For most of the night, the game felt dangerous.
Not chaotic, not out of control — just slippery. The kind of contest where one mistake can tilt everything, where the margin for error shrinks with every possession. The Pelicans lingered, refused to fade, and made it clear they weren’t going anywhere quietly. Chicago felt that tension. The arena felt it too.
Then, suddenly, the switch flipped.
It started with Isaac Okoro — and it didn’t look gradual. It looked urgent. Necessary. Almost primal. Okoro attacked like a player who sensed the moment before anyone else did, exploding downhill with fearless intent. His scoring bursts didn’t just add points; they punctured belief. Each drive silenced the Pelicans’ bench a little more. Each finish drained oxygen from the building until New Orleans realized the game had slipped out of reach.
Okoro didn’t wait for plays to be drawn. He made himself the solution.
But the surge didn’t become a takeover until Tre Jones assumed total control.
Not with noise. Not with flash. With precision.
Jones slowed the game to his tempo, turning urgency into order. Possessions that once felt frantic suddenly felt inevitable. He read defenders two steps ahead, manipulating space, choosing when to accelerate and when to suffocate momentum. Every pass arrived on time. Every decision felt final. If Okoro provided the spark, Jones supplied the structure — the calm that transforms chaos into dominance.
That’s when the Pelicans cracked.
Chicago’s late run wasn’t just a flurry. It was surgical. Defensive stops stacked. Offensive possessions ended with purpose. New Orleans tried to respond, but Jones denied them rhythm while Okoro denied them relief. The Bulls didn’t rush. They didn’t panic. They closed.
Fans felt the shift instantly. This wasn’t a lucky stretch. This wasn’t hot shooting alone. This was a team recognizing a moment and seizing it with authority. The arena energy changed — from nervous anticipation to confident expectation. Each possession felt heavier for the Pelicans, lighter for Chicago.
By the time the final minutes unraveled, the result felt inevitable.
And that’s the part that matters most.
Because what Chicago revealed wasn’t just depth or effort — it was identity. A version of the Bulls that can absorb pressure, wait patiently, and then strike with precision when the moment demands it. A team that doesn’t need to dominate wire-to-wire to dominate the outcome.
Okoro showed what happens when aggression meets timing.
Jones showed what happens when intelligence meets control.
Together, they didn’t just finish the game — they reframed it.
The Pelicans didn’t lose because the Bulls got lucky. They lost because Chicago decided the game was over — and made it so.
As fans filed out and highlights replayed, one realization lingered louder than the final score: this felt different. More composed. More deliberate. More dangerous.
Chicago didn’t just win late.
They revealed a new version of themselves — one that knows exactly when to flip the switch.
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