Trapped in Toyota Center with Dwight Howard and the Houston Faithful

HOUSTON — No one doubted the danger that rose with the flood waters outside Toyota Center. Houston had been through this too often to dismiss the warnings as just television news hysteria, as can be done with other storms in other cities.

We know what comes when the bayous swell and the streets turn to rivers. We don't panic, but we take this stuff seriously.

The scene in Toyota Center on Monday night was in some ways surreal, with emotions bouncing from elation to concern, silly happiness from a stirring Rockets triumph over the Warriors to sober decision-making about how to get home before the sun.

As the storm parked itself over the center of Houston, bringing back memories of Tropical Storm Allison and Hurricane Ike, the thunder could be heard inside Toyota Center even over the roars of the crowd.

With minutes left to play and the Rockets leading by 10, the booming baritone of public address announcer John Paul Stevenson switched from calling James Harden's name to asking fans to stay in the safety of the arena when the game ended.

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Messages were posted throughout the building, reading, "Attention Rockets fans: Due to severe weather, we recommend remaining in your seats until the weather passes."

Minutes after the final buzzer, the enormous video boards that hang above the court switched to the Weather Channel, and fans began plotting their escape.

In many ways, it was a fun way to end what had been a fun night, like the margarita parties that filled the cul-de-sacs the day after Ike turned out the lights. But folks understood the reality outside was there, too, with the news certain to be serious and sad the next day.

So we waited, a stalwart crowd that was in so many ways typical Houston and their affable superstar, Dwight Howard. He was trapped too; storms don't favor the famous or wealthy, and Howard lives farther outside the city than his teammates, requiring that he try the highways, so he took shelter with 500 or so of his newest friends.

Howard left the excessive comfort of the Rockets locker room and players' lounge to hang with fans and brighten their wait. In typical Dwight fashion, he mingled and posed for photos the whole time. He chatted with the media again and called in to the postgame radio show that stayed on the air until 3 a.m. to trade storm stories amid the basketball chatter. His young son played catch with fans within reach of a strong throwing arm.

"There's no need to try to push it," Howard said. "One of my friends just hit me up and said he's stuck on the highway now. I don't think it's smart for anybody to try to be out in this weather."

As the hours passed and information about which roads had become passable reached Toyota Center, Howard and more and more of the crowd headed home as crews began converting the arena from gym to concert venue for Neil Diamond.

The night, however, was far from over.

It's difficult to say what they were thinking—OK, make it what I was thinking—but at roughly 1:15 a.m. I ventured out into the storm to try to find a way home. But the water rose incredibly quickly, from knee-high to power-forward-high, as soon as I hit the streets. Some cars drowned in the waters.

The drivers in the inside loop of downtown got out OK. The rest of us shifted into park, reclined drivers' seats and spent the night parked on the highways of our daily commutes.

When the sun rose, a few of us found a way up the ramps to complete a commute that normally takes 40 minutes in seven-and-a-half hours. The vast majority, however, were locked in for many more hours.

Most could not complain. Like the fans who patiently, happily waited out the storm in Toyota Center, we knew from experience how much worse things could have been. Allison wrecked the city. Ike battered and displaced us. This storm would pass.

We did what we always do. We came together, from the lower bowl seats at Toyota Center to the middle of the roads that extended in every direction toward home.

Jonathan Feigen covers the Houston Rockets for the Houston Chronicle and Bleacher Report.