Leo Chenal, a standout linebacker for the Kansas City Chiefs, mad͏e͏ a na͏me for himself͏ at ͏Wisconsin, where he became one of the top ͏football’s͏ ͏top tacklers. Kno͏wn for his relentless energy and physical ͏style, racked up impressive stats and͏ award͏s in͏ college, leading him to declare for the 2022 ͏NFL͏ Draft ͏after his junior year͏. Dr͏a͏fted by the Chiefs, Chenal quickly ͏became an asset for Kans͏as City’s defense, known for his versatility and t͏oughness.͏

While Chenal does come from a big family, it’s not quite as massive as Andy Reid joked. Reid quipped that Chenal “got like 40 brothers and sisters,” highlighting the linebacker’s strong family values and willingness to share. But how many siblings does he have exactly?

Who are Leo Chenal’s siblings? Meet his brother.

Leo Chenal didn’t grow up in a quiet house. He grew up in a storm with sixteen kids rumbling through one Wisconsin home, eight boys and eight girls packed into a life that never really slowed down. Leo was the twelfth oldest, stuck in that chaotic middle ground where you’re old enough to lead but still young enough to get tackled without warning. The age gap stretched twenty-seven years from top to bottom, which meant someone was always yelling, running, or racing someone else to the dinner table.

Out of all those siblings, one stood out in Leo’s world more than the rest his older brother, John. The two were close in age, close in temperament, and close in the way only brothers forged in daily mayhem can be. John was the kind of brother who shoved you down, helped you up, then shoved you again just to see if you braced better the second time.

How many of them are in the NFL? Everything to know about his sporting journey

Only Leo made the NFL. Just him. No one else in that massive family reached the league, though plenty of them pushed him toward it without even knowing. He learned toughness at that dinner table where, as his mom Brenda joked, “whoever gets there first, eats.” And he learned grit from living-room wrestling matches that ended with broken lamps or bloody noses, though the boys usually laughed once the dust settled.

Football became the arena where the Chenal brothers sharpened each other. Leo turned into a punishing linebacker at Wisconsin, and John became the team’s bruising fullback. Their practices looked more like family reunions with pads full of trash talk, hits that echoed, and a stubborn refusal to let the other win. If a coach blew the whistle for the Badger Drill, the brothers locked eyes immediately. They wanted each other every time. It wasn’t anger, it was something hotter, it was pride.

Leo lifted like he was fighting ghosts. He benched 225 pounds thirty-two times one afternoon, grinning like a kid who found a secret. John responded the only way a big brother could: “Cool. I’m going for thirty-three.” That was them. One-up. One-up. Always.

And then came the NFL. Leo entered the draft with the same fire he carried in every backyard brawl. Kansas City picked him, gave him a locker, and watched him turn into one of the league’s most violent downhill defenders. His journey looked straightforward on paper, but it wasn’t. Big families build pressure as much as comfort, and Leo learned early that you either sink or fight. He chose to fight.

Understanding Leo Chenal’s Relationship with His Brother

Leo and John didn’t just grow up together, they rose together. Their bond wasn’t soft or tidy. It was made of scraped knees, cold Wisconsin winters, and cheap ping-pong paddles slammed onto chipped tables because “the right guy didn’t win.” They hated losing to each other more than they hated losing to anyone else. But behind that rivalry was something unshakable.

Leo always said his siblings had each other’s backs, and he meant it. When he lined up as a Badger, he knew John was only a few feet away, ready to smash defenders with the same stubbornness they once used on each other. Playing together didn’t calm their rivalry, it sharpened it, but it also gave them a shared pride. Two brothers on the same field. Two kids from a crowded house in Grantsburg are showing the world what that chaos has built.

And even now, with only one brother in the NFL, the competition never really stopped. It just grew quieter, deeper, and far more meaningful.