Super Bowl Sadness

One game, two catches, and the ballad of Julio Jones

Feb 09, 2024

“History is written by the victors.” -Unknown, perhaps Winston Churchill, but definitely not Matt Ryan

Houston Texas, February 5th, 2017

There are many great counterfactuals in life and in football, but none greater than the Atlanta Falcons winning Super Bowl 51. In case you were living under a rock and/or uninterested in Lady Gaga’s electrifying halftime show during this touchstone of the early Trump era, what really happened was, with only 17 minutes left to play, the ascendant Atlanta Falcons blew a 28-3 lead over the New England Patriots, squandering their tortured franchise’s second chance at finally winning a Super Bowl title in as many decades.

Other teams have lost more Super Bowls than the Falcons. The Buffalo Bills lost four in a row to kick off the 1990s. Some teams have lost by more embarrassing margins, like when the Broncos were blown out by the 49ers in Super Bowl XXIV 55–10 or again by the Seahawks 43-8 in Super Bowl XLVIII. Yet while Buffalo’s losses were agonizingly annual, only the first one was truly close. While the Broncos got embarrassed on the national stage twice, there’s a key difference between being thoroughly beaten as they were and losing like the Falcons did. The former means you were outmatched, while the latter means you let your opponent beat you. Losing a game because you were outplayed the entire time stings less than nearly winning a game and then allowing the other team to snatch your victory away from you.

That’s what the Falcons did in Super Bowl 51, managing to first write an underdog tale of their own triumph and then letting all of that meticulous work slip away via a series of bad decisions, mistakes, and unfortunate events. Super Bowl 51 was in Atlanta’s favor nearly the entire game, with their boldly architected Kyle Shanahan offense looking unstoppable in the second and third quarters. The Patriots improbable fourth quarter comeback created two firsts: the first overtime in Super Bowl history and the first team to win the Super Bowl despite never having had a lead during the game. No Super Bowl loss is as infamous as this one. 28-3 is now a shorthand in football for ignominious collapses, sure to brighten the otherwise gloomy day of dour Bostonians while tanking the mood of even fair weather Falcons fans.

This game, simultaneously the once-in-a-lifetime storybook comeback of one franchise and the horrific collapse of another is the rare sports event full of so much drama that it reads almost as a fictional text. This made it a boon to the sports content industry. Like a whale carcass falling to the the seafloor, the fall of the Falcons nourished an entire ecosystem of takes, analyses, and what ifs for years to come. Watching these plentiful dissections and juicy deep dives has the same oddly gripping vibe as watching Titanic. You know exactly how things end but have this odd hope at every turn that things might work out okay for our heroes.

Yes I, like 3/4 of the country, I was rooting for the Falcons that year.

This insane, history-in-the-making game was saturated with dramatic moments: Patriots quarterback Tom Brady throwing a rare pick six, Dont'a Hightower stripsacking Falcons quarterback Matt Ryan, and Patriots receiver Danny Amendola scoring a two point conversion to force overtime. Towering above these highlights were two miraculous catches in the fourth quarter. Yet while one of them is widely talked about, the other has been nearly forgotten.

The catch everyone remembers is Julian Edelman’s. After throwing seven straight incompletions to Julian Edelman, a determined but desperate Tom Brady forced another pass to him in tight coverage, only to watch Falcons’ cornerback Robert Alford bat the ball into the air after nearly intercepting it. Then, three Falcons defenders converged on the tipped pass, but Edelman grabbed ahold of it after it was knocked skywards. He displayed remarkable focus and determination to re-secure it through 3 Atlanta defenders as he lost and then regained control of the ball after it bounced off of Alford’s leg, four people’s limbs splayed out around the ball like a goofy spider. It was, by all accounts, the catch of the game.

But they were all of them deceived, for another catch was made.

Deep in the fourth quarter, up by eight and with four minutes left to play, Falcons quarterback and league MVP Matt Ryan lobbed a prayer of a pass from midfield to Julio Jones streaking towards the right sideline, and into this catch Julio poured his athleticism, his body control, and his will to dominate all defensive backs.

Jones’s catch was the embodiment of excellence at his position. It took the focus and determination of Edelman, combined with the insane leaping ability necessary to secure a ball in a tiny window over two nearby defenders, the strength and coordination to pull it into his chest and secure possession, and the body control to still manage to tap both feet inbounds as momentum and gravity yanked his body towards the stands.

Edelman’s catch was most impressive because of its improbability, not its athleticism. Yes, he displayed great focus and determination to come down with the tipped ball, but if you were to re-run that catch 99 more times, it’s likely the ball is picked off or hits the turf in nearly every other iteration of Brady’s uncharacteristically risky pass. In part 7 of a masterfully assembled series on the history of the Atlanta Falcons, sports journalist Jon Bois masterfully sums up the Edelman catch using the phrase “the brutality of dumb luck.”

While Julio Jones jaw-dropping sideline catch was indisputably more athletic than Edelman’s, it’s been overshadowed because of what happened afterwards. The Falcons proceeded to lose the ball and the game, while Edelman kept Patriots drive alive, which they proceeded to convert to tie the game, force overtime, and eventually win it.

If the Falcons won, Jones’s catch would have likely been the play of the game, rivaled only by Robert Alford’s pick six on Brady. However, because they lost, Jones’s sideline heroics were slowly buried in the sands of time while Edelman’s catch was etched into football lore forever.

The cold hard truth is that the catch of the game only matters if you end up winning that game. While many would find this horribly depressing, I find it strangely comforting. The reason why has everything to do with my opinion of Julio Jones.

Originally from the small town of Foley, Alabama, Quintorris Lopez "Julio" Jones Jr. was one of the top high school recruits in the state. After playing 3 years under Nick Saban on an ascendant Alabama Crimson Tide, Jones was drafted 6th overall by the Falcons in the 2011 NFL draft, who had traded five draft picks to the Cleveland Browns to get him. At the scouting combine he ran the third fastest 40 yard dash despite having a broken foot at the time. The Falcons were understandably smitten with Jones’s speed and power, which would pair perfectly with their talented young quarterback, Matt Ryan. Jones played in Atlanta for 10 seasons, going for more than 1,000 receiving yards in 7 of them, including 5 in a row more than 1400 yards, with his 2019 campaign coming up just short at 1394. During his time on the Falcons he put out a body of work that’s worthy of a Hall of Fame nomination one day in my opinion.

Julio Jones played his position in an intense and dominant way that I found awe-inspiring. His combination of speed, strength, and calm in big moments was all you could ask for in a receiver. As reference, he’s a year older than me, my height (6’ 3’’), but has 50 pounds of lean muscle that I don’t. On the field he had the leaping ability to come down with almost any jump ball, the strength to rip the ball away from cornerbacks, and the catch radius and body control necessary to haul in passes that by all rights ought to have sailed out of bounds or been intercepted while still keeping his feet in bounds. This is a testament to his training, which is is intense and disciplined, even today in his 30s.

His personality, poise, and demeanor are just as impressive. When asked if his incredible catches ever surprise him, he responded with a calm confidence I aspire to have one day: “I’m never surprised at whatever I do.”

He’s got a point. If you train that hard, you shouldn’t be surprised by the results.

Julio haters have argued that despite his many receiving yards he didn’t score as many touchdowns as his peers like Antonio Brown, but a closer look at this stat tells a different story. He was so dominant and scary in the air that teams would have to build a defensive game plan around him, accounting for and attempting to neutralize him on every play. This meant that even in games where he barely touched the ball, he would free up space for his teammates to catch passes and score touchdowns. This was on full display in Super Bowl 51. On the Falcons first scoring drive, the Patriots defense was so concerned with stopping Jones that they had to double team his route up the middle, leaving tight end Austin Hooper alone on the left side against single man coverage to get open and score their first touchdown.

Even if he never caught the ball in the endzone, Jones was famous for picking up huge chunk plays to advance drives and maintain possession. We saw this in Super Bowl 51 as well. His first three touches were incredibly athletic grabs to keep drives alive so the Falcons could ultimately score. Paradoxically, he was so dominant that it hurt his stats. His presence inspired so much fear in the opposition that they’d blunt his production. The biggest criticism against him is actually a testament to his holistic impact as a player.

Despite his undeniable accomplishments on the field, Jones is remarkably soft-spoken and humble in interviews. He values being a team player and helping the team win over individual stats or accolades.

Wide receivers, it should be noted, aren’t often like this. Stereotypically they’re vain, selfish and need to get the ball a certain number of times so their huge egos stay intact. This “diva wide receiver” stereotype came into prominence with the rise of flashy wideouts like Terrell Owens, Chad “OchoCinco” Johnson, Odell Beckham Jr., and the now infamous Antonio Brown, all known as much for their off field antics and meltdowns as their jaw dropping catches on it.

Receivers like Larry Fitzgerald, Calvin Johnson, and Julio Jones have modeled another way to be excellent at what you do. Even in a role that puts you squarely in the spotlight of must-win games, you can calmly show up, do your job, and go home. While some players do a lot of talking, others let their play speak for itself.

Yet no one gets a Super Bowl ring for having a good attitude and working hard. The cruel irony the modern NFL is that Ray Rice and Antonio Brown both have won a Super Bowl and Julio Jones has not. Despite Rice knocking his girlfriend unconscious in an elevator and Brown being an unstable narcissist with a long history of sexual assault, erratic behavior, and being a terrible teammate (and worse rapper), both men have the one ring to rule them all that all NFL players strive for. Jones, meanwhile, is still waiting for one. Like Larry Fitzgerald, Randy Moss, Terrell Owens, or Steve Smith Sr., he seems destined to be remembered as a dominant wideout whose indisputable skills helped get him to a Super Bowl, but weren’t enough to win it.

Jones eventually grew impatient with the Falcons lack of playoff success and requested a trade after the 2020 season. He spent a down year with the Tennessee Titans and then a season in Tampa Bay, where an aging Tom Brady couldn’t get the Bucs past the Cowboys in the wild card game. Jones recently signed to the Philadelphia Eagles partway through the season, hoping his veteran presence would lead them to a second consecutive Super Bowl and a second title. During the regular season he looked looked like a shadow of the player he once was, producing 11 catches for 74 yards with just three touchdowns. He entered the wild card game of the playoffs against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers poised to take a bigger role with #1 receiver AJ Brown injured. Instead, he got concussed and had to leave the game in the first half.

Sports, like the stock market, can be seen as gossip for men, both deemed socially acceptable to discuss because they’re quantifiable—the implicit premise being that men are only allowed to spend hours heatedly debating topics with numbers attached and winning involved. Our economy and media worship the wealth and accolades that go with more measurable kinds of success like IPOs and Lombardi trophies while remaining uncertain about what to do with the Julio Jones’s of the world.

The sports media ecosystem has written Jones off and moved on. Everyone from the talking heads to the fantasy industrial complex now views him as irrelevant based on his age and declining production. However, I am not ready to move on from him because I think the lessons he embodies are bigger and more important than the kind of statistics men usually shout about over a beer and ranch splattered table at Buffalo Wild Wings.

The pessimistic way to view Julio Jones’s legacy is as a testament to the sad reality that sometimes even an incredible individual effort is not enough to overcome tragic circumstances and bad luck. Jones, like the entire Falcons roster, fell prey to what Matt Schofield calls “the suddenness and cruelty of sport.” His hard work and athleticism were simply not enough to win that game. You can characterize that as a sad truth, a hard truth, or just a truth. As Jones himself likely learned after Super Bowl 51, dwelling too long in the realm of the counterfactual as I’ve done in this article can feel like torture because how things ought to have gone and how they did is so irreconcilably different.

The optimistic way to view Julio Jones, however, is as a reminder of the overlooked way in which being a hard working selfless person pays dividends that don’t always show up in a trophy case, a stat sheet, or even a highlight reel. It’s a reminder that there’s an admirable quality to consistent self discipline and effort, even when, especially when it doesn’t end in the confetti of public validation.

Julio Jones only touched the ball 4 times in Super Bowl 51. Yet he was perfect every time he did. He went 4/4 on his targets in the game, including not one but two incredible toe-tapping sideline catches. Even as the entire Falcons team appeared to be slipping, Jones didn’t let what he couldn’t control eclipse what he could. There’s a takeaway for all of us here. When things look like they’re going South fast and your best hope is a prayer of a pass, all you can do is try to catch it and keep your feet in bounds.

I may be in the minority of men or football fans here, but I think what matters most about Julio Jones’s career isn’t whether his Herculean effort in the game was enough, but what came next. What did Jones do after losing that Super Bowl? Did he pout, yell at the media, or abuse his loved ones? No. He got back to work and tried the next season, and the next. Even as the validation that would vindicate him eludes him, he’s never stopped showing up, working hard, and humbly playing his part. Jones teaches us that for every person shouting about their triumphs or setbacks, there are just as many who are quietly great. The Tao of Julio is that our effort is ultimately the only thing we can control in life. There’s a centering tranquilly and calm empowerment in that, how the inevitable disappointment of losing is only as devastating as we allow it to be.

As Marilyn Vos Savant put it:

“Being defeated is often a temporary condition. Giving up is what makes it permanent.”

If you’ve got thoughts or questions about Julio Jones, sportsball, or the tragedy of the 2016 Falcons, I’d love to hear them. If you’re curious to learn more about the fascinating history of the Atlanta Falcons leading up to their Super Bowl collapse, I have to insist you watch SB Nation’s incredible deep dive documentary series on Youtube.

Wryly Reilly

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