One of my college roommates is heading to Canton.
That sentence still feels surreal.
When I first met Larry Fitzgerald on his visit to the University of Pittsburgh, I had no idea I was meeting a future Hall of Famer. I just knew he had presence. Not hype. Not ego. Presence.
When he arrived at training camp, the coaches quietly pulled me aside and asked me to help him learn the offense. What I didn’t fully grasp at the time was what they already knew: he wasn’t just there to compete. He was there to take over.
And it took about two weeks.
But here’s what most people miss about Larry’s story. Yes, he could high-point a football like nobody I’ve seen in 25 years around major college football. Yes, he tracked the deep ball with the instincts of a center fielder tracking a line drive into the gap. Yes, he could manipulate defensive backs, adjust stride length mid-route, and finish through contact with late, violent hands.
But that’s not what made him an All American at Pitt.
It was how he saw the game — and his life — from the beginning.
So in the latest Y-Option podcast, fueled by our founding partner 76, keeping you on the GO GO GO so you never miss a beat it’s just me, celebrating him.
My 1st lesson from him.
During the first game of his freshman year he, like the rest of us at Pitt, wore a suit and tie to the game. That was the rule our head coach, Walt Harris, mandated. I think we all liked it as it felt like a business trip. But postgame everyone was changing into warm-ups to leave the stadium.
I noticed that Larry started to put his suit back on.
I quickly told him that he doesn’t have to. He looked at me and said, at least this is how I remember it, “Yogi, they’re going to know what I’m about from the jump.”
That wasn’t bravado. It was clarity.
He came to college with a vision. Not just to be great at Pitt. Not just to make the league. But to be a pro — in habits, discipline, preparation, relationships.
Small things, All things as the phrase goes.
Larry grew up around it. His father, Larry Fitzgerald Sr., covered sports in Minnesota. As a kid, Larry was a ball boy around legends and he saw how pros moved, trained and most importantly how they treated everyone around them.
By the time he arrived on campus, Larry Fitzgerald wasn’t dreaming. He was executing.
Talent Is Everywhere. Discipline Is Rare.
I’ve been around Elite 11 quarterbacks for nearly two decades. I’ve been a broadcaster for 19 years and a coach for 4. Point being — I’ve seen first-round talent up close. Natural ability is not rare at that level.
What’s rare is clarity.
Larry didn’t drink. Didn’t party. Had a tight circle. Was early to bed. Lived in the film room. Lived in the weight room. And that playlist was on repeat daily.
I remember visiting him during the season when he was with the Arizona Cardinals. It was 8:00 PM and he said, “You can hang out, I’m going to bed.”
Why?
“I’m trying to be my best.”
That’s it. No drama. No speech. Just alignment between what he dreamt of and how he lived.
When he decided to leave Pitt early for the NFL, I asked him if he’d considered coming back. He reframed it in a way that’s stayed with me forever: if a surgeon is offered his dream job early, he goes. If a musician gets the gig of a lifetime, she goes.
He was a wide receiver being offered his dream.
He wasn’t chasing status. He was honoring preparation.
Playing Through Loss
During spring practice after his freshman season practice stopped and Larry left. News spread that his mom had passed away.
I didn’t know then what that kind of loss felt like. I do now.
What I remember most wasn’t just the grief — it was how he channeled it. He played for her. He carried her smile. He allowed the pain to sharpen his focus, not shrink his world. Or so it seemed.
I know there was a lot of pain and I imagine that playing with his teammates allowed him to navigate through it. At least all of us hoped that we helped him out in the smallest of ways. After all, that’s what teammates do. And our roster was extremely close.
Looking back he taught me a powerful lesson that season: that there’s a difference between playing for applause and playing with purpose. After he lost his Mom, it felt like Larry was playing for something deeper that just touchdowns and wins.
And it showed.
The Infinite Game
Recently, I watched him receive his Hall of Fame invitation and greet Randy Moss — another all-time great. There was a knowing smile between them. A shared understanding of what it takes to get there.
But when I think of Larry, I don’t first think of Pro Bowl’s or a Super Bowl run. I think of the freshman who chose the suit. The teammate who made everyone feel seen. The competitor who handed, or threw, the ball to officials after touchdowns like it was part of his joy.
He played an infinite game.
Not just to win on Saturdays.
Not just to dominate on Sundays.
But to become.
He became one of the greatest wide receivers of all time.
He became the greatest teammate I ever had.
He became a father whose eldest son is now headed to University of Notre Dame to chase his own dream.
And in a few months he officially becomes a Hall of Famer.
I’ve never been to Canton before.
This summer, I’ll go.
Not just to celebrate a gold jacket.
But to honor the habits.
The discipline.
The clarity.
The compassion.
Larry Fitzgerald didn’t just achieve greatness.
He decided on it — early — and then lived accordingly.
And if there’s one lesson in his story for any young athlete, entrepreneur, artist, or dreamer reading this, it’s simple:
Be clear about what you’re about.
Be truly confident around what Matters Most
Then let your daily discipline make it undeniable.
Much love and stay steady,
Yogi
