January 21, 1979. Miami’s Orange Bowl is steaming. It's the Dallas Cowboys against the Pittsburgh Steelers. This isn’t just a game; it’s a collision of the two best teams of the decade. Late in the third quarter, Roger Staubach drops back. He sees a red jersey—No. 81—standing completely alone in the end zone.
It’s Jackie Smith.
The pass is a bit low. It’s a little behind him. But for a guy who’s spent 15 years as one of the most sure-handed tight ends in NFL history, it’s a layup. Smith settles, the ball hits his chest, and then... it just doesn't stay there. It hits the turf.
That Jackie Smith dropped pass didn’t just cost Dallas four points. It became a permanent scar on a Hall of Fame career.
The Most Infamous Moment in Super Bowl History?
If you talk to any Cowboys fan over the age of 50, they can tell you exactly where they were when it happened. Dallas was trailing 21-14. They were on the move. A touchdown there ties the game and probably flips the entire momentum of the Super Bowl.
Instead, Smith fell to the turf, his legs kicking in the air like a man who had just been physically wounded. It was a "small death," as some writers called it later.
The play itself was a masterpiece of design. Tom Landry had spotted a hole in the Steelers' legendary "Steel Curtain" defense. Smith, who was basically a dinosaur at 38 years old and had been lured out of retirement just for depth, ran a simple post pattern. The Steelers' secondary got tangled up. Smith was so open it looked like a practice drill.
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Then came the call.
Verne Lundquist, the legendary broadcaster, let out the words that would haunt Smith for decades: "Bless his heart. He’s got to be the sickest man in America." It’s a brutal line. It’s empathetic but devastating. It framed the narrative before the ball even stopped rolling. Dallas had to settle for a field goal. They ended up losing 35-31.
Do the math. That four-point swing is exactly the margin of defeat.
Why the Jackie Smith Dropped Pass is Misunderstood
We love a scapegoat. It's easier to blame one guy than to look at a hundred tiny failures. But was it really Smith's fault that Dallas lost?
Honestly, probably not.
People forget that the Cowboys' defense got shredded by Terry Bradshaw for 318 yards and four touchdowns. They forget that Randy White, playing with a cast on his hand, fumbled a kickoff return later in the fourth quarter. Or that Staubach threw a crucial interception earlier in the game.
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But the image of Smith on his back in the end zone is what stuck.
It’s weird because Smith was actually having a great postseason. He had caught a touchdown in the divisional round against Atlanta. He was a veteran leader. But in the Super Bowl, he was "the guy who dropped it."
The Toll of a Single Mistake
For years, Jackie Smith disappeared. He didn't want to talk about it. Who would? Imagine being a five-time Pro Bowler, a guy who literally redefined how the tight end position was played, and having 16 years of excellence boiled down to three seconds of failure.
He had 7,918 receiving yards when he retired. At the time, that was the most ever for a tight end. He was a monster blocker. He was fast, tough, and durable.
Yet, for a long time, that drop kept him out of the Hall of Fame.
The voters eventually got it right. In 1994, he was finally inducted into Canton. But the shadow of Super Bowl XIII followed him to the podium. It’s a testament to his character that he eventually learned to live with it. He’s been quoted saying that "family matters, not football," which is easy to say but incredibly hard to believe when millions of people remind you of your worst day every January.
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What Coaches and Players Can Learn from No. 81
There is a lesson here about the "fragility of fame," as Smith once put it. You can work for two decades to build a reputation and lose it in a heartbeat.
But there’s also a lesson in resilience.
- One play isn't the whole game. If the Cowboys' defense stops one more Bradshaw bomb, Smith is a Super Bowl champion and the drop is a footnote.
- Context matters. The pass was low. The turf was slick. Smith was 38. It wasn't "the worst drop ever," it was just the most visible one.
- Legacy is cumulative. 480 catches are more important than one drop.
If you're looking for the full story of the Jackie Smith dropped pass, you have to look past the box score. You have to look at the guy who stayed in the league long enough to even get that chance. Most players are washed by 32. Smith was still out there at 38, putting himself in position to make a play on the biggest stage in the world.
He didn't make it. But he was there.
To truly understand the impact of this play, it's worth watching the original broadcast footage to see the defensive breakdown that left Smith so open. You should also look into the 1994 Hall of Fame class to see the caliber of players he was inducted with—including his teammate Tony Dorsett—which proves that his peers always knew his worth regardless of that one Sunday in Miami.