I remember watching Kevin Garnett's final game at Target Center back in 2016, that iconic number 21 disappearing into the tunnel for the last time, and feeling like I'd witnessed the end of an era. That's the power certain jersey numbers carry in basketball - they become inseparable from the legends who wore them. Number 21 has been particularly special throughout NBA history, worn by players who weren't just great, but truly transformative figures in the game.
When I look at the pantheon of number 21s, Tim Duncan immediately comes to mind as perhaps the greatest power forward ever. His career spanned nearly two decades with the San Antonio Spurs, collecting 5 championships and 2 MVP awards along the way. What always struck me about Duncan was his quiet dominance - he didn't need flashy moves or dramatic celebrations. He just consistently destroyed opponents with fundamental basketball executed to perfection. I've always argued that Duncan's 2003 playoff run might be the most underappreciated individual performance in NBA history, carrying a relatively weak supporting cast to a championship while nearly averaging a triple-double throughout the playoffs.
Then there's Kevin Garnett, whose intensity revolutionized what we expect from big men. I'll never forget his emotional 2008 championship with Boston after all those years in Minnesota. Garnett brought something raw and authentic to the game - his trash talk, his chest pounds, the way he literally screamed during warmups. He made defense cool again, and his MVP season in 2004 was a masterpiece of two-way basketball. What people sometimes forget is that Garnett led the Timberwolves to 8 consecutive playoff appearances in an absolutely brutal Western Conference, no small feat for a small-market team.
Dominique Wilkins deserves his flowers too - the Human Highlight Film was must-see television before that term even existed. His dunk contests with Jordan, his scoring titles, that unforgettable Game 7 duel with Bird in 1987. Wilkins averaged over 26 points per game for his career, yet somehow only made 7 All-NBA teams, which frankly feels criminal when you look at his body of work. I've always felt Wilkins gets slightly undervalued in historical discussions because he played during that golden era of wings in the 80s and never won a championship, but my goodness, the man could fill up a highlight reel like few others.
Thinking about these legends reminds me of that heartbreaking quote from boxing about being "robbed of a chance to make history." Several number 21s experienced similar frustrations - Garnett's early playoff exits in Minnesota, Wilkins running into those Celtics and Pistons dynasties, Joel Embiid's recent playoff struggles. There's something profoundly disappointing about watching incredible talent fall just short of their ultimate goals. It's that "ugly side" of sports where greatness doesn't always get rewarded with championships, no matter how much it deserves to.
What makes number 21 particularly interesting to me is how it's been worn by franchise cornerstones rather than role players. Bill Sharman wore it during the Celtics' early dynasty years, Dave Bing won an MVP with it in Detroit, and Michael Cooper became one of the greatest defensive guards ever while wearing it for the Showtime Lakers. Even today, Joel Embiid carries the number's legacy forward as a dominant big man and recent MVP winner. There's a throughline of excellence that connects all these players across different eras of basketball.
Reflecting on these careers, I'm struck by how number 21 represents a certain kind of basketball purity. These weren't just athletes chasing stats or fame - they were artists who approached the game with profound respect and dedication. They left everything on the court, and even when they fell short of championships, they gave us moments we'll never forget. That's the real legacy of number 21 in the NBA - not just the stats or trophies, but the unforgettable memories and the standard of excellence they established for generations to come.
