Glenn Clark: Jacoby Jones Represented A Great Marriage Between Player, Franchise And City

It’s easy to forget that Jacoby Jones’ story in Baltimore began, well, in Baltimore. But wearing another jersey altogether.

In January 2012, Jones muffed a punt in the first quarter of the Texans’ divisional round playoff loss to the Ravens. The Texans were leading 3-0 at the time. Jimmy Smith recovered the ball inside the Texans’ 5-yard line. Three plays later, the Ravens took the lead and never relinquished it. Jones actually muffed another punt later in that quarter but recovered it himself.

That was the end of the road for Jacoby Jones in Houston. Fans blamed him for the loss. He received death threats and had his house egged, he would tell me years later. After the Texans selected a pair of receivers (DeVier Posey and Keshawn Martin) in the 2012 NFL Draft, they chose to part ways with Jones.

I’ve thought about a lot of things in the hours since learning of Jones’ unfathomable death at the age of 40. I had the pleasure of getting to know Jacoby pretty well in the past 12 years. Just days after he first signed in Baltimore, he did his first of what would prove to be God knows how many appearances on one of my shows. He was very open about his reputation for hands troubles, telling me he was spending hours a day that offseason working with a JUGS machine.

It was obvious from the first time we talked that Jones was a special person. He had a presence about him. Admittedly, there were times you couldn’t fully understand what he was saying because of the thick Louisiana drawl. But even if you didn’t understand every single word, the passion and enthusiasm he said it with conveyed the message. He was uproariously funny but he was also purposeful. (I can hear the distinct way he would say “nope” in my head.)

He was a regular on my show during the 2012 season. We texted about the Choppa City Juke and he tried, quite earnestly, to teach it to me. When I asked him about doing an event he would rapidly say yes. And he was a magnanimous presence. He could make anyone’s day.

After a Super Bowl run and a turn on “Dancing with the Stars,” he became a legitimate celebrity. He caused a near riot when we brought him out to be Jameel McClain’s guest at a radio show in Abingdon during the 2013 season. We made the event a coat drive to benefit Baltimore’s Helping Up Mission. When strangers in Harford County got word that Jacoby Jones was there, they asked (on a particularly cold night) if they could simply take the jacket off their own back in order to have the chance to meet him.

We collected more coats than we had space to haul them back in our cars to the radio station. Jacoby stayed so long that night that I had to physically remove him from the establishment. Seriously. The chain restaurant was overwhelmed and it had become a security issue. I told him these things. He still didn’t want to leave.

Which is part of what makes this so painful for all of us. One of the worst feelings I’ve had is the obvious reminder that after we lost the greatest personality on the Super Bowl XXXV team (Tony Siragusa), we’ve now tragically lost the greatest personality of the Super Bowl XLVII team. Jacoby was the definition of a “man of the people.” He was a viable celebrity yet he would go out to local watering holes and just hang out with fans.

Well, he’d hang out with friends. Jacoby was the type (you likely know a few of these people) who simply didn’t have acquaintances. If he knew you, you were his friend. He’d tell you he loved you. If it isn’t you, you don’t have to dive far into your social media timeline to find someone posting a picture from a casual night out with Jacoby in the Baltimore area.

He and I had some disagreements, particularly when the team struggled in 2013. He was exhausted during a media blitz at Super Bowl XLVIII in New York in 2014 but saw that his former Texans teammate Chris Ogbonnaya was sitting at my table on “Radio Row” and decided to crash the interview. It took him all of one question that he didn’t like for him to stand up, slam his headphones down and storm off the set.

I saw him later in the week and asked, “What the hell was that?” He said something to the extent of, “I dunno bro, we’re good I just wasn’t feeling it. I’ll come on again next week.”

He always did. And he continued to into retirement. He famously requested that I didn’t have him on my radio shows anymore and instead chose to make his appearances on Glenn Clark Radio because he could be free from FCC regulations. His appearances were delightful and delightfully NSFW.

He returned to Baltimore. He took coaching jobs at Calvert Hall and Morgan State. These weren’t well-paying jobs, but to Jacoby they were a chance to make an impact.

The last time I saw Jacoby was in April, the morning after the annual Ed Block Courage Awards. I attended the event’s annual Sponsor’s Breakfast then tried to leave around 10:30 to get ready for my radio show on 105.7 The Fan. Walking out of the Renaissance, I bumped into Jacoby. After a hug, I told him I couldn’t chat because I needed to get to the studio. He wasn’t having it. “You’re gonna sit down and talk to me. We don’t get to see each other enough.” So I did. I asked him why he continued to take coaching jobs that weren’t paying him more than he could make doing autograph signings and appearances. He became genuinely emotional during his response.

“Glenn, you know me. I didn’t have anything when I was a kid. And these kids don’t have anything either. I just want to do anything I can for them to give them a chance.”

We continued to talk vulnerably as men for a bit. Then when his former teammate Bryan Hall and my radio partner Reeta Hubbard walked into the room, Jacoby snapped back into “full-on entertainer” mode. He sang songs and mugged for pictures. It was the full Jacoby Jones experience.

And oh yeah, he did something in Denver once.

I purposely wrote 1,000 words about Jacoby Jones here before mentioning the “Mile High Miracle.” I did that because it is terribly important to me that Jones’ life and impact in Baltimore aren’t trivialized by “the guy who made that catch.” It was one of the greatest moments in the history of the franchise. Ravens fans remember exactly where they were when it occurred. We’ll talk about that moment forever.

But he was so much more than the guy who outran Rahim Moore.

His was one of the greatest marriages between player, franchise and city that we’ve ever had in this city. He was unique. He was imperfect. His was a story of redemption that turned into a championship team’s salvation — which almost didn’t happen because he wanted to join Cam Newton when the Panthers offered him a deal.

I was lucky to know him. We were all so lucky to have him. And my God will I miss him.

Photo Credit: Sabina Moran/PressBox