He Made Us Better: The Sterling Sharpe You Didn’t See on Sundays

Before I first met Sterling Sharpe, I was told — warned, really — to manage my expectations. The man didn’t talk to the media, didn’t do interviews, and didn’t go out of his way to make sideline banter with producers like me.

Naturally, I invited him to play golf.

He declined with a classic Sharpe shrug and a muttered “I’m good,” which I took as either a polite no or a fundamental objection to small talk and white belts before noon.

Twelve months later, he arrives with his own clubs (blades, no less), a tour-ready swing, and a handicap that could make grown men reconsider the game entirely. He didn’t just pick up golf — he dismantled it, studied its wiring, and reassembled it with frightening precision. That’s Sterling. He doesn’t dabble. He decides. He commits. He dominates.

Over the years, we found ourselves playing in a number of celebrity golf events together. In one memorable tournament down in San Diego, we were paired with three gentlemen who had paid a pretty price for the privilege of playing in our fivesome. And let’s be honest — they paid that price for Sterling. I was more of a value-add.

The night before, those three gentlemen had a very enthusiastic relationship with the open bar at the pairings party. So when our early morning tee time rolled around, they were nowhere to be found. Sterling and I played the scramble as a twosome. We shot 19 under, seven shots better than any other team.

But the rules were the rules. You had to play as a fivesome to qualify. So when the awards ceremony came around, we just stood in the back of the room, smiling quietly with our friends. No trophy. No check. Just the satisfaction of knowing we’d played the best round on the course.

That was Sterling in a nutshell. He wanted to win. He wanted to be great. But he also valued the time together. The laughs. The company. He didn’t need the spotlight — he needed the standard.

On August 2, Sterling Sharpe will be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Finally.

For years, a lot of us beat the drum for this moment. Not because we were nostalgic. Because we could count. Look at his seven-year stretch. Put his numbers beside the greatest who ever played. And lest you forget, he played half his career with Don Majkowski under center, not Joe Montana, not Troy Aikman. The difference isn’t that Sterling belonged. The difference is that he made you raise the standard of what "belonging" even meant.

It took me years — decades, even — to figure out why we got along so well. And then one day I glanced at the calendar and realized my birthday falls just one day before his brother Shannon’s. Go figure. Maybe I’d been unknowingly auditioning as the long-lost, shorter, whiter (Sterling will appreciate this reference more than anyone) Sharpe brother all along.

But what I came to understand about Sterling is that the very qualities that kept the media at arm’s length are the same ones that make him an extraordinary human being.

His faith is not something he wears like a lapel pin. It’s embedded in how he carries himself. Quietly. Steadily. Purposefully. He is a man who knows who he is because he knows Whose he is.

And don’t let the stoic face fool you — when Sterling talks about his daughter Sommer, his brother Shannon, or his sister Libby, there is a visible change in him. You feel the pride in his voice, but more than that, you feel the legacy. The Sharpe family didn’t just raise athletes. They raised protectors. Providers. People who were never allowed to make excuses, only progress.

Sterling plays golf like he used to play football. With surgical focus and just enough trash talk to keep the rest of us humble. We’ve had more conversations on the back nine than we ever did in a studio, and I’ve learned that while he can be quiet, he is never small. His respect for others is immense — so long as you bring that same level of respect for yourself.

Only Shannon has stood on that Canton stage, until now. And when he did, he said something I’ll never forget: he was the only Hall of Famer who could honestly say he was the second-best player in his own family.

On August 2, that becomes official record.

There’s also a lesser-known chapter in Sterling’s story. Long before YouTube tutorials, and way before anyone posted their hobbies for likes, Sterling traveled for a full year with an acoustic guitar just to teach himself to play.

No teacher. No fanfare. No video clips of “First Chord Friday.”

Just a man, a guitar, and that same methodical, solitary obsession with doing something right.

Because that’s Sterling. Whether it’s football, golf, music, or life, he’s never been in it for the spotlight. He’s been in it for the craft.

And while I never played the game, I spent years covering it. Years standing next to people who did. And after all that time, after watching Sterling prepare and watching how he carried himself, I realized something important.

Greatness isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s razor-sharp and quietly relentless.

So yes, it’s taken a while. But the Hall of Fame is finally getting a man who’s been worthy of that gold jacket since the moment he walked off the field.

Sterling, thank you. For your friendship, your loyalty, your faith, and your stubborn, bone-deep commitment to doing things the right way. And thank you, every now and then, for letting me win a hole.

You’ve always been Hall of Fame to us. Now the whole world gets to say it out loud.

And on behalf of every producer you ever made nervous, thank you for pushing us to be sharper (no pun intended), to think harder, and to expect more — not just in the work, but in how we carried ourselves.

Everything you need to know about Sterling Sharpe, his brother Shannon, and the bond that built two legends in just 4 minutes. Loyalty, legacy, love, and one unforgettable Hall of Fame moment. 🎥 Watch here