Jimmy Johnson always believed that “the difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra.” But for him, there was nothing little about it. You see, he never tiptoed into anything. He stormed in, took charge, and left no room for doubt. His life has been a relentless pursuit of excellence, a masterclass in turning expectations on their head. He was the mind behind Miami’s college football dominance, the force that dragged the Dallas Cowboys from the gutter to the top of the NFL mountain. Every decision he made, every gamble he took, had one goal—to win, and to win big.

There was never an off switch. Even when he left the sidelines, that same fire followed him into the broadcast booth. He analyzed the game the way he once coached it—blunt, sharp, and always a step ahead. And now, after 31 years of being a Sunday fixture, he’s stepping away. The coach, the analyst, the legend is calling it a career. The tributes have poured in, but none louder than Pat McAfee’s, who wasted no time in giving Johnson the respect he deserves.

“I was like, calling it. Yeah, Jimmy Johnson, congrats on a hell of a career. The football world appreciates Jimmy Johnson for everything he’s done for football,” McAfee said. And honestly? Big facts. Johnson wasn’t just a coach—he was the coach. Fans, players, and analysts all know: the guy built legacies, not just teams.

Before he was a household name, before he was flashing that signature grin on Fox, Johnson was a grinder. A kid from Port Arthur, Texas, who played defensive line at Arkansas with the same ferocity that would later define his coaching style. He helped lead the Razorbacks to a national championship in 1964, but his true calling was always on the sidelines.

At Oklahoma State, he turned an overlooked program into a legitimate contender. At Miami, he took over a team already brimming with swagger and injected it with a level of dominance that made the Hurricanes one of the most feared teams in college football history. His 1987 national championship cemented him as a coaching genius, a man whose schemes and psychological warfare tactics made him feared, hated, and undeniably respected.

Then came Dallas.

In 1989, the Cowboys were a disaster, a 3-13 team in desperate need of an identity. Johnson took over and made moves that had traditionalists clutching their pearls. He gutted the roster. He made bold trades, most notably the Herschel Walker deal, which turned into a war chest of draft picks. Those picks became the foundation of a dynasty. Troy Aikman. Emmitt Smith. Michael Irvin. Charles Haley. Hall of Famers. Champions. Legends.

By 1992, Dallas was back on top. By 1993, they had gone back-to-back. If not for a power struggle with Jerry Jones, there’s little doubt Johnson would have led the Cowboys to at least another ring.

But his impact wasn’t just measured in trophies. His coaching tree, his methodology, his no-nonsense approach—all of it became gospel for generations of coaches who followed.

Then in 1994, Johnson switched it up and hit the broadcast booth—and, no surprise, he owned that too. Since ‘94, he’s been a fan favorite on Fox NFL Sunday, breaking down plays, roasting teams, and keeping it real for 30+ years. Fans rocked with him not just because he was a genius but because he was authentic. He talked ball like he was chillin’ on the couch with the homies.

McAfee made sure Johnson got his flowers, celebrating him the way only McAfee can. But in true Pat fashion, he didn’t stop at praise. He had some smoke for ESPN’s Dan Orlovsky, who had been wishy-washy on Johnson’s retirement before suddenly shifting his tone once the news became official.

McAfee wasn’t about to let that slide. With his signature mix of humor and blunt honesty, he put Orlovsky on blast, making it clear that some people in sports media will ride whatever wave suits them in the moment.

“You’re Capping, Dawg!” – Pat McAfee Roasts Dan Orlovsky

Pat McAfee wasn’t about to let Dan Orlovsky get away with acting brand new. One minute, dude’s on ESPN’s First Take dropping cryptic comments like he’s about to fade into the abyss, and the next? He’s right back on TV like nothing happened. McAfee, being McAfee, had to call him out, and the whole thing was pure comedy.

“What was all that about? Yeah, you all right? We thought you died,” McAfee joked, fully roasting Orlovsky for making it sound like he was done for good. “We thought you were after Jimmy Johnson,” he added, basically saying Orlovsky’s dramatic exit vibes had people thinking he was out of the game forever. Orlovsky, scrambling, tried to explain, “I do that same thing a day or two after the Super Bowl every year.”

McAfee wasn’t letting that slide. “Okay, you’re capping, dawg,” he fired back. “We don’t know if you’re capping or not. We have not paid close enough attention.” He continued to tease him, saying, “We don’t know—no cap. Okay, no cap.” Meanwhile, one of McAfee’s co-hosts piled on, saying, “This year, you added a few crying emojis, and everyone wanted to get you a tissue.” Basically, Orlovsky was out here making it way more emotional than usual, and people noticed.

At the end of the day, McAfee made it clear that, dramatic exit or not, they rock with Orlovsky. “It seemed a little bit more emotional this time,” he said, calling him out one last time for turning his usual post-Super Bowl break into a whole saga. But McAfee kept it real: “What we’d like you to know—we miss you when you’re not on TV, and we’re happy you’re back.” Orlovsky tried to play it down: “I’m not—I’m not back.” But McAfee shut that down fast. “You were going mad dummy yesterday on TV. You are.” And just like that, the fake retirement arc was officially cooked.