It’s official—no more debates, no more excuses, no more hypotheticals. Nathan Cleary has surpassed Johnathan Thurston. While many fans and pundits once clung to the legendary status of Thurston as the pinnacle of modern rugby league excellence, Cleary’s body of work, combined with Penrith’s iron grip on the NRL over the past several years, has shattered the hierarchy and reshaped the conversation. The Panthers are chasing history, and with seven wins in a row—even in Cleary’s absence—they’re not just chasing a fifth-straight title. They’re cementing a dynasty. A legacy. Something the NRL hasn’t seen since the dawn of the professional era. And for those who doubted them, who laughed and taunted when they stumbled earlier in the season—where are you now?
The fact that Penrith can go on a seven-game tear without the best halfback in the world running their offense should terrify every other contender. This team doesn’t just win; they overwhelm, dominate, and suffocate. From top to bottom, every player in that system is drilled with the discipline, resolve, and unity that defines a true champion. The culture within the Panthers locker room is unmatched, and that’s not just because of talent. It’s leadership. It’s belief. It’s the Ivan Cleary effect. There’s no fluke to it, no lucky bounce or controversial ref call. This isn’t 2015 Cowboys, this isn’t the streaky Broncos or one-hit-wonder Sharks. This is a machine. And that machine is running smoother than ever.
What Nathan Cleary has done—what he continues to do—transcends stats. Sure, you can point to premierships, Clive Churchill Medals, and Origin victories. But what separates him is the control. The patience. The calm under pressure. He doesn’t just guide his team to wins—he imposes his will on the game like a master chess player forcing his opponent into checkmate ten moves in advance. No panic, no forced errors, just dominance. He’s not flashy like some halves who chase highlight reels. He’s surgical, methodical, and ruthlessly efficient. And as for those who say he’s only good because of the system? Watch the tape. It’s Nathan who is the system. Everything runs through him, and even when he’s off the field, his fingerprints are all over Penrith’s identity.
Seven straight wins without him? That’s not a knock on Cleary—it’s a testament to his leadership. This team plays the way he plays even in his absence. That’s greatness. That’s a culture that’s been internalized by every single player, from Dylan Edwards to Brian To’o, to the young guys stepping up when stars go down. There’s no fear, no faltering. Just belief. And what about Ivan Cleary? How is he not being talked about as the greatest coach in modern rugby league? He doesn’t just prepare his team; he builds men. Leaders. Champions. Every year the roster gets chipped away by salary cap pressures and other clubs poaching Penrith’s depth, and every year the machine just reloads. Not rebuilds—reloads.
Wayne Bennett may have the reputation, but let’s be honest—what has he done recently that stacks up to what Ivan’s achieved with Penrith? Bennett rides on past glories, on the mystique of being the “super coach.” But that mystique is fading, especially as you watch Ivan Cleary quietly rack up win after win, premiership after premiership, while barely getting the flowers he deserves. This isn’t a hot streak. It’s a reign. A cold-blooded, calculated takeover of the NRL by a coach who understands every inch of his players’ potential and knows exactly how to extract it. Ivan doesn’t shout or showboat. He just delivers. And in doing so, he’s made Penrith the standard, the blueprint, the Final Boss of rugby league.
And where are the haters now? The same rival fans who wrote Penrith off after a few early-season stumbles? Silent. Real quiet. Because deep down, you know this team is inevitable. You know that even on their worst day, they’re still better than most clubs on their best. You thought the storm had passed, but Penrith was just reloading. They lost stars, they faced injuries, and still—they didn’t fold. They rose. And now, with Cleary back and the finals in sight, the rest of the league should be terrified. Because you’re not just facing a great team. You’re facing a dynasty. A machine built in black and charcoal that refuses to break.
The mighty Panthers are gunning for five in a row, and honestly, who’s stopping them? The Warriors? Talented, yes. Passionate, absolutely. But can they go punch for punch with Penrith in a pressure cooker playoff match? Can they match the grind, the resilience, the tactical genius that defines this Panthers squad? Doubtful. The Bulldogs? A historic club with potential, but years behind in cohesion and execution. There’s a massive difference between having pieces and knowing how to put them together. Penrith knows. Penrith doesn’t guess. Penrith executes.
This isn’t just about winning titles anymore. This is about legacy. The five-peat is within reach, and if they get there, it will be one of the greatest achievements in the history of Australian sport. You don’t fluke five. You don’t get lucky five years in a row. That’s sustained greatness, and it demands respect. Yet somehow, rival fans still cling to bitterness, hoping for a slip, a misstep, anything to justify their envy. But Penrith doesn’t cater to that noise. They let their play do the talking. And what it’s saying right now is loud and clear—this team isn’t done. Not even close.
You look across the field, and it’s a collection of warriors. From Moses Leota’s engine room work to Isaah Yeo’s tireless leadership to the relentless finishing of To’o and Turuva on the wings—it’s a symphony of excellence. Every tackle matters. Every pass is deliberate. Every set is played with precision. And every win adds another layer to the legend. These aren’t fluke victories. They’re clinics. The opposition might throw everything at them, and yet the Panthers absorb, adapt, and conquer. Again and again.
Nathan Cleary’s return only sharpens the blade. The best halfback in the world joins a team already humming with confidence and rhythm. That should scare everyone. Because when Cleary is healthy and in form, there is simply no better game manager on the planet. He sees the game like a chessboard. He knows when to press, when to pull back, when to run, when to kick. He’s a coach on the field, a technician with ice in his veins. And that’s not hyperbole—it’s reality. He’s 26 years old, and he’s already outpacing legends.
As for the comparisons to Johnathan Thurston—look, Thurston was incredible. No one’s denying his impact, his flair, his clutch moments. But Nathan Cleary has taken that foundation and built something even more sustainable. He’s not about moments—he’s about mastery. He doesn’t just play the game; he owns it. And if he wins a fourth premiership this year, especially coming off an injury and leading a depleted squad to another title, the debate ends. Forever. JT had a long career of highs and some near misses. Cleary has been nothing but elite from the jump, and he’s still getting better.
And then there’s the atmosphere—the Panther pride. The fans, the chants, the black wave that rolls into every stadium with a confidence that can’t be faked. You feel it. You sense it. The energy, the unity. It’s more than a club—it’s a movement. And it’s one that has taken over the NRL. Other teams fear Penrith. Not just because of their talent, but because they know deep down: there’s no weakness to exploit, no glaring hole to attack. This is a fortress built on sweat, blood, and belief.
So stay salty, rival fans. Keep crying about the refs, the cap, the draw. Meanwhile, Penrith keeps winning. Keep posting memes, because Penrith keeps stacking banners. Call Cleary overrated all you want—it won’t change the scoreboard. Say Ivan’s a system coach, but just know that system keeps winning and your club keeps watching from the couch in October. This is what dominance looks like. This is what history feels like in real time.
The five-peat is real. It’s happening. And whether you like it or not, Penrith is coming. Warriors, Doggies, Broncos, Roosters—it doesn’t matter. The mountain stands tall, and the Panthers are climbing it again with claws out and eyes locked on immortality. Up the Panthers.
