The game was slipping away in slow motion. Every missed look tightened the air inside the arena. Every defensive stop felt temporary. Against the 76ers, the Bulls found themselves balanced on that uncomfortable edge where talent alone isn’t enough — where someone has to take the moment.
That someone was Coby White.
As the fourth quarter opened, the margin was thin and the pressure unmistakable. This was the part of the game where possessions stop being equal and stars reveal themselves. White didn’t rush. He didn’t force hero shots early. He read the floor like someone who understood exactly what was required — and when.
Then he started to assert control.
A pull-up jumper to settle the offense. A hard drive that collapsed the defense and created an open look. A deep three that shifted the energy from anxious to electric. With every possession, White grew calmer, sharper, more decisive. The 76ers adjusted. He answered. Again and again.
What made the performance defining wasn’t volume — it was precision.
White picked his spots with a veteran’s patience. When the defense played him tight, he attacked downhill. When they sagged, he punished them from range. When help came, he made the right read without hesitation. There was no panic in his game, no wasted movement. Just clarity.
And leadership.
This wasn’t a fourth-quarter explosion fueled by recklessness or hot-hand luck. It was command. White directed traffic, called for spacing, and demanded the ball when the Bulls needed direction most. In a game where nerves were visible on both benches, he looked comfortable living in the chaos.
Chicago fed off it.
The Bulls’ defense tightened as White’s confidence spread. Stops turned into transition chances. Closeouts became sharper. The team played like it trusted its closer — and that trust changed everything. The momentum didn’t swing suddenly; it tilted slowly, inevitably, toward Chicago.
By the time the final minutes arrived, the question wasn’t who would take the shots. It was whether the 76ers had any answers left.
They didn’t.
White closed the door with the same poise he’d shown all quarter — no celebration, no dramatics, just execution. When the buzzer sounded, the win felt heavier than a single night in the standings. It felt like confirmation.
For years, Coby White has lived somewhere between promise and potential. Flashes of brilliance followed by stretches of uncertainty. But nights like this change perception. They change roles. They change expectations.
This was a game where Chicago didn’t just need scoring — it needed someone to own the moment. White didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t defer. He stepped forward and made the game bend to him.
That’s what closers do.
The box score will tell part of the story. The fourth quarter told the rest. And for the Bulls, the takeaway is clear: when the pressure rises and the margin disappears, Coby White isn’t shrinking from the moment anymore.
He’s taking it over.
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