Legends Spotlight | By Theo Marsh There was a time when opposing quarterbacks came to Texas Stadium knowing exactly what awaited them. They could study the film, rehearse their protections, and spend an entire week preparing for the Dallas Cowboys' defense. They could identify Randy White in the middle, locate Ed “Too Tall” Jones on the outside, and remind their offensive linemen to keep their heads on a swivel. And then there was No. 79. Harvey Martin. At 6-foot-5, with long

Gil Brandt helped build the Dallas Cowboys by looking where others weren't—using computers, unconventional prospects and a scouting system that changed the NFL.

Before the Cowboys became America's Team, someone had to imagine what they could become. Tex Schramm helped build the traditions, identity and vision that turned Dallas into an NFL institution.

Cliff Harris arrived in Dallas as an undrafted free agent from tiny Ouachita Baptist and left as one of the most feared safeties of his generation. Known as "Captain Crash," Harris combined punishing physical play with intelligence and instinct, helping the Doomsday Defense reach five Super Bowls while building a career that eventually carried him all the way to Canton.

Chuck Howley remains the only Super Bowl MVP from a losing team. His Cowboys story reveals what excellence, resilience and championship standards really mean.

He was too versatile to be defined by one position. Safety, cornerback, return specialist — Mel Renfro gave Tom Landry something every coach treasures: options.

Before the Cowboys ever earned the name Doomsday Defense, they needed someone who could turn Tom Landry's blueprint into eleven players moving as one. Discover how Lee Roy Jordan became the coach who wore shoulder pads.

From a backup role behind Craig Morton to two Super Bowl titles and the original Hail Mary, Roger Staubach's greatest legacy wasn't his arm -- it was the trust he earned as a leader. A look at how preparation and quiet confidence built a Cowboys dynasty.

There was a time when being quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys carried considerably less glamour. There were no Lombardi Trophies in the lobby. No America's Team nickname. No decades of expectations attached to the star on the helmet. In fact, when Don Meredith became associated with the Cowboys, there barely was a team. Dallas hadn't played a game yet. That makes Meredith's place in Cowboys history different from the quarterbacks who followed him. Roger Staubach inherited a c

"A man's got to have principles. You have to have standards. Without them, you don't have much." — Tom Landry Before there was a star recognized around the world... Before five Lombardi Trophies rested inside the Cowboys' trophy case... Before "America's Team" became part of the football lexicon... There was a man standing alone on the sideline, wearing a fedora. He didn't shout. He rarely celebrated. His expression seldom changed whether the Cowboys had just scored a touchdo

Every franchise eventually develops a mythology. There are the championships everyone remembers, the coaches who define eras, the quarterbacks whose names become shorthand for entire seasons. The Dallas Cowboys have more of those stories than most. But before Roger Staubach became Captain America, before the Doomsday Defense became one of football's great units, and long before a blue star became one of the most recognizable symbols in sports, Dallas needed its first great pl