He stood 6'9". In the 1970s, that wasn't just big for a football player; it was practically an anomaly. When the Dallas Cowboys took Ed Too Tall Jones with the first overall pick in the 1975 NFL Draft, people weren't just looking at his stats from Tennessee State. They were looking at a man who physically changed how the defensive end position was played. You've probably seen the old grainy footage of him looming over quarterbacks like a literal skyscraper. It’s wild to think about now, but Jones was essentially the prototype for the modern, rangy pass rusher we see today in guys like Calais Campbell or even Victor Wembanyama if he’d chosen the gridiron over the hardwood.
The nickname "Too Tall" wasn't some marketing gimmick dreamed up by a PR firm in Frisco. It happened naturally during his first week of practice at Tennessee State. A teammate looked at him—likely while trying to find a pair of pants that actually fit the guy—and remarked that his pants were too short because he was "too tall" to play football. The name stuck. It's probably the most accurate nickname in the history of the league.
The Doomsday Defense and the Height Advantage
Jones didn't just take up space. He was a cornerstone of the legendary Doomsday Defense. Think about the lineup Dallas had back then. You had Harvey Martin on the other side, Randy White in the middle, and Cliff Harris roaming the secondary. It was a nightmare for offensive coordinators. What made Jones specifically terrifying wasn't just his strength—though he had plenty of that—it was his wingspan.
He pioneered the "bat down."
Before Jones, defensive linemen mostly tried to bull-rush through the guy in front of them. Ed realized that even if he didn't get to the quarterback, he could just stick those massive arms up and create a literal wall. He finished his career with 106 unofficial sacks (the NFL didn't start officially tracking the stat until 1982), but the number of passes he deflected at the line of scrimmage was staggering. Quarterbacks like Fran Tarkenton and Ron Jaworski have talked about how Jones didn't just rush them; he obscured their vision. He turned the pocket into a forest.
That Bizarre Year in the Boxing Ring
Then things got weird.
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In 1979, at the absolute peak of his football powers, Ed Too Tall Jones quit. Just walked away from the Dallas Cowboys. Why? Because he wanted to be a heavyweight boxer. Imagine a perennial All-Pro in 2026 just deciding to join the UFC mid-career. The sports world lost its mind. Jones moved to New York, linked up with veteran trainer Murphy Griffith, and took the ring seriously. He fought six times as a professional heavyweight between late '79 and early '80.
He went 6-0.
Was he the next Muhammad Ali? No. Most boxing purists will tell you his competition wasn't exactly world-class. He fought guys like Abraham Meneses and Yaqui Meneses. He won five of those fights by knockout, mostly because his reach was so absurd that opponents couldn't even get close enough to sniff his chin. But the toll of training for boxing changed his body. He dropped weight, leaned out, and developed a level of cardiovascular endurance that most 270-pound men simply don't possess.
When he returned to the Cowboys in 1980, he was actually a better football player. It sounds counterintuitive, but the boxing footwork made him more elusive on the edge. He played another nine seasons after his "retirement," which is a level of longevity you rarely see from big men in the trenches.
The Reality of the "Unofficial" Sack Record
If you look at the Pro Football Reference pages today, you'll see a lot of asterisks next to players from the 70s. Because the NFL was slow to adopt the sack as an official statistic, Jones’s true impact is often underrated by younger fans who only look at the "official" numbers.
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Basically, from 1974 to 1981, his sacks didn't "count" for the history books.
If you add them up, he's one of the most productive defensive players in the history of the Dallas franchise. He was a three-time Pro Bowler and a one-time All-Pro, but honestly, he was the heartbeat of that defense for 15 seasons. He played in 232 games. In an era where players were frequently decimated by knee injuries and head trauma, Jones was an iron man. He missed only a handful of games over a decade and a half. That’s not just luck; that’s a testament to how he took care of a 6'9" frame that should have been prone to breaking down.
Life After the Helmet
Ed didn't fade into obscurity. He became a bit of a pop culture icon. You might remember the Geico commercial from a few years back where he’s at the check-in desk of an airport, and the lady asks if he’s "too tall." It’s a classic example of a player leaning into his brand long after the cleats were hung up.
But behind the scenes, Jones has been a massive advocate for the health of retired players. He’s been vocal about the transition from the league to "real life." He’s dabbled in the entertainment industry, appeared in Married... with Children, and even showed up in the WWE for a Battle Royal at WrestleMania 2. He understood early on that being "Too Tall" was a business asset, not just a physical description.
What Modern Players Can Learn From Ed
There’s a nuance to his game that often gets lost in the "he was just big" narrative. Jones was a master of leverage. Usually, being tall is a disadvantage in the trenches because low man wins. If a 6'2" guard gets under your pads, you're toast. Jones developed a "long-arm" technique that kept blockers at bay, never letting them get into his chest.
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He was also incredibly disciplined. In Tom Landry’s "Flex" defense, you couldn't just go rogue and chase the ball. You had to hold your gap. Jones was the anchor. He stayed home, played his assignment, and allowed the linebackers like Jerry Tubbs or Bob Breunig to clean up the mess.
Practical takeaways from the Too Tall era:
- Longevity requires reinvention: Jones left for boxing, got his conditioning to an elite level, and came back stronger. If you’re hitting a plateau in your career, sometimes a radical shift in training is the answer.
- Leverage your unique traits: He didn't try to play like a small, fast linebacker. He played like a giant. He used his height to block passing lanes, which is a "soft skill" that doesn't always show up on a stat sheet but wins games.
- Brand consistency: From Tennessee State in 1970 to 2026, he has been "Too Tall." He never tried to be anyone else. In the age of social media, that kind of authentic branding is gold.
If you’re ever in Dallas, you’ll still see people wearing the number 72 jersey. It’s not just nostalgia. It’s respect for a guy who was the first overall pick and actually lived up to the massive expectations—and the massive frame—that came with it. He remains one of only three players in NFL history to play in three different decades for the same team. That’s staying power you just don't see anymore.
To really understand the legacy of Ed Too Tall Jones, look at the way defensive ends are scouted today. Every time a scout mentions "length" or "arm reach" as a primary metric for a prospect, they are chasing the ghost of number 72. He proved that height isn't a liability in the dirt if you have the footwork to back it up.
For fans looking to dive deeper into the history of the 70s Cowboys, checking out the 1977 Super Bowl XII highlights is the best place to start. You’ll see Jones and Harvey Martin absolutely dismantle the Denver Broncos' "Orange Crush" offense. It was a masterclass in defensive line play that hasn't really been replicated since. You can find most of those full-game broadcasts archived on the NFL's official YouTube channel or through the NFL+ vault, which provides a much clearer picture of his snap-to-snap dominance than any highlight reel ever could.