For four days every year, the New York Knicks hold part of their pre-season training at West Point, an historic campus north of the city where generations of US Army officers have been moulded. Traditionally, the mini-camp culminates in a dinner where players sit with cadets and some old soldier delivers a keynote speech.

Last Thursday, Joakim Noah, the Knicks' new centre, skipped the meal, citing his pacifism and his discomfort with the militaristic vibe.

“It’s hard for me a little bit,” said Noah. “I have a lot of respect for the kids who are out here fighting. But it’s hard for me to understand why we have to go to war, why kids have to kill kids around the world. So I have mixed feelings about being here. I’m very proud of this country. I love America but I just don’t understand kids killing kids around the world.”

Hardly the most extremist opinion, it provoked the now inevitable outbreak of jingoistic hysteria. On Fox News Channel, a war veteran denounced Noah as a terrible athlete (untrue) and lambasted him for “how disconnected he and others like him are from the reality of the umbrella that these guys [the soldiers] provide of security and safety to play a game.”

The New York Post described his conscientious objection as silliness and bizarrely reckoned he might have been somehow "enlightened" by attending a meal in which 4,000 cadets are fed in just 24 minutes.

Reactionary critics

Evincing little understanding of Noah and how he tries to live his life, reactionary critics attempted to portray this world traveller, fluent in several languages, as some sort of insular, entitled jock.

These attacks were ill-informed and misguided for here is that rarest of things, an athlete who backs up his rhetoric with action. Halfway through his nine seasons with the Chicago Bulls, he established the Noah's Arc Foundation, a charity designed to give kids an artistic outlet to express themselves, a lofty enough goal in a troubled city so riven by gun violence and murder the media have dubbed it Chiraq.

“There’s a lot of work to be done,” said Noah, back in August. “It hurts me to know the state for so many kids of this city I’ve grown to love. I’m very proud of the work that we do. But the truth is it’s not normal what’s going on in Chicago. The violence is like a plague. The more we got involved, the heavier it got for me. It’s very painful. So it’s very important to keep doing our part. It’s a small part. But we have to do what we can.”

An initiative that has changed the lives of hundreds of kids, he set it up in tandem with his mother, Cecilia Rodhe, a former Miss Sweden and professional model who now combines sculpture with her work as a therapist.

His father, Yannick, won the French Open tennis title in 1983 before segueing into an equally successful career as a pop singer. Given those impressive and eclectic genes (his grandfather played soccer for Cameroon) and a privileged upbringing that involved stints in his native New York and Paris, Noah was bound to be different.

When his University of Florida team visited the White House in 2006 as national champions, he walked in with his shirt untucked in silent protest against the Iraq War. After a stellar college career, the Bulls took him with the ninth pick in the 2007 draft. Taking the stage for the ceremonial handshake with NBA commissioner David Stern that night, the lanky seven-footer cut quite a dash. Wearing an oversized dickie bow, his outlandish afro spilling out of the Chicago cap that had been thrust on his head, he was gurning while making the peace sign as he posed for the official photograph.

During a difficult first year as a pro, many thought that caricature captured the clownish persona of somebody destined for a short stay in the league. Late for a couple of training sessions, team-mates found him difficult to deal with and he was eventually suspended for cursing at an assistant coach.

Throw in a marijuana possession charge and pictures of him buying bongs in head shops over the years and the perception might be of a character who doesn’t take the game seriously. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Noah overcame his teething problems to become one of the best centres in the league albeit one with silken ball handling skills more akin to a point guard. He also has a happy knack for tormenting the best players on opposing teams, ruffling the feathers even of icons like LeBron James with his manic demeanour, awkward style and trash-talking. This is why the Knicks, constantly seeking to resuscitate a moribund franchise, offered him a four-year $72m deal to return to the city where he spent his much of his teenhood.

The hometown where, it was pointed out during this week’s brouhaha, his school bus used to take him past the smouldering remains of the World Trade Centre every morning and evening. The kind of thing that might leave an imprint on an adolescent mind. The sort of disturbing sight that might even turn one into a pacifist.