From Down Under to underwater
Owls return home from Australia only to find harsh reality
When Rice fullback Paine Matiscik and his three teammates left their home in midAugust, the only surprises they were expecting were the new experiences they would undertake in Australia.
They left their quaint onestory home on Greenbush Street behind for a week Down Under, where they played with koalas and practiced in rugby facilities.
Rice players, coaches, and administrators didn’t realize a storm was developing off the northwest coast of South America. By the time they arrived in Sydney, the storm picked up pace.
By game day, the storm made landfall as a Category 4 hurricane.
“Keep in mind they lowered the street after (Tropical Storm) Allison. They widened the bayou, too, but it kind of bottlenecks at Buffalo Speedway,” said Glenn Brooks, Matiscik’s neighbor, of their neighborhood off South Braeswood.
When Hurricane Harvey’s rain hit Houston, Brooks said, water in the streets rose chesthigh. Inside the area’s houses,
residents could expect at least two feet of water as they scrambled to move valuables to higher shelves while helicopters buzzed in the skies above — Brooks said the Coast Guard made three rescues near the neighborhood on Aug. 27.
Rice officials watched the storm from afar. Initially, they thought it wouldn’t affect their travel plans home after losing to Stanford in Sydney.
Administrators recalculated the situation en route to Los Angeles after thousands of flights to and from Houston had been canceled. The Owls, with luggage full of dirty laundry, detoured to Fort Worth.
They stayed there until last Friday, when Matiscik and his teammates finally returned to Houston that afternoon, overjoyed to be back but almost immediately faced with the aftermath of the storm they dodged.
Players descended to the parking lot near Rice Stadium, where many curiously opened car doors, pressed into damp seats and recoiled at foul odors. ‘He said it was livable’
Back on Greenbush, neighbors had been teaming all morning.
Most front yards featured a hefty pile of possessions — vacuums, rugs, toys, lamps. There were mountains of mattresses, floorboards, dry wall and even a few doors.
One family wore white masks on their foreheads while eating pizza in the front yard with some hired help. Other homes seemed empty; the waterline halfway up the garage suggesting it was too deep to stay.
Tow trucks meandered through the streets, passing by hollowed out homes to tow Acuras and BMWs away.
Around 5:30 p.m., linebacker DJ Green was the first to arrive at their house when his pickup truck chugged into the driveway.
He didn’t know what it looked like inside, although their landlord was here a few days ago. The landlord sent the housemates two photos, but neither hinted at what they were about to see.
“He told us it was livable,” Green said.
Green walked in, straight-faced, scanning the living room from left to right.
Warped oak floorboards elevated into a six-inch tall ridge spanned the back wall of the living room. Between the mountainous floor and the sofas skewed atop it with cushions sagging to the ground, the room resembled a Dalí painting.
Matiscik, a barrel-chested former linebacker, arrived shortly after with a small entourage. He expected to have his work cut out for him, but the living room floor flabbergasted him. He laughed. “This sucks,” he thought, shaking his head before venturing to his room down the hallway to the left.
Of the housemates, Matiscik’s losses might be the most significant.
“Toss anything that’s on thefloor,”heinstructedafew teammates who had come to help.“Anythinginthosebottom drawers is done.”
He began to empty armfuls of clothes, bottles, soggy stacks of paper and shoes into a trash bag. Within five minutes, they had a row of four full bags by the door.
While many of his dress shirts hung safely, he lost the hamper of freshly washed clothes sitting by his bed. There also was that new pair of Cole Haan’s he bought just before the trip, ruined after being left in the middle of the floor.
While the landlords of some Rice teammates offered more immediate accommodations like returning their residents’ deposits, this group was assured their damage wasn’t too extensive.
“He said it was livable,” Matiscik said in a sarcastic tone, as they parade the bags outside to begin their own pile. Soggy textbooks
Elsewhere in the house, the players lost much of what sat in their kitchen and closets. Matiscik was relieved his flashing Bud Light sign and the goldframed portrait of Black Jesus at the Last Supper stayed dry.
Much of Green’s room was unfazed, save for a soggy bag of laundry. It’s fortunate his room looks like he just moved in, because the plastic bins protected his belongings.
Down the hall, Canadian guard Peter Godber also was spared.
Godber was excited to return to Houston, but as their bus approached the city, he grew concerned as they passed homes with mountainous piles by the curb.
Godber left his laptop at the bottom of his bookshelf before he departed. He also was concerned about a low-lying stash of personal belongings: his visa, old gifts from his girlfriend, football-related documents.
Judging by the waterline in the closet by his room, though, the threat never came to fruition.
Trey Martin, a preseason All-Conference USA center and the fourth housemate, was the last to arrive at the house. He’d been trying to salvage his white Impala, which took some floodwater in the stadium parking lot but still ran. His insurance company told him to let them examine it before he started driving it again.
Martin’s room sits at the other side of the living room wall. He walked across the rippling, warped floor to gather his shoes in a pile to be washed. On the way, he stepped over two rectangles covered in dripping plastic.
They’re his textbooks for the semester, still in the same bags he bought them in just before the trip. They’re done for, he thinks.
He’ll have to replace a dresser, too, but like Godber, some of his belongings were elevated.
Martin intends to stay with a friend in the short term. Green and Godber made plans to crash with a teammate.
Matiscik stepped outside to make a phone call. He hasn’t figured out where he’ll go yet. No more dancing
By 6:30 p.m., Matiscik’s group of helpers swelled into the Owls’ two-deep offense.
There’s quarterback Jackson Tyner, receiver Cameron Johnson and guard Joseph Dill. Tackle Uzoma Osuji arrived with coach David Bailiff, who pulled up in a pickup truck, bringing masks, mops and jokes.
“You’re not dancing in here anymore,” he said, staring at the living room floor.
Bailiff said 26 Rice players lost cars to flood damage. He said 12 “lost everything.”
Matiscik’s house was Bailiff ’s second stop of the evening.
“At least the walls are still on here,” Osuji said, who pulled out an iPhone to show a glimpse of the last house, which resembles an abandoned shack more than a living space.
Matiscik, now sweating through a Rice T-shirt, grabbed a can of Frio Light and mounted the plateau in his living room to survey the house for more damage.
By now, the humble pile outside had grown into its own mountain range.
It’s so vast that it attracted the attention of a family driving around the neighborhood collecting trash for reuse.
Digging through the yard pile, there are chairs, volleyballs, microwaves, speakers, backpacks, family-size Fruity Pebbles and a stuffed turquoise snake.
After half an hour, Bailiff wrangled his players into a huddle to organize their next moves and finalize sleeping arrangements.
At worst, he suggested, they could stay in the players’ lounge. Bailiff already knew he’d be sleeping on campus in his office with his neighborhood in Sienna Plantation under evacuation.
Shortly after, players filed out to move on to the next house.
Matiscik went outside, too, plopping down on the edge of Green’s cargo bed.
For someone who just lost so much, who must now make the time to rebuild between class and practices, Matiscik had been jovial all evening.
He’s one to smile with his eyes as much as his mouth, but the cleanup and his new reality seemed to have worn on him a bit. As the sunlight began to fade, he looked to the ground, legs swinging from the truck.
At least he had an idea where he was going next.
Martin slid a white mask to his forehead and joined him in the back of the pickup. Green and Godber walked out and stood across from them.
“We probably won’t be able to stay here all semester,” Godber said, “better start looking at other places.” Moving on, but where?
The group is weighing the cost and logistics of different arrangements.
One-bedroom apartments are expensive; maybe they should try to maintain their current group.
Maybe they can squeeze into a two-bedroom; perhaps someone can take the couch.
“I still don’t know what I’m doing long term,” Matiscik said.
Martin indicated he may not even be in Houston after the football season.
“Well,” Godber said, “this is the week I want to move because of the bye week.”
Green left to turn the lights off inside while Matiscik glanced at the black luggage by his legs.
It’s the same luggage he packed a week’s worth of clothing in for Australia. The same luggage he had yet to unpack. The same luggage he’ll be living out of for the foreseeable future.
When the conversation ended, the group still didn’t have a plan.
They’re just thinking about moving on as the door screeched shut behind Green.