The Skinny Seven-Footers: Wembanyama, Holmgren, and the Pain of Being Number Two

In the modern NBA, where size, skill, and versatility have become the ultimate currency, two young stars have emerged who seem to defy the boundaries of basketball tradition. They are Victor Wembanyama and Chet Holmgren—both seven-footers, both impossibly skinny, both possessing a skill set that has never quite existed in the league before. Together, they represent a new archetype: the ultra-tall, ultra-mobile, shot-blocking, playmaking unicorn.

But as their careers unfold, a more painful narrative is taking shape, one that has haunted athletes throughout history—the agony of being number two. For Chet Holmgren, the shadow cast by Victor Wembanyama is long, and the struggle to break free from it is real.

The Skinny Rivalry: Potatoes and Pain

Watch them play, and you’ll see it instantly. Both Wembanyama and Holmgren look like they haven’t eaten a full meal in days. The jokes write themselves—“Potatoes,” fans laugh, referencing their wiry frames. But beneath the humor lies a deeper truth: these two are the only players of their kind in the entire NBA. Seven-footers with a combined weight barely cracking 400 pounds, soaking wet. They are unicorns in a league of stallions.

And they know it. They talk trash, they battle, they push each other to the edge. Wembanyama, especially, seems to relish the rivalry. He’ll get right in Holmgren’s face, talking, taunting, reminding him, “Yeah, yeah, I’m skinny as [expletive].” The competitive fire burns hot, and both know exactly what’s at stake.

The Agony of Number Two

For Holmgren, being number two has to suck. There’s a unique pain in knowing you’re almost the best at something, but someone else is just that much better. It’s the agony of being second, the frustration of always chasing, never leading.

“Last night I watched the Spurs versus OKC game,” one fan recounts. “WBY was on a minutes restriction. He played five minutes in the first half and was a plus-20. His team was 20 points better when he was on the court. They started off rough, but when he came in, he dominated. It wasn’t even close.”

Holmgren is a great player—he can shoot, he can score, he can block shots with the best of them. But everything he does, Victor just seems to do better. Wembanyama averages more points, more rebounds, more assists, more steals, more blocks. The numbers don’t lie.

And that’s the cruel reality of being number two. You can be great, but if someone else is transcendent, your greatness feels diminished.

The Numbers: Dominance by the Digits

Let’s break it down. Wembanyama’s rookie campaign has been nothing short of historic. In limited minutes, he’s already posting stats that rival the league’s best. His per-36 numbers are jaw-dropping: over 25 points, 12 rebounds, 4 assists, 1.5 steals, and 3.5 blocks. Holmgren, meanwhile, is right behind him, but always just a step lower.

The advanced metrics tell the same story. Wembanyama’s on/off numbers are ridiculous—his team is significantly better when he’s on the floor. Holmgren’s impact is real, but not quite as seismic. Every time they meet, it’s a showcase of skill, length, and anticipation. But Wembanyama always seems to have the last laugh.

The Mental Toll: Defeat and Determination

For Holmgren, the emotional toll is visible. After another tough matchup, he looks defeated, staring into the distance as Wembanyama celebrates. It’s a scene that’s become all too familiar—a young star grappling with the reality of being second best.

This dynamic recalls other famous duos in sports history. Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen, for example. Pippen, despite being a Hall of Famer, has spent years in the shadow of Jordan, sometimes bitter, sometimes resentful. The second-best rarely gets the spotlight. Their stories are told as footnotes, not headlines.

Holmgren’s situation is even more unique. There isn’t anyone else like him in the league. He’s not just number two; he’s the only other member of his own archetype. In a league full of bruisers and high-flyers, he and Wembanyama are the only seven-foot, 200-pound shot blockers who can handle the ball and shoot threes. It’s a lonely place to be.

The Fans: Rings and Reality

OKC Thunder fans have tried to shift the narrative. “Chet has a ring,” they argue, referencing his college success and the hope that team accomplishments might balance individual dominance. But deep down, everyone knows the truth. If Wembanyama were on a different team, the conversation would be very different.

The NBA is a league obsessed with greatness. Rings matter, but so do highlights, stats, and individual brilliance. Holmgren is a great player, but Wembanyama is generational. The gap, however small, feels insurmountable.

Injuries: The Unspoken Threat

There’s another twist to the story—injuries. Both players have battled their share of physical setbacks. Holmgren missed his entire first season with a foot injury. Wembanyama, too, has faced questions about durability. The fear is real: what if injuries derail their careers before the rivalry can truly blossom?

If Wembanyama stays healthy, there’s a sense that Holmgren might simply be forgotten, lost in the shadow of a player whose potential is limitless. In such a narrow archetype, there’s nowhere to hide. The spotlight is relentless.

The Game Within the Game: Uniqueness and Pressure

This rivalry isn’t just about stats or wins—it’s about identity. Holmgren and Wembanyama represent a new fashion of basketball, a new way to play the game. They are the stone that the builder refused, the visual inspiration for a new generation of players.

Their battles are more than games; they are statements. Every block, every dunk, every three-pointer is a declaration of what basketball can be. The pressure is immense. To be number two in such a unique space is both a privilege and a curse.

The Future: Promise and Possibility

The story is just beginning. Both players are young, both have room to grow, both could redefine what it means to be a seven-footer in the NBA. The promise of what’s to come is exciting. Holmgren may be number two now, but the future is unwritten. Injuries, development, team context—all could shift the narrative.

And that’s the beauty of sports. The second-best today could be the best tomorrow. The rivalry could push both players to new heights, forcing them to innovate, adapt, and improve.

The Lessons: Greatness and Grit

What does this rivalry teach us? It’s a lesson in greatness, grit, and the relentless pursuit of improvement. Holmgren’s journey is a testament to resilience. He keeps showing up, keeps battling, keeps chasing the dream.

Wembanyama, meanwhile, is the embodiment of transcendent talent—a player whose ceiling is unknown, whose impact could change the league forever.

For fans, it’s a privilege to witness. For young players, it’s an inspiration. The message is clear: embrace your uniqueness, work relentlessly, and don’t fear being number two. Sometimes, chasing greatness is its own reward.

Conclusion: The Story That Just Begun

The rivalry between Victor Wembanyama and Chet Holmgren is more than a battle for stats or headlines. It’s a story of identity, perseverance, and the pain of being second best. It’s a reminder that in sports, as in life, greatness often comes at a price.

Holmgren may never escape Wembanyama’s shadow, but his journey is no less important. He is the spark that lights the dark, the inspiration that makes ideas bright. He is the ballot in your box, the bullet in your gun—the story that just begun.

And as the NBA continues to evolve, one thing is certain: this rivalry will remain a defining feature of the league for years to come. Both players are soldiers in a war for basketball’s future, and the battle is far from over.

So next time you watch a Spurs-Thunder game, don’t just look at the box score. Look at the faces, the emotions, the fire. Because in the end, the pain of being number two is what makes the pursuit of number one so unforgettable.