The good people of my congregation turned mean on Sunday. Many appeared for church dressed in Husky sweaters or Husky jackets or Husky polo shirts or Husky ball caps. Mother Cynthia, my assisting priest, tied a black mourning band on my left bicep, over the sleeve of my alb, and told people not to be too hard on the old padre while he was in mourning. The organist did an improvisation on "Bow down to Washington" as a postlude.

I had prayed that God would send a heavy snowfall between the end of the game and the beginning of the mass ... which would give me an excuse not to appear ... but I was forced by the clemency of the weather to endure the Schadenfreude.

Perhaps I should take up following spelling bees or competition Monopoly or curling.