The difference — well, one difference — between Jacoby Jones and other football coaches was the shoes he wore to work.

At Lane College in Jackson, Tennessee, Jones’ alma mater where he served as receivers coach for two seasons, Derrick Burroughs used to tease him for wearing cleats to practice.

“He’s out there, wearing football shoes, running routes as if he’s still playing,” Burroughs said. “He would tell me, ‘Coach, I gotta show ’em.’”

Jones, who died last weekend at just 40 years old, was the rare teacher who didn’t just tell aspiring players how to get better — he could show them.

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He ran routes. He returned kicks. He showed his receivers how to get in and out of breaks. He demonstrated how to read kicks off the tee and get into perfect position.

The cleats weren’t just for nostalgia. He used them to coach.

“He taught me drills I still use to this day,” said Donovan Lewis, who played under Jones at Calvert Hall before going on to play for Delaware. “The things I learned from him helped me get comfortable on the football field.”

Jones used to talk about how he learned football simply by going outside his New Orleans home, throwing the ball up in the air and catching his own pass. But after his own NFL career, highlighted by his memorable plays in a 2012 run to a Super Bowl with the Ravens, Jones set out on a second act to share his football knowledge with anyone and everyone he could.

Morgan State defensive backs coach Omarr Smith said Jones did not share any ambitions to become a head coach or rise to any particular rank of the profession.

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“The goal we talked about was to give back to these young kids,” Smith recalled. “Football had given him a lot, so his main thing was to give everything he learned to the up-and-coming generation.”

Jones’ decadelong pro career ended in 2017, and he quickly jumped into coaching. His resume offered insight into his philosophy that he wanted to help wherever he saw a need, regardless of the level. He coached at Lane, Morgan State, Alabama State and — for one pandemic-shortened but memorable season – Calvert Hall.

Cardinals coach Josh Ward heard from a mutual friend that Jones, who played for the Ravens for three seasons, wanted to coach in Baltimore, which he considered a second home. When Jones accepted a job coaching at Calvert Hall, Ward felt like he had won the lottery.

Though the season was not even two months long, Ward remembered how Jones used to hype up players going through the stretch line, how he would get on the field to demonstrate the drills he wanted them to run. In coaches meetings, he would casually mention, “Gary Kubiak did this with us,” and the Calvert Hall coaching staff would benefit from his experience. He was an exceptional icebreaker, encouraging underclassmen to speak up in meeting rooms and loosening any sense of tension for more serious-minded compatriots.

Jones’ energy made him unique, Ward said.

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“You could watch highlights and NFL games, but it didn’t show you just how bubbly he is,” Ward said. “He was just an energetic, loving, caring guy. He loved the guys. It bled onto the football feed.”

Even after his brief time at Calvert Hall, he would keep up with players he connected with. Smith said it was common for Jones to give up his Saturdays for any young receiver or returner who wanted to work.

“If there was a football player that wanted to learn and was on the path, he would tell them, ‘Yeah, I’ll help you,’” Smith said. “He’d be willing to give his expertise to whoever was willing to listen.”

Lewis ran one-on-one workouts with him, and when he committed to the Blue Hens, Jones was one of the first people he texted.

“[Jones] told me, ‘All the hard work, it’s just the beginning,’” Lewis said. “‘Don’t settle for anything. This is just a start.’”

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Jones, a lightly recruited player out of high school who originally planned to run track, was the only Lane College player to be drafted into the NFL, a rarity that he never took for granted — odds as unlikely as the Mile High Miracle itself. He called the coaches at Lane father figures who taught him “how to be a grown man.”

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Although his fellow coaches couldn’t recall Jones ever saying it was his goal to work at a historically Black college or university, his track record showed a passion for it. And Burroughs said Jones’ accomplishments left an impression on student-athletes that their own success was there for the taking. Even after he left the school as a coach, he continued to donate. A computer lab on campus bears his name.

Jones’ legacy at Lane and the Southern Intercollegiate Athletic Conference was bolstered mere days before his death. Jones and his family flew last week to Atlanta, where he was inducted into the conference hall of fame. Burroughs remembered being swept up in Jones’ infectious cheer, never imagining that he would be gone days later.

“I saw Jacoby Wednesday and Thursday — that’s what made it so horrifying to me,” Burroughs said. “I’m with this dude, joking around and playing like normal. Then on Sunday morning his mom texts me that he didn’t wake up.”

It’s that suddenness that still rocks the people Jones touched. They sent him texts for his 40th birthday that he never responded to. They felt moved, in that deeply human way, to call him even after hearing he died — wishing against all hope to hear him pick up on the other end.

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Ultimately, the shock can’t overshadow Jones’ outsize personality. This was a man who went on “Dancing With the Stars” for kicks. He used to tell players, no matter how serious football could get, that it was a game and they should enjoy it. Jones seemed to take that approach to life itself, too.

Smith will remember how Jones would lighten meetings, cracking jokes with a hefty wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. Lewis will remember how Jones taught him to read the subtleties of kicks and punts in flight.

Burroughs can’t help but laugh a little, even through grief, thinking of Jones in those cleats, charging up to football practice, ready to share what he knew — pearls that will live on beyond him.

“I wish I could live a little more free like he did,” Burroughs said. “His whole life was fun, and he liked to make you laugh.

“We’re all gonna miss him.”

Correction: This story has been updated to correct the location of Lane College.