Pocket pancakes and a persnickety preacher

I’ll admit I had second thoughts about wearing my Brewer T-shirt to mass Sunday morning, but I’m a big believer in keeping streaks alive.

We’ve been eating pancakes at our house since Brewer Manager Pat Murphy pulled a couple out of his pocket during a post-game interview and launched a wacky trend. I’ve also worn a vintage blue Brewers T-shirt whenever I could. We do what we can to help the fellas, especially when they’re on a roll.

So, following Saturday night’s exciting, extra-innings win over Cincinnati that brought Milwaukee’s historic win streak to 14, and ahead of an afternoon game that could stretch that streak to 15, I wore my old blue T-shirt to church.

Like I said, we do what we can to help a streak and, having watched some amazing comebacks this season, I’m pretty sure God’s a Brewer fan anyway.

Generally, we like to sit in the back at this church, way off to the side, where we can enjoy the antics of visiting children and no one will notice if our eyes flutter closed during the homily. Inexplicably, yesterday morning, my husband marched to the center of the church and I had no choice but to follow him. The seats he chose landed me in direct eyesight of the priest and the deacon, which might not have been an issue had the deacon not made a particular point on that fine morning.

Just prior to mass starting, he walked up to the altar wearing a Packer baseball hat, which caught all of our attention. I sat up a little straighter thinking I’d spied a kindred spirit.

I was wrong. So, very, wrong.

As it turned out, the deacon wore the hat to prove a point. “Men should not wear hats in church,” he said. “It’s a matter of respect.”

Uh oh.

I slid a little lower in my seat and avoided eye contact with my snickering husband.

“This parish is in a vacation area and it’s tempting to come here in your vacation clothes” he continued.

I opened my paper program, spread it wide, and held it reverently over my chest to cover the giant yellow logo there.

“But, I would caution you against that,” he explained. “Mass is a celebration. You should dress in a way that reflects that.”

I don’t know the man, but I accidentally met his eyes a few times as mass continued and I quickly bowed my head. Simultaneously, I listened to the priest’s homily and tried to figure out how I could receive communion without anyone noticing my shirt.

My husband, whom will call Judas here, sat piously next to me in his ubiquitous black-collared golf shirt.

“You did this,” I hissed during the sign of peace.

As we exited church, old Judas made an observation.

“You know, I didn’t see anyone else in that whole church wearing Brewer gear,” he said. “Weird, right?”

“So weird,” I glared.

I’m not blaming the deacon, who certainly has a right to ask people to show respect in his church. But I would like to note that the great Brewer win streak ended just a few hours after that mass.

They play the Cubs today in an important double header.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I have an old blue shirt to pull out of the drier, and a plate of pancakes to eat.