"Ruston Rifle" Bert Jones Joins the Most Distinguished Group of LSU Football Legends

On a fall Saturday in Tiger Stadium, Bert Jones’ No. 7 will join the short list of LSU football numbers permanently displayed in the south end zone next to the iconic “Welcome to Death Valley” sign. He will stand alongside Billy Cannon, Tommy Casanova, Jerry Stovall and Charles Alexander.

For the man known as the “Ruston Rifle,” the honor closes a circle that began more than 70 years earlier in the piney woods of north Louisiana.           

Bertram Hays Jones was born on September 7, 1951, in Ruston, La. His father, Dub Jones, was in the middle of his 10-year career as a halfback for the Cleveland Browns when Bert was born. Two months into Bert’s life, Dub etched his name in NFL history by matching Ernie Nevers’ record of six touchdowns in a single game against the Chicago Bears on November 25, 1951. He went on to win six championships during his pro career.  

Bert grew up around the professional game. When Dub later worked as the offensive coordinator in Cleveland from 1963-68, a young Bert washed uniforms and cleaned lockers for players like Jim Brown, Lou Groza and Paul Warfield.

“From 1963-1968 I would go up to Hiram, Ohio, and we’d go wash the socks, and the jocks, and that was our summer job.”  

The Jones household in Ruston was a full one. Bert was one of seven children, raised in a family steeped in football but rooted firmly in north Louisiana. Long before the arm that would define him became legendary, the foundation was laid in those summers around the Browns and in the backyards and baseball fields of Lincoln Parish. 

In Ruston, the boy who already could throw a rock farther than most of his classmates earned the nickname that would follow him for life. The moniker came from his good friend and longtime sports reporter for the Ruston Daily Leader, Buddy Davis.

Davis first tagged him “No-Hit Jones” during his Little League baseball days after he pitched for a year-and-a-half without allowing a hit.

“Bert, do you realize that you pitched for a year-and-a-half in Little League and nobody ever got a hit? Now you hit a lot of players, but nobody got a hit yet,” Davis told him. That early label later evolved into “the Ruston Rifle,” the name that stuck as Jones’ powerful arm became impossible to ignore. 

Those early years in Ruston and the summers spent around the professional game shaped more than just his arm strength. They gave him a clear-eyed view of what the sport demanded and a quiet confidence that never required much prompting. By the time he reached high school, the foundation was already in place. 

The Jones family ties pointed toward Tulane, where both Bert’s father and grandfather had been All-American student-athletes. After playing one season at LSU, Dub had transferred to Tulane in 1943 as part of a World War II-era U.S. Navy training program. Dub was a Green Wave legend, who would eventually be inducted into the Tulane Hall of Fame, but Bert wanted a bigger stage.

“In my mindset, I wanted to play in the biggest arena; the toughest competition is what I was striving for, and so LSU was the place for me,” Jones explained.  

He arrived in Baton Rouge in 1969. NCAA rules at the time kept him off the varsity squad as a freshman. Under coach Charles McClendon, he then spent parts of his sophomore and junior seasons in a two-quarterback system.

“He (McClendon) always played two quarterbacks, and so some of the time I’d be in there and some of the time not. I was in there on more third-and-long than I was on first-and-10.”

The Tigers compiled a 26-6-1 record during his time in the program, claimed the 1970 SEC title, and reached three bowl games, including a win in the Sun Bowl over Iowa State in 1971. By the end of his junior year, Jones had taken primary control of the offense. 

His senior season in 1972 produced one of the defining moments in LSU history. On November 4, against Ole Miss in Tiger Stadium, the Tigers trailed 16-10 with little time remaining. Jones drove the team 80 yards, converting two fourth downs. With four seconds left, his pass fell incomplete.

One second remained. On the final play, Jones found running back Brad Davis near the pylon in the south end zone. Davis, who had lost the ball momentarily in the lights, secured a one-handed catch as he crossed the goal line. Rusty Jackson’s extra point made it 17-16. Ole Miss fans have argued about the clock ever since. Jones has not.

“I think every good quarterback should be able to make three good passes in eight seconds,” he said years later.  

That season, Jones became the first quarterback in LSU history to earn consensus All-America honors. He led the SEC in passing for the second straight year, set school records for single-season and career passing yards, and finished fourth in the Heisman Trophy voting. The Sporting News named him National Player of the Year.

He left Baton Rouge as the school’s career leader in passing yards (3,255), completions, attempts, and touchdown passes. His teammates and coaches still talk about the arm that could, by his own account and theirs, throw the ball more than 100 yards in an empty Tiger Stadium. 

The Baltimore Colts selected him second overall in the 1973 NFL Draft. In 1976, he was named NFL MVP after throwing for 3,104 yards and 24 touchdowns. Legendary NFL coach Bill Belichick, who worked as a young assistant with those Colts teams, has repeatedly called Jones the best pure passer he has ever seen.

“He had an arm like no other,” Belichick said. “It was like a slingshot. I’ve never seen a player with the kind of flexibility he had in his arm. The kind of whip and accuracy.”

Shoulder and neck injuries shortened what could have been a longer career. Jones returned to Louisiana, where he has operated a wood-treatment business near Simsboro; he also served as chairman of the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries Commission. He hosted several episodes of ESPN’s television series Suzuki's Great Outdoors back in the 1990s and remains active in conservation and the outdoors. 

When LSU called this year about retiring his jersey, Jones said the news was unexpected.

“I had no idea that there was anything in the works,” he said. “I have been the beneficiary of a lot of good things and received a lot of accolades and a lot of awards, but this is at the top of the list.”

He noted the personal connections.

“To be hung up in Tiger Stadium, where my father played, my brother (wide receiver Ben Jones) played, and cousins played, is special. And what’s equally as special is that I will be up there with my LSU roommate Tommy Casanova.” 

Tiger Stadium has always held a significant place in his heart.

“Even today, when you think about venues that you’ve played in, and the places you’ve seen, it is nothing greater than Tiger Stadium on Saturday nights,” he said. “And I was there.” 

The number that cut through defenses on Saturday nights will now hang permanently above the field where the Ruston Rifle once aimed for the biggest stage he could find. In the current era of LSU Football, jersey No. 7 is reserved for the program’s premier playmakers, the relentless competitors expected to be among the best on the field each Saturday.

In 2026, that honor belongs to tight end Trey’Dez Green and linebacker Whit Weeks, continuing a tradition that has passed through Patrick Peterson, Tyrann Mathieu, Leonard Fournette and others since it was formalized in 2008.

The number still carries the same expectation Jones set decades earlier:  when No. 7 takes the field, he changes the game. 

Some players leave memories. Others leave legacies. On Saturday, Bert Jones’ name and number will leave both.