The Preseason Illusion: What Are the Panthers Really Playing For?

The lights weren’t even at full burn and Bryce Young had already taken a hit. Not metaphorical. A real one—helmet first, shoulder low, rookie jaw clenched just enough to pretend it didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t. Or maybe that was the moment the Carolina Panthers made their most expensive gamble yet, in the heatless glow of a meaningless August game.

They say they’re doing it differently this year. Head coach Dave Canales insists there’s value in “getting the reps,” in letting the team’s identity form in real time. But identity is not forged in warmups—it’s revealed in consequence. And what, truly, is at stake in the first two weeks of August? A little chemistry? Or a quarterback’s confidence on the edge of fracturing?

The Show Before the Show Eats Itself

There’s something seductively modern about the Panthers’ decision: transparency disguised as boldness. They want you to believe this preseason matters—that wins and timing and cohesion are worth more than preserving a body with a billion-dollar trajectory. “We’re not holding anyone back,” Canales said this week. It sounded more like defiance than assurance.

But in a league increasingly dictated by optics, fantasy leagues, and 12-second TikTok clips of spirals in slow motion, what does “holding back” even mean? If Bryce Young looks electric against third-string defenses, does it mean he’s ready—or just temporarily unscathed? The myth of preseason progress, like so many NFL storylines, thrives on noise, not nuance.

And what if the whole performance—the early starts, the extended series, the post-game breakdowns—is less about development and more about distraction? A glossy preview designed to quell criticism before the first snap of the real season?

Risk, Rhetoric, and Ritual

This is the American football paradox: we scream for authenticity, then tune in for illusion. The preseason, once the dullest corner of the schedule, now masquerades as moral imperative. Play your starters, prove your team has spine. Sit them out, and suddenly you’re scared. There is no middle ground in a discourse this binary.

And for a second-year quarterback like Bryce Young, the stakes aren’t just physical. They’re existential. Each snap is a referendum, each misfire a talking point. “It’s about rhythm,” he told reporters, eyes fixed on something far away. But rhythm at what cost? One blindside hit, and rhythm becomes ruin.

It begs the question: is this about winning—or about not being the first coach to flinch?

The irony is, preseason wasn’t built for stars. It was built for cuts. For the nameless hopefuls playing for roster crumbs, for the players whose last play might also be their first. And yet here we are—watching the franchise centerpiece shoulder that same burden, like a sacrificial promise to fans who already forgot last season.

In the end, Bryce Young may come through it sharper, stronger, more bonded to the team. Or he may not. Maybe it will be the hit no one remembers, in the drive no one tracks, that changes everything.

The lights weren’t even at full burn. But maybe they didn’t have to be.