Tom Jackson joined ESPN in 1987, just weeks before the network began its inaugural airing of Sunday Night Football. It was a long time ago, to the extent that in a chronology, it was noted that in July of that year "ESPN becomes the first cable network to achieve 50% penetration in the American television market, reaching 43.7 million homes."After nearly three decades at the Worldwide Leader, Jackson announced he's hanging up his suit and tie. Factor in the 14 seasons he spent as linebacker with the Denver Broncos, and it's been a remarkable run in professional football for TJ. I remember the Orange Crush defenses of the 1970s, though not Jackson specifically. However, as a broadcaster, Tom Jackson and Chris Berman more or less took up Sunday residence in my living room throughout high school, college, and on into my thirties. Just like every other football fan who came of age after the advent of cable but long before the internet, NFL Countdown and Primetime weren't like church—they were church. But way more fun.Eventually, Berman's shtick became tired—there's only so many ways you can circle the wagons like the Buffalo Bills—but I never lost my affinity for Jackson. I drifted away from the shows once they became more of an eight-guys-in-the-studio shouty-shouty kind of thing, rather than a highlight repository, but sometimes I would check in to hear my old TV pal Tom. At least until Ditka chimed in and then…pay no mind.This is a day for Tom Jackson, the deserving winner of the 2015 Pete Rozelle Radio-TV Award from the Pro Football Hall of Fame.Jackson and Berman in their heyday were great. If you weren't a sentient football fan yet, you missed out. It was fun, lively, goofy, and way less overly produced and corporate-y. Their camaraderie and love of football felt genuine—a pigskin match made in heaven, piped into your home to accompany the pizza and beer. Long before the Sunday Ticket, NFL.com, and the Red Zone channel, it was can't-miss television. I know no matter how late my Marquette roommates and I stayed up the night before, the Sabbath meant rumblin', bumblin', and stumblin' our hungover asses to the couch for Countdown, the games (maybe), and Primetime. A perfect ritual.Here's a little taste of the old country, a Week Three 1994 edition of Primetime:
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Back when Jackson started at ESPN, there was no internet. Institutional memory came via the VCR. In his honor, a true American hero named Andy Provin brought the eras together and uploaded hours upon hours of Jackson and Berman at their best. I'm going to relive some of the finest Sundays of my younger life.Congratulations on a fine 29-year run, Mr. Jackson. Amen.