The rest of the NFL spent the past month worried about the playoffs, while Bears fans had an early offseason to think warm thoughts about the White Sox or to prepare for the Cubs’ next rebuilding century. Meanwhile Bears players began dealing with the stresses of the offseason, such as deciding how much to tip their various masseuses.

But diehards like me are eternally optimistic. As a superfan, I think only of the Bears as the Giants and Patriots prepare to duke it out Sunday evening in Glendale, Ariz. My faith in the Bears is so strong that I believe they will not lose another game for a whole seven months. This is the sort of blind loyalty the team can really count on when the going gets tough.

This devotion is the main reason I took my friend Matt, a member of the United States Air Force, to the game against the Saints on Dec. 30. We went in spite of the freezing cold – there was a serious risk of developing a very manly case of the sniffles – and despite the Bears having already been mathematically eliminated from the playoffs. (Also, because Matt was my only friend who didn’t realize face value for the ticket was a price gouge.)

This was Matt’s first Bears game at Soldier Field, and though he was very excited about attending, he was not exactly an expert on the team or the league. I base this statement on the fact that, until about 30 minutes before kickoff, he had never even heard of backup defensive tackle Babatunde Oshinowo. This lack of team spirit is normally inexcusable, but I gave Matt a break because he serves his country with honor and also because he was my ride home.

As a seasoned veteran of going to Bears games – in my 24 years I’ve been to about 30 – it was fun to watch Matt experience the elements of Soldier Field. He was almost like a child; his thrill at the sight of the pregame warm-ups; his terror at the 45-minute wait to use the restroom; his soul-crushing realization that his choices were either to pay $4.50 for a hot dog or to starve.

Matt was dressed in a No. 91 Tommie Harris jersey I let him borrow from my collection, and it only took him three and a half quarters to remember whose name was on the back. Wearing replica jerseys is an important way for spectators to help their team. What happens is the opposing team shows up to the field, sees a fan in the ninth row wearing No. 23 and concludes that Devin Hester is no longer a threat because he is now, apparently, a paunchy 55-year-old white guy with mustard stains. This is what happened to Denver Broncos punter Todd Sauerbrun in November when he kicked two balls Hester returned for touchdowns.

He confused the speed demon Pro Bowler with Mrs. Mildred Schnoidelman of Whiting, Ind.

Matt and I were in row 37, section 438 in the grandstand – the highest row in the entire stadium, the one from which your nose feels too much sympathy for you to even bother bleeding. The only thing that made me feel better after the steep and perilous climb to our seats was watching beer men schlep up to us with troughs full of Miller Lite cans, asking if we wanted to buy 16 ounces for seven dollars, then head all the way back down after we told them “no.”

It wasn’t long before Matt realized how different it was to watch a game in person than on TV. For one thing, there was a substantially better chance our strategic suggestions would be implemented by the team. Yelling “Hey, Fred Miller, BLOCK SOMEBODY!” at a TV screen isn’t helpful.

But from row 37 we could definitely see one of the very small-looking people on the sideline turn toward us, or possibly away from us, and say something to another small-looking person, or possibly a pile of equipment, probably along the lines of “Those guys in 438 want Miller to throw a block – not a bad idea.”

Another major difference between watching games on TV and in person is that we didn’t have to sit through all the commercial breaks.

Instead we only had the advertisements plastered all over Soldier Field, such as the Miller Lite Party Deck, the Cadillac Club, the Viagra Cheerleaders, etc. (Actually the Bears don’t have cheerleaders, which makes sense because cheerleaders make football seem less serious, and that’s supposed to be Lance Briggs’ job.)

So the Bears weren’t playing for anything but a draft pick? Didn’t matter to us, an American serviceman and a college student screaming our fool heads off at every single first down, every single defensive tackle for a loss, and – to distinguish us from the casual, fair-weather fans – even for every single Devin Hester touchdown, of which there were two.

Bring on the offseason – I don’t care about the Super Bowl, but can’t wait to paint my face for the draft – because we die-hards can handle it. We can also handle another bowl of chicken noodle soup, because sometimes a healthy dose of team spirit leads to an unhealthy case of the sniffles.

Scott Green is a second-year law student and can be reached at [email protected].