The Preseason Illusion: Aaron Rodgers and the Art of Controlled Chaos

There’s something surreal about watching a man who’s made over $300 million throw a football in a game that doesn’t count. The crowd still roars. The announcers still inflate. And the stakes—despite the scoreboard—feel weirdly inflated. But when Aaron Rodgers says that preseason is “not necessarily real football,” he’s not just airing the usual veteran ennui. He’s poking at the scaffolding of an entire illusion the NFL has sold to fans for decades: that even the dress rehearsal deserves a standing ovation.

In the entertainment business, they call it “preview night.” In football, they call it “preseason.” But make no mistake—both are performances. What Rodgers is pointing to is not laziness, but choreography. These are not games; they’re scripted trials, media flexes, and coaching experiments wrapped in the illusion of conflict. Every down feels urgent, yet nothing truly matters. And isn’t that the most American kind of drama?

Numbers Lie, and So Does Nostalgia

Rodgers, now in a Jets uniform that still looks like cosplay from a different career, knows exactly what he’s doing when he questions the legitimacy of preseason. He’s not downplaying the sport—he’s critiquing the machine. “There’s a feel to real football,” he said, almost like a wine connoisseur describing terroir. And he’s not wrong. Real football has stakes. It has unpredictability, exhaustion, and the brutal ballet of consequence. Preseason, by contrast, is all choreography and no climax.

But the NFL depends on your belief in its total authenticity. It needs you to think that what you’re watching—second-stringers battling for backup jobs under artificial pressure—is as meaningful as a playoff drive. Rodgers calling the bluff is like a magician showing you the wire mid-levitation. He may be cocky. He may be impossible. But he’s not lying.

The Theatre of Sweat and Sponsorship

What’s most curious is why this charade persists. Preseason doesn’t build narrative; it builds revenue. It satisfies sponsors, tests camera angles, and sells hot takes to bored sportswriters. For franchises like the Jets and Steelers, it’s less about preparation than pageantry. Fans don’t attend to understand—they attend to feel. To affirm their loyalty, to scout the future, to believe, if only briefly, that something sacred is forming.

Yet the players know better. The preseason isn’t a proving ground for veterans—it’s a minefield. One torn ACL and your real season never begins. Rodgers, at 40, understands this better than most. He’s walking the tightrope of visibility and preservation. He knows he’s there to be seen, not tested. To remind the fans he exists, but not to prove he’s ready. Because readiness is a performance too—and one that can’t afford to be rehearsed too often.

So if preseason isn’t real football, what is it? A mirage? A ritual? A necessary evil in a billion-dollar religion? Or perhaps it’s something more sinister—a symbolic exercise in control, where bodies are tested and loyalty is monetized. Rodgers’ comment wasn’t just shade. It was a shrug at the absurdity we’ve all agreed to believe in.

Maybe the real football doesn’t begin until the masks come off and the fear sets in. Or maybe, just maybe, it never begins at all.