It wasn’t that long ago Penrith looked lost. A shadow of the dynasty that had once seemed so untouchable. The reigning premiers — four times over — sat with one win and five losses, their aura cracked, their rhythm gone. Critics whispered about the end of an era, about the toll of relentless success. And in that quiet space between doubt and desperation, something shifted.
No one outside the sheds could really see it then. The slow burn of belief, the quiet grind of a team not ready to let go of who they were. Not yet. Coach Ivan Cleary didn’t panic. He didn’t raise his voice or overhaul the system. He just watched. Waited. Trusted the scars and sweat that had carried his side through more finals football than most players dare to dream of.
Now here they are—seven wins in a row, fifth on the ladder, and climbing with the kind of unshakable intent that makes rival coaches bite their tongues in press conferences. Penrith aren’t just back. They’re dangerous again. But talk to Cleary, and you won’t hear triumph. You’ll hear hunger.
“We haven’t found our cohesion yet,” he says, his tone calm, not complacent. It’s a warning, not a boast. Because when the Panthers talk about improvement, they’re not tossing clichés into the wind. They mean it. And if their version of ‘not there yet’ includes beating Wests Tigers 36-2 with a team missing key combinations, then the rest of the league has every reason to feel uneasy.
There’s something romantic about how it’s all coming together, too. The kids—Casey McLean, Tom Jenkins, Blaize Talagi—names no one was chanting in March, now finding their feet under the glow of pressure. They’ve stitched themselves into the left edge like they belong there. Because they do. It’s the Penrith way—blood them early, let them stumble, then back them to rise. The core — Isaah Yeo, Dylan Edwards, Nathan Cleary — quietly anchors everything, never needing to scream for attention.
And yet, despite all the stats and the streaks, there’s an undercurrent of vulnerability Cleary refuses to hide. “We’re still hunting,” he says. It’s not a line. It’s a mindset. From premiers to predators, the Panthers are circling again — but this time, without the safety net of dominance. Every match matters. Every slip hurts. That edge, thin and sharp, is keeping them alive.
Saturday’s clash with the Titans? A trap game if there ever was one. Gold Coast are 16th, but dangerous in bursts. They just humbled the Warriors and will run at Penrith with nothing to lose. Cleary knows it. That’s why he respects them. The worst kind of opponent is the one with nothing to prove and no fear of being broken.
Meanwhile, the league spins its own web of movement and change. Josh Kerr may find his way back to the Dragons, a club now desperate for presence in the middle after so much attrition. The Sharks are gently letting go of Braden Hamlin-Uele and Siosifa Talakai, signaling the end of an era with a shrug and a handshake. And down in South Sydney, the curtain may have fallen on Josh Schuster's career before it ever truly began—a kid with all the tools, none of the timing.
It’s the rhythm of the NRL—fluid, brutal, emotional. Careers shift like tides. Great teams wobble. Underdogs rise. And somewhere in the chaos, the Panthers, those so-called fading champions, are building again. Quietly. Relentlessly. And if you listen closely, you can hear it—the sound of footsteps behind the top four. The kings are chasing again.
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