Soldier Field’s roar wasn’t just noise—it was the sound of a sleeping giant finally stretching its limbs. By halftime against Buffalo, the scoreboard read a staggering 28-0, a preseason declaration scribbled in touchdowns. And at the heart of it all? Caleb Williams, the dude tasked with reviving a legacy older than leather helmets, is looking like he’d finally found the cheat code. Thanks to Ben Johnson, who has turned many heads, including that of the owner.

Bears President Kevin Warren didn’t mince words earlier about landing head coach Ben Johnson, the league’s hottest coaching commodity. “Coach Johnson is amazing. I mean, you know, in this business, this is a coach’s league. And to have him, he has all the attributes that you want in a head coach,” Warren gushed, setting the bar stratospheric.

Johnson’s meticulous nature permeates everything. Take the left tackle battle – Braxton Jones vs. rookie Ozzy Trapillo. “Hopefully, some clarity,” Johnson stated bluntly about the ongoing competition. “There’s been too much up and down… Sunday’s game [is] huge in terms of getting clarity there.” It’s this relentless demand for precision, this refusal to settle, that defines his reboot. He’s not just calling plays; he’s engineering a culture where “good enough” gets benched.

“He’s transformative. He has a high EQ, a high IQ. He’s demanding. He works hard. He’s a leader. He relates. He understands.” This wasn’t just praise; it was Warren publicly torching any potential alibis for the HC. With Johnson—the architect behind Detroit’s #2 offense last year and the 2024 AP Assistant Coach of the Year—calling plays, excuses for Williams evaporate faster than a Chicago snowdrift in July.

Williams responded like a QB who’d heard the message. His first drive? Surgical. Five completions in six attempts for 97 yards, capped by a 36-yard laser to Olamide Zaccheaus that split defenders like a zipper. His pocket presence was calm, his reads crisp, his stat line pristine: 107 yards, 1 TD, 130.0 passer rating in limited action. It was the kind of efficiency Bears fans dreamt about during his rookie growing pains (3,541 yards, 20 TDs, 62.5% comp in ‘24).

From camp chaos to controlled precision by Williams

The contrast to early camp struggles was stark. Remember the viral clips? Missed nets, errant throws, whispers of “hero ball” resurfacing. Johnson diagnosed it simply: feet. “It always starts with the feet. It doesn’t matter what level you’re at. For a quarterback, it starts from the ground up,” he’d stressed days prior, targeting Williams’ occasional 55-70% camp completion wobbles. “If you’re not aligned properly from the ground up, then you’re going to have inconsistencies with your target.” Yet, Johnson never wavered, calling Williams’ throwing motion “beautiful” and framing the hiccups as teachable moments within an intentionally brutal installation.

Williams, absorbing this, played against Buffalo like a QB freed by structure, not confined by it. His TD throw wasn’t off-script magic; it was textbook timing, anticipation, and trust – the holy trinity Johnson’s scheme demands. Warren’s ecstatic post-halftime reaction said it all: “We are absolutely ecstatic tonight… grateful for the relationship [Johnson] and Ryan [Poles] have developed.” The synergy between front office, coach, and QB wasn’t just hoped for; it was operational.

So, where does this leave Williams? Warren’s very public anointing of Johnson as a “transformative” leader wasn’t just praise—it was a gauntlet thrown down. We got you the guru…the weapons (DJ Moore, Rome Odunze, Colston Loveland). We got you the system. The preseason glimpse against Buffalo proved Williams can thrive within it. The training camp footwork drills? Necessary foundation. The 70% completion goal Johnson set? A tangible target, not a fantasy.

As Warren himself might say, channeling the relentless spirit of those historic Bears: ‘So many people stop at 449… but the next one is the breakthrough. Be relentless.’ With Johnson’s genius lighting the path and his own preseason poise as proof, Caleb Williams has zero excuses. Only expectations. And in Chicago, where ghosts like George Halas and Walter Payton still echo, those expectations aren’t just stats—they’re the roar of a franchise, and a city, ready to believe again. The breakthrough isn’t coming. It’s here.