The worst jersey every NFL team has ever worn, from flying Elvii to the Bucs’ calculator numbers

Aside from the period they wore state flag sleeve stripes, the Cardinals’ uniforms have generally been plain, inoffensive and generally forgettable. But if you wanted to sum up Nike’s approach to the late 2000s and 2010s, this paneled monstrosity would be a prime example. Nice bib, Rashard Mendenhall.

The Falcons have some of the best colors in the game and finest uniforms in the sporting world. But in the 2000s they parted ways with their classic looks for a modern update which, fine, whatever. Then, in 2020 they gave us this freshman Photoshop design with an honest to god gradient from red to black, allowing the drop shadows of some strangely jagged numbers to emerge from the depths of, uh, their offensive linemen’s guts.

The Ravens haven’t been around for 30 years yet. Their uniforms have generally been a proper, daunting mix of black, white and purple with some well placed gold accents. The worst you could say is that the black collars occasionally looked stupid:

It’s a little unfair to pick on a first-year expansion team’s kit, especially when that happened in the middle of the 1990s where everyone looked like garbage. But while the seeds of a good uniform had been planted, these jerseys were a bit too basic and the numbers a shade too cartoon-y.

Buffalo has some of the NFL’s best uniforms, a gorgeous balance of red, white and blue that pops against the background of a throwback design. In the 2000s, however, they created a jersey that matched the Bills’ play on the field.

Carolina’s uniforms have been around nearly three decades and haven’t really changed. They’re all solid. Allow me to use this opportunity to lament the loss to stupidly wide shoulder pads that made anyone with true blocking responsibilities look like a sprite from the old NFL Blitz arcade game.

I understand these are a tribute to the pre-1950 Bears teams that wore orange as a primary color. The problem is, Chicago is an old school club with an iconic look and little tolerance for nonsense (aside from the last 35 or so years of on-field results). In these jerseys, they’re a mouth hole and a candle away from being jack-o-lanterns.

Simplicity works best when you’re dealing with a bold foundation like orange and black tiger stripes. These jerseys aren’t terrible, they’re just too much. Between the shoulder cutouts, black collar and paneled nameplates, Cincinnati embodied all the trends of the 2000s at once.

Cleveland has put in work to make a palette of brown, orange and white look crisp and clean. But orange numbers on a brown backdrop — and a “CLEVELAND” that feels like it’s sitting just a bit too low — makes this feel like an unlicensed knockoff. And I know we’re not doing pants, but that big “BROWNS” wordmark down the thigh? Same thing.

Look, I’m not here to disparage some of the most timeline uniforms in the game. If I were, however, it would be the jerseys that look like saddle shoes from a distance. The current version of these jerseys are cleaner than their inspiration, however; the mid-90s Thanksgiving shirts that looked like viral marketing for Starter jackets. You’ve got stars on the helmets, you don’t need BIGGER ones on each shoulder.

It’s difficult to put into words just how significantly the Broncos downgraded from their orange crush, block D-logo uniforms to these marvels of late-1990s Reebok engineering. Fortunately, we have pictures.

Phewwwww.

The Lions have effectively worn the same uniforms since 1970. Whatever small tweaks they’ve made, like bold black outlines, have panned out. The throwbacks are clean and simple.

Worst case scenario, you’ve got the black alternates above that look a bit too Carolina Panthers for a century-old franchise. And, honestly, without the too-thick, electrical tape-style sleeve, I think these actually work just fine.

The Packers have generally kept their look the same over the last five decades, but mixed in a handful of throwbacks in the process. As an avowed fan of the yellow dot classics, I cannot throw that divisive look into the mix. I can trash the 2001 throwbacks, however, for being so basic even folks in 1932 would have been nonplussed.

This team hasn’t changed much in its two-plus decades of existence. The new red alternates are a bit much, but on their own they’re perfectly acceptable.

My body rejects any attempt to make a Colts jersey without its perfect vertical double shoulder stripes. This alternate would be fine (OK, maybe not *fine*) for any other team. Just not the one for which Johnny Unitas and Peyton Manning once played.

I have not altered this photo in any way. These uniforms only got worse as you sweat, which surely wouldn’t be a problem in… Florida.

The Chiefs don’t do alternate uniforms. They’ve always worn the same clean, classic iteration of hot dog colors. But these throwbacks to the team’s days in Dallas show off just how valuable the minor touches — stripes and highlights — can be on an NFL jersey. These aren’t bad by any stretch, but the pickings are slim when it comes to the Chiefs and bad looks.

The Raiders only wear two jerseys and they’re both awesome. Silver, black and white in perfect harmony.

I wanted to make it 1974’s home jerseys, specifically because this was the year San Diego ditched its perfect powder blue for dark blue. But how could I hate on this:

Instead let’s roll with 2007, when those perfect vertical bolts went horizontal. These are still fine uniforms, they just aren’t up to the Chargers’ extremely high standard of goofy, jagged beauty.

The Rams fell victim to some mid-2000s branding when they ditched their signature horn sleeves for darker colors and generic looks. They rectified this problem years later, only to fall into a similar trap in 2020. “Bone” isn’t a terrible choice for a road white, but

a) the yellow highlights have so little contrast they’re effectively invisible, and

b) the numbers look like they were constructed entirely from Fruit Roll-Ups.

Orange is a tough look to pull off. Miami kinda/sorta did it earlier in the 2000s thanks to the expressive drop shadows in its numbering. This kit doesn’t have that kind of flavor. It just feels like something you’d see at Marshall’s or Ross Dress for Less.

Adrian Peterson made these look good. Everyone else looked like they’d learned what fidget spinners were against their will. Weird collar? Striping that doesn’t quite line up? Paneling that absorbs sweat at differing rates? A too-big jersey patch? Yep, these were some extremely 2010s uniforms.

It’s not just the massive, terrible Patriot logo on each shoulder. It’s the weird italic numbering and the massive drop shadows underneath that truly make this a part of history. Extra credit for the subtle, Umbro soccer jersey striping on the mesh itself.

You know what? I take it back. These rule. I need these as a throwback immediately.

New Orleans hadn’t worn gold numbers with its white jerseys until 1994 and, honestly, these don’t look terrible. In recent years they’ve brought back a variation of this style with a lighter gold that looks a little less… mustard-y.

Behold, the only entry on this list that, as of publication, hasn’t actually been worn on the field. The Giants will don these tributes to their pre-World War II era in a wild mishmash of styles. Before even getting to the gold pants we’ve got to talk about those jerseys, which identify more closely with the NHL’s Montreal Canadiens than any NFL team. The non-descript blue shoulder stripe throws off a precarious balance.

What makes this worse is the Giants already had great throwbacks. All they have to do is don anything from the 1980s and look clean as hell.

This is what the University of North Texas would wear for an ESPN2 broadcast on Thursday night.

There’s a reason Philly has only worn these once since 1934.

Every 49ers jersey is iconic. Except for these, which just sorta exist. Thursday Night Football is a curse.

Don’t get me wrong; the team’s current round of neon green alternates are also a disaster. But this combines an ugly shade of green (for a primary color, at least) and combines it with the crapulence of terrible shoulder panels. This is sub-XFL behavior.

Combining stupid numbers and Kool-Aid colors for nearly five years. Tom Brady gets the credit, but the real reason the Buccaneers won Super Bowl 55 was because they got rid of this monstrosity.

The Titans softened the blow for fans in Houston by ditching the Oilers’ iconic powder blue and red for this extremely late-90s/2000s combination of dark blue and weird panels. The end result is wildly generic.

There are few misses in Washington’s arsenal. Their rebranding as the Commanders brought the opportunity to innovate and instead the franchise opted to throw a bunch of crap at the wall and see what stuck, all in the confines of a single blackout jersey. Plus, you can barely see the team’s classic red/burgundy. That’s too much, man.