A nanny recounted: every time Patrick was about to leave for a match, Sterling would run to the door and say the exact same thing. When she asked about it, Patrick just smiled and said, “It started on a very special night.”

The Nanny’s Story: A Whisper Before Every Game

It started as a routine observation, something the nanny had noticed but never quite understood — until she asked.

Every time Patrick Mahomes prepared to leave the house for a game, without fail, his daughter Sterling would run toward the front door. Tiny feet padding across the floor, hair a little messy from her nap, eyes wide with anticipation. She would stand by the door, lift her chin, and say the same thing every time, in the same soft but determined voice:

“Daddy, win for our home.”

The nanny, touched by the gesture but curious about the origin, finally asked one day as Patrick knelt down to hug Sterling before heading out:
“She always says that… What does it mean?”

Patrick looked up, smiled warmly, and simply said,
“That started on a very special night.”

He didn’t offer more right away. But a few days later, after another victory on the field, he shared the story in full — a memory etched in his heart that still gave him chills every time he recalled it.

It was the night before the Super Bowl — the biggest game of his career at that point. Nerves ran high. He had finished packing, double-checked his playbook, and stepped into Sterling’s room for a quick goodnight. She was barely speaking clearly back then, just a toddler still learning to form sentences.

But that night was different.

As he leaned down to kiss her forehead, she looked up, wrapped her little arms around his neck, and with a clarity that stunned him, whispered:

“Daddy, win for our home.”

He froze. The words weren’t rehearsed. No one had taught her to say them. But in that moment, they hit him harder than any pre-game speech or coach’s pep talk ever could. It wasn’t about pressure. It was about purpose. She wasn’t asking him to win for the fans, for the stats, or even for the trophy.

She was asking him to win for them. For the family waiting at home.

That night, Patrick didn’t sleep much — not out of anxiety, but because of the way those five words kept echoing in his mind. When he stepped onto the field the next day, something had shifted. He wasn’t just playing to win. He was carrying those words in his chest like armor.

And they worked. They won.

From that night forward, it became their ritual. Their secret code.

Patrick never left for a game without hearing it. If he was on the road, Brittany would hold the phone, and Sterling would appear on the screen, grinning wide, sometimes wearing one of his jerseys that was still too big for her.
“Daddy, win for our home.”
No matter where he was — New York, Los Angeles, even overseas — the words found him.

They became more than a phrase. They were a grounding force. A compass pointing him back to what truly mattered. In the chaos of game day — the media, the crowd, the stakes — those few seconds of connection with Sterling reminded him who he was playing for.

The nanny, upon hearing the full story, said she never looked at those moments the same again. “It’s not just a goodbye,” she said. “It’s a blessing.”

Patrick admits he sometimes wonders if Sterling even remembers that first night or knows the impact of her words. But to him, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the ritual lives on.

And on days when the pressure is overwhelming, or when the world expects him to carry more than he feels he can, those words bring him back to center.

“Daddy, win for our home.”

Just five words from a little girl who, in her innocence, gave her father the most powerful motivation he could ever ask for.