Wilson signed through the back half of the decade last summer, which means the version of him on the field now is playing for the deal, not toward one. What's new is who's throwing him the ball: Justin Fields is gone, Geno Smith has the job outright, and through the first stretch of camp that swap has looked like an upgrade in precision if nothing else. In one full team period this preseason, every pass Smith threw at Wilson connected, at five different depths. That's a small sample against air, but it's the opposite problem Wilson had a year ago.
What makes Wilson dangerous is that the rapport isn't limited to the starter. He was just as sharp working with a fourth-round rookie under center in the preseason opener, turning short completions into gains of 21 and 11 yards on scramble-drill instincts alone. That's the actual skill: he separates on time against a clean rep, and when the play breaks down he's still findable, still working back to open grass instead of running a route that stops existing. He goes up and takes contested balls at the catch point rather than needing a perfect throw to win. None of that depends on who's at quarterback, which is exactly why the position change hasn't rattled him.
The honest hole in the case is last year's health. Wilson's 2025 was banged-up enough that it's a real question mark heading into camp, and a receiver who's dealt with lingering injury issues doesn't get a pass just because the quarterback change looks good in shorts. There's also nobody around him with a track record yet — Adonai Mitchell and Omar Cooper Jr. are the complementary options in that room, and neither has proven he can be the guy defenses have to respect on the other side. If Smith reverts to game-manager mode once real bullets are flying, or Wilson's body doesn't hold, the offense doesn't have a second gear to lean on.
Zay Flowers is the receiver worth measuring him against, because Flowers' problem is one Wilson doesn't have: he plays behind a quarterback who takes touches away with his legs, in a run-first offense that caps how often the ball ever leaves the backfield. Wilson's offense has no such governor — whatever volume the Jets throw is going through one receiver, because there's no proven second option to siphon it off. Given the choice between a receiver capped by his own quarterback's legs and one who just got handed every target his quarterback threw, Wilson's the easier bet to trust.
