Harvey Martin Dallas Cowboys Legend: The Forgotten Fury of Doomsday

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 arms, remarkable quickness, and a disposition that earned him the nickname “Too Mean,” Martin was the sort of defensive end who could make a quarterback reconsider the wisdom of holding onto the football for another second.

He wasn't merely chasing quarterbacks. He was disrupting offenses, changing protection schemes, and helping turn an already formidable Dallas defense into one of the most feared units in professional football.

In 1977, he was named the NFL's Defensive Player of the Year. A few months later, he shared Super Bowl XII MVP honors with Randy White.

Those are achievements that ordinarily guarantee a player a prominent place in football history.

Yet somehow, when the great players of that era are remembered, the Harvey Martin Dallas Cowboys legacy doesn't always receive the attention it deserves.membered, Harvey Martin's name doesn't always receive the attention it deserves.

It's an odd fate for a man who spent so much of his career making absolutely certain nobody could ignore him.

A Dallas Kid Who Found Football Late

Harvey Martin was born in Dallas on November 16, 1950, and grew up in Oak Cliff.

Unlike many future professional stars, Martin wasn't a childhood football sensation. He didn't arrive in high school with years of organized football experience or a reputation that preceded him.

In fact, he didn't begin playing organized football until his junior year at South Oak Cliff High School.

That detail is worth remembering.

The man who would eventually become one of the NFL's most feared pass rushers was still learning the fundamentals of the game at an age when many future professionals were already being recruited by major college programs.

Martin had the physical tools. He was tall, athletic, and capable of developing into an imposing presence. But he was inexperienced, and potential alone doesn't make an NFL player.

He continued his development at East Texas State University, now East Texas A&M University.

There, his understanding of defensive football began catching up with his natural abilities.

One of his college roommates was Dwight White, who would go on to become a key member of the Pittsburgh Steelers' celebrated Steel Curtain defense.

It's a remarkable footnote in football history: two young defensive linemen sharing a room at East Texas State, each eventually becoming part of a championship defense that helped define the NFL of the 1970s.

By 1972, Martin had earned All-American recognition and helped lead East Texas State to the NAIA national championship.

The Cowboys selected him in the third round of the 1973 NFL Draft.

For a young man from Oak Cliff, it meant something special.

He wasn't simply entering professional football.

He was coming home.

Becoming “Too Mean”

Tom Landry's Cowboys were already an established NFL power when Martin arrived.

Dallas had won Super Bowl VI following the 1971 season and had developed a reputation for disciplined, intelligent football. Its defense demanded more than physical strength. Players were expected to understand assignments, recognize formations, and execute within a carefully constructed system.

Martin had plenty to learn.

He also had something that couldn't be taught: the physical ability to become a devastating pass rusher.

The challenge was turning that ability into consistent production.

According to accounts of his early development, defensive coordinator Ernie Stautner pushed Martin to become more aggressive. The nickname “Too Mean” emerged as part of that transformation.

It was a memorable name, but the real change was in Martin's approach to the game.

He learned to study offensive tackles, recognize their habits, and anticipate their movements. He developed his technique and learned how to use his quickness against larger blockers.

And he discovered that being an effective defensive end wasn't simply about winning a wrestling match with the man across from him.

Sometimes it was about making that man commit to the wrong move.

Sometimes it was about speed.

Sometimes it was about patience.

And sometimes it was about refusing to stop until the quarterback was on the ground.

By 1976, Martin had earned his first Pro Bowl selection.

The raw prospect from Oak Cliff had become a polished NFL defender.

But his finest season was still ahead.

Harvey Martin Dallas Cowboys Legacy: The Doomsday Defense

To appreciate Harvey Martin's greatness, it helps to remember the defensive line he played alongside.

Dallas didn't have the luxury of relying on one exceptional pass rusher.

It had several.

Randy White brought extraordinary power and quickness to the interior. Ed “Too Tall” Jones used his remarkable height and reach to create problems that offensive linemen weren't accustomed to solving.

Martin attacked from the edge with a combination of speed, leverage, and relentless pursuit.

Together, they presented offenses with an uncomfortable dilemma.

Concentrate on White, and Martin might beat his blocker around the corner.

Give Martin additional attention, and White could create havoc inside.

And overlooking Jones was rarely a promising strategy.

What made that defensive front so effective wasn't simply the individual talent. It was the way those talents complemented one another.

An offense could prepare for one dangerous defender. Preparing for several, each capable of changing a play, was another matter entirely.

Martin benefited from the players around him, just as they benefited from him.

That's how great defensive units work.

And it's also one reason individual contributions can become harder to appreciate as the years pass. When people remember the Doomsday Defense, they often remember the unit as a whole.

But that unit was built from individual players who had to win their assignments, snap after snap.

Harvey Martin won an extraordinary number of his.

1977: A Season for the Ages

The 1977 Cowboys were one of the finest teams in franchise history.

Roger Staubach directed the offense. Rookie Tony Dorsett added an explosive dimension to the running game. Tom Landry's system was operating at a championship level.

And on defense, Harvey Martin was having the season of his life.

Contemporary accounts credited him with 23 sacks that year, although sacks did not become an official NFL statistic until 1982, and reconstructed historical totals vary.

That distinction matters when comparing players across eras.

But whether the number was 20, 23, or something in between, the larger point is beyond dispute.

Martin was overwhelming offensive linemen and making life miserable for quarterbacks.

He was named NFL Defensive Player of the Year and earned first-team All-Pro honors.

Think about what that recognition meant.

This wasn't an era short on extraordinary defensive talent. The NFL featured players whose names remain synonymous with greatness.

And in 1977, Harvey Martin stood among the very best.

He wasn't merely benefiting from Dallas's success.

He was helping drive it.

The Cowboys finished the regular season 12–2, won two NFC playoff games, and advanced to Super Bowl XII.

For Martin, the opportunity was especially meaningful.

He had grown up in Dallas, developed his game at a relatively small Texas university, and returned home to become one of the Cowboys' most important players.

Now he was one victory away from a championship.

Super Bowl XII: A Day for the Defense

On January 15, 1978, the Cowboys met the Denver Broncos at the Louisiana Superdome in New Orleans.

The game would become a showcase for Dallas's defense.

Denver's offense never established a comfortable rhythm. The Cowboys forced eight turnovers, intercepted four passes, and repeatedly disrupted the Broncos' attempts to move the football.

Denver completed only eight passes for 61 yards.

Dallas won 27–10.

It was the franchise's second Super Bowl championship, and the defensive performance was so dominant that the game's MVP award was shared by two Cowboys defenders.

Harvey Martin and Randy White.

It was the first time teammates had shared Super Bowl MVP honors.

For White, the recognition reinforced a reputation that would eventually carry him into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

For Martin, it was the crowning achievement of an extraordinary season.

There is something fitting about the two men sharing that award.

They had spent the season making one another more dangerous. Each demanded attention that opponents couldn't afford to take away from the other.

And on football's biggest stage, they were recognized together.

The kid from Oak Cliff who hadn't begun playing organized football until high school was now a Super Bowl MVP.

It's difficult to imagine a more remarkable journey.

The Man Behind No. 79

The public image of Harvey Martin was built around intimidation.

The nickname, the imposing figure, the relentless pursuit of quarterbacks—everything about his football identity suggested a man opponents would prefer to avoid.

But Martin was more than the player wearing No. 79.

He was a Dallas native who became a recognizable personality in his hometown. His interests extended into business, broadcasting, and community activities.

He enjoyed the opportunities that came with being a successful professional athlete, and he developed a public presence beyond the football field.

Those were the years when the Cowboys were becoming a national phenomenon.

The star on the helmet was recognized almost everywhere, and the players wearing it were increasingly familiar to people who had never set foot in Texas Stadium.

Martin was part of that transformation.

He was also part of the generation that helped establish the Cowboys' identity as America's Team.

The nickname may have been popularized through television and the team's growing national following, but it was sustained by winning.

And winning required players like Martin.

He earned four consecutive Pro Bowl selections from 1976 through 1979 and was named to the NFL's 1970s All-Decade Team.

By the time he retired after the 1983 season, he had played 11 years for Dallas and appeared in three Super Bowls.

His entire NFL career belonged to the Cowboys.

For someone who had grown up in the city, that was a remarkable accomplishment in itself.

But life after football would prove considerably more difficult than many of the challenges he'd faced on the field.

When the Game Was Over

One of the uncomfortable truths about professional sports is that extraordinary athletic ability doesn't guarantee an easy life.

Football gives players structure, purpose, recognition, and a clear understanding of what is expected of them.

Then, often while they're still relatively young, it ends.

For Harvey Martin, the transition was difficult.

He encountered financial problems, struggled with substance abuse, and experienced setbacks that became public.

There were unsuccessful business ventures and periods when his circumstances were far removed from the success and recognition he'd enjoyed as a Cowboy.

It's tempting, when telling the story of a celebrated athlete, to treat those years as an unfortunate footnote.

But doing so would leave out part of the man.

Martin's struggles were real. So were his efforts to rebuild his life.

In later years, he worked outside professional football and spoke about the dangers of drug abuse, using his own experiences to reach people who might benefit from hearing them.

There was no championship trophy waiting at the end of those conversations.

No stadium full of people cheering.

Just a man who had experienced both remarkable success and painful mistakes, trying to make something constructive out of what he'd learned.

That part of his story deserves respect, too.

Not because it erases his mistakes, but because it reminds us that the people we admire on Sundays are human beings for the rest of the week.

On December 24, 2001, Harvey Martin died of pancreatic cancer.

He was only 51.

For Cowboys fans who remembered the ferocious defensive end of the 1970s, the news was difficult to reconcile with the image they carried of him.

The man who had seemed so powerful on the football field was gone far too soon.

The Recognition That Still Eludes Him

More than two decades after his death, one question remains.

Why isn't Harvey Martin in the Pro Football Hall of Fame?

His credentials are substantial.

He was an NFL Defensive Player of the Year, a Super Bowl MVP, a four-time Pro Bowler, a first-team All-Pro, and a member of the NFL's 1970s All-Decade Team.

He played a central role in a championship defense and spent his entire professional career with one franchise.

Those accomplishments deserve serious consideration.

There are possible explanations for why his candidacy has struggled to gain greater momentum.

His career largely preceded the NFL's official recording of sacks, making statistical comparisons with modern pass rushers imperfect.

He played alongside other great defenders, including Randy White, whose Hall of Fame recognition helped keep his own name prominent in historical discussions.

And the passage of time can be particularly unkind to players whose greatness is remembered primarily by those who watched them.

None of those explanations changes what Martin accomplished.

A Hall of Fame selection would be a fitting acknowledgment of his career.

But it wouldn't create his legacy.

That legacy already exists in the games he played, the championships he helped win, and the respect he earned during one of the most successful eras in Cowboys history.

The Fury That Shouldn't Be Forgotten

There's something revealing about the way football history remembers great teams.

Over time, the stories become simpler.

A quarterback becomes the face of an era. A coach becomes its architect. A championship becomes its defining moment.

And some of the men who made those achievements possible gradually move toward the edges of the picture.

Harvey Martin deserves better than that.

He wasn't an anonymous member of a great defense. He was one of its defining players.

He didn't merely participate in a championship season. He was recognized as the best defensive player in the league during that season.

He didn't simply appear in a Super Bowl. He helped dominate one and walked away sharing its highest individual honor.

His life wasn't without difficulty, and remembering him honestly means acknowledging that.

But the mistakes and struggles of his later years don't erase the young man from Oak Cliff who discovered football relatively late, worked his way into the NFL, and became one of the most feared defenders in the game.

Nor do they diminish what he meant to the Dallas Cowboys.

Perhaps the most unfortunate thing about Martin's place in football history is that younger fans may know the names of the Doomsday Defense without fully understanding the men who made it great.

They know Randy White.

They know Ed “Too Tall” Jones.

And they should know Harvey Martin.

Not as a footnote. Not as an overlooked name on an old roster. And certainly not merely as the other man who shared Super Bowl XII MVP honors.

They should remember him as a great player in his own right.

Because long before the Cowboys' championship defenses of the 1990s, there was another group that made opposing quarterbacks miserable.

They called it Doomsday.

And wearing No. 79, Harvey Martin helped make sure the name meant something.