Noah was, in his own way, a loyal comrade to the league.
While most teams had learned to stay cautious around Lin, Noah still charged in headfirst, convinced that even the toughest opponents could be rattled if you met them with enough fire. He genuinely believed someone had to stand up to the Lin problem, and he never minded being the one to try.
His career hadn't been the smoothest either. As the 9th pick in 2007, he'd spent most of his rookie year handing out towels, hydration drinks, and cheering from the end of the bench. But that was Noah—never the most polished player, but always the one with the loudest heart. He played like someone who understood he didn't have anything to lose.
And for him, this matchup was simple: if he stopped Lin, he'd be a hero. If he didn't? Well, no shame in losing to the league's boogeyman.
Thibodeau appreciated that edge in him. That was why he handed Noah the assignment no one else wanted: guard Lin Yi for the entire night.
Once the ball went up, Noah latched onto Lin immediately. It felt less like defense and more like someone had wrapped him in plaster—Lin could barely get his hands on the ball.
Noah's intensity was off the charts. He wasn't just defending; he was playing with the kind of expression that had even Thibodeau nodding in approval. Stopping Lin was one thing; forcing him to grind for every inch was another.
And the Bulls had done it once already. They were the first team to hand the Knicks a loss this season, and Thibodeau hadn't forgotten the praise he received afterward. If they could snatch another win tonight, it would be a highlight in his coaching reel.
Paul brought the ball up, calm as ever. He took one look at the way Noah was draped over Lin and shook his head. Lin was used to hard defense, but this was something else—regular-season games rarely got this personal.
So Paul signaled for Tyson to set a screen. One hard crossover later, Paul shook off Rose and pulled up for a smooth mid-range jumper.
Swish.
2–0, Knicks.
Strangely enough, the scoring didn't slow Noah down. Instead, he pounded his chest and let out a roar directly at Lin.
This guy was really wired differently.
Jogging back on defense, Paul glanced over and asked, "Lin, what'd you do—steal his girlfriend or something?"
Lin Yi: "..."
The Bulls' first possession didn't offer much breathing room either. Rose shifted gears immediately, blowing past Paul before Tyson stepped in. Rose slipped a bounce pass right between them, and Noah arrived on cue. Morris had no choice but to foul him.
And Noah treated the foul like he'd just dunked over the entire Knicks roster. He even threw Lin a glare that made Lin genuinely wonder if there was some forgotten grudge between them.
Three years ago, maybe there was.
Back then, the Bulls were finally climbing out of their rebuilding years—until the Knicks knocked the wind out of them. Worse yet, New York gifted the Raptors four wins late in the season, and Chicago got shoved out of the playoff picture. It left a bad taste in Noah's mouth. Maybe even a scar.
Since then, Noah had made it his personal mission: someday, somehow, he'd beat Lin Yi. And after that? Hollywood, supercars, a glamorous life—Noah's imagination was never short on ambition.
"This is Chicago!" Noah yelled, tilting his head toward Lin as if he was delivering a dramatic movie line.
The Knicks' players all exchanged glances. At this point, even they were half-convinced Lin must have wronged him at some point.
But just when Noah's energy seemed unstoppable… he walked to the free-throw line.
And his shooting form reminded everyone of reality.
Even so, the results mattered more than aesthetics. Noah was knocking down 75% of his free throws this season.
Swish.
Swish.
He made both, then shot Lin a look of pure pride.
"I got your ass on lock," he said, lifting his chin, "then I'm gonna get a dunk or block."
Lin Yi: "...
Bro, I haven't even opened my mouth.
Also—seriously—where did Noah get those lines from? The problem was, he hadn't blocked anything or dunked anything. Not even close.
On the Knicks' next trip down, Lin Yi decided it was time to plant some humility in Noah's heart for real. The Bulls were a bit too fired up tonight, and the United Center crowd wasn't exactly helping.
After giving Paul a subtle cue, Lin Yi curled off a screen. As expected, Noah came flying out like a man possessed, practically draping himself over Lin Yi again.
Paul shot Lin a look that basically said, "We doing this?"
Lin Yi nodded. "Run it."
The noise in the arena swelled, full of boos and that particular Chicago bravado. As a lifelong Kobe fan, Lin Yi believed that sometimes the right answer to noise wasn't silence—it was an answer ball.
A basic pass wasn't going to cut it. Noah was chest-to-chest, half-fronting, arms everywhere. So Paul lifted the ball and tossed a high, looping lob—inch-perfect, just high enough that Noah had no chance, but still falling right into Lin Yi's strike zone.
Noah jabbed Lin's calf with his knee—his unspoken message: "If I can't get it, you're not getting it either."
Lin Yi almost laughed. "I'm not Blake Griffin, man."
He leaned back slightly, reached up, and plucked Paul's pass out of the air like it was nothing. In truth, Lin Yi actually found Noah kind of fun in a chaotic sort of way—but he also had no idea who gave Noah the confidence to guard him solo.
Even if Noah were at his absolute peak, Lin wouldn't have worried. Noah's lateral quickness was good for a big man, but Lin's footwork was sharper—and he'd added weight over the summer precisely for matchups like this.
If Noah had been camped in the paint, Lin might've been more cautious; Noah's help defense was legitimately excellent.
Honestly, the smarter move for Chicago would've been to put Luol Deng on Lin, shade him toward help, and force jumpers. But Lin's recent barrage of absurdly deep threes had clearly scrambled scouting reports around the league.
Thibodeau's logic was simple: Lin's shooting was too dangerous, so put the longer defender on him, make every catch a fight.
But that meant one thing: the only person left protecting the rim was Boozer.
And Lin wasn't turning down a gift like that.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Noah, stuck too close and too eager, got shaken off almost instantly. His low stance couldn't save him—Lin dropped his own center of gravity even lower, gliding past in one smooth motion.
The whole sequence looked strangely elegant for something so physical. A lot of fans in the arena let out an involuntary gasp.
Three long strides later, Lin Yi exploded toward the rim. Boozer saw Lin's elevation—saw the way he cocked the ball back with one hand—and immediately decided he wanted no part of that.
Boom!
A vicious tomahawk dunk shook the rim and flattened the noise in the arena.
"Lin hammers Chicago!"
For a brief second, the United Center looked like it had collectively bitten into a lemon.
Hitting the pause button of a crowd really was the best feeling.
4–2, Knicks.
As they jogged back, Lin and Paul exchanged another glance.
"Alright," Lin said, catching his breath, "I'm taking over for a bit."
Paul shrugged casually. "Go for it."
...
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