordasco
and I also hired Deacon to be the guest star at our 1996 Super Bowl Party at
Vegas' famed Drink, And Eat Too club owned by the Morton's near the Hard Rock
Hotel and Casino. We picked him up at the airport for the Steelers-Cowboys game
and he earned every penny we paid him with stories and antics for all who came.
He also had the right side that day when Neil O'Donnel threw two big
second-half interceptions that won Deacon a boatload of cash. His winning made
the day more special, more vibrant. He was a winner in life and a winner of
respect from his peers.
Jones told
outrageous stories, and if they were unembellished, they reflected his life in
a way no biography could match. He didn't need a large audience; the breakfast
table provided enough of one. Everywhere he went, Deacon was an imposing
figure.
The creation
of the headslap was his idea and the NFL banned it due to its devastating
impact upon an offensive lineman's head.
One of his
favorite tales was about the headslap. Some crazy fool asked Deacon to
demonstrate it for him. Deacon told him how he got an offensive lineman to lean
one way with his way and then come across with a forearm slap to the side of
his head. When Jones did that in a
game, he would often break or crack an old helmet made in the 1960s. But the
verbal description wasn't enough for this guy. He wanted Deacon to show him
more. Deacon said "go get on a helmet and I'll show you what it felt
like." The guy said he didn't have a helmet and he wanted the full impact.
Deacon obliged him.
Jones was
the motivational and spiritual leader of the Rams' Fearsome Foursome from
1961-71. He also played for San Diego for two seasons before finishing his
career with the Redskins in 1974. George Allen call him the best defensive end
ever. No one argued with Allen. Jones was inducted into the Pro Football Hall
of Fame in 1980 and made the league's 75th anniversary all-time squad. He
provided the entertainment for football fans during Miller Lite commercials
after he left the game and inspired troops overseas. He also used his Deacon
Jones Foundation to raise money for poor inner-city kids.
Olsen died
in March 2010 at age 69 and Lundy died in February 2007 at 71. Grier, who is
80, is the only surviving member of the Fearsome Foursome.
The Rams'
stats show Jones with 159.5 sacks for them and 173½ for his career -- all
unofficial because the sack was not a recognized league stat back then. Jones
also was one of the most durable players, missing just five games in 14
seasons.
Now the NFL
has created an award in his honor, going to the player with the most sacks each
season. Well deserved.
The
outpouring of affection and respect after his death was moving. His impact and
his stories live on.
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