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It’s four days and 18 hours until the Super Bowl, and I am nervous just thinking about it. I’m still enjoying the fresh memory of being in Soldier Field to watch the Bears win the 2006 NFC Championship game, which I’ve described below. But first, a little history.

I’ve been a Bears fan for as long as I can remember – watching games with my brother, who would read the sports pages and listen to a different game on the radio at the same time; with my dad, who would nod off occasionally between plays; and with my mom, who always commented on who had the nicest butt in those tight football pants she liked so much.

When I went away to college in Denver, I watched and rooted for the Broncos – but only if they weren’t playing the Bears. I still made sure I saw as many Bears games as I could. That trend continued when I moved to California, when I would wake up at what seemed like the crack of dawn to a night owl in order to get to a sports bar in time to see the Bears play at 10 am Pacific Time. I was usually hung over from a wild Saturday night hitting the LA club scene, and I often rode my bike to the sports bar because Sunday was my only day I could get in some exercise. It was a small price to pay to see my Bears.

Those were the lonely years, when not many people were supporting the Bears or bothering to follow them. I can’t even remember the names of all the failed quarterbacks. But our defense was always strong, and I knew some day the Bears would be back in all their glory.

After finally returning to Chicago, I was thrilled to be able to watch the Bears every Sunday during football season from the comfort of my own living room – and at a decent hour, 12 pm. My husband, born and bred a Bills fan in Buffalo, eventually knew more about the Bears players and record than that of the Bills. When our kids were born, they learned that every Sunday meant football in the fall and winter. We have a shot of our baby daughter in front of the TV in the hospital room with the Bears game on behind her. I never miss a game, or even a play. Around our house we call it “Special Football Sunday,” and that means the TV stays on a lot longer than I usually allow in a day, and everyone can eat in the living room while the game is on. We make a pizza and heat up wings, or the pizza man comes to our door with a hot delivery. And we sing “Bear Down” for every score, so now everyone in the family knows the words.

During the past several years, I’ve managed to get to a game or two at Soldier Field. But during this season, I knew something special was happening. I started asking everyone I know if they could help me get to any of the BIG games. With a 7-0 start, I knew the Bears were going to the playoffs, and my instinct told me they were going all the way – to the Super Bowl.

I tried to re-join the Chicago Bears Fan Club I belonged to years ago, the one that had great pre-game parties with food and drinks and live music under a tent just outside the gates of the old Soldier Field. But I found out the club disbanded, so I started my own. In a season when the Bears would go on to a 13-3 record, we needed a fan club to show our support and meet other fans. We organized a viewing party for fans to watch the first playoff game together at a sports bar. Surrounded by old friends and new ones, we watched Robbie Gould take us to the NFC Championship game for the first time in nearly 20 years with his superb winning kick in overtime against the Seattle Seahawks.

It was only the night before, that a friend with season tickets told me he’d take me to the NFC Championship Game. That kick sealed the Bears fate and mine. I met Nick and his father-in-law Tom in Addison and rode downtown with them. I was surprised to see that we had to pay $50 to park in a lot a couple miles from the stadium, and even more shocked to learn that the two friends we were meeting had to pay $100 to park in a museum campus lot for tailgating. But it was all worth it. We had brats and beer and burgers and Mike’s hard lemonade. I brought some hot chocolate and schnapps, but we didn’t have much. I wasn’t even cold, though it was about 30 degrees, and probably about 10 degrees colder if you count the wind chill. But my heart raced with nervous anticipation so much that I was oblivious to the cold. Plus, like everyone else (except the New Orleans Saints fans, some of whom didn’t even have gloves), I was wearing six layers of clothing so no Chicago wind could penetrate my skin.

The car next to us blared “Bear Down” and hit the repeat button, and I sang along for the first few rounds. The car on the other side was enjoying lobster (or was it crab legs?) and saw my sign for the Fan Club and asked about it. One guy signed up on the spot. I handed out flyers about the Fan Club to dozens of others. A friend from Denver called to ask the weather report and tell me he was worried I would be disappointed. I told him not to bring me down and ended the call. I was too pumped up to think about anything but a win. We ate and drank a little more and went in early to see the pre-game festivities.

The Bears came out strong and Rex looked good as we drove down the field. But on third and goal we didn’t make it, and Lovie had the team go for it on 4th down. No, I screamed. We need points on the board. It was still 0-0 in the first quarter. The Bears got the first down but still went three and out without tasting the end zone. This time Lovie brought out Robbie Gould for a solid kick and the first points of the game. I breathed a small sigh of relief. The crowd was disappointed but hopeful. Everyone cheered. We don’t boo in Chicago. We support our team, even if we’re worried they’re not doing their best.

A couple more drives, a couple more trips to the red zone, and still no touchdown. Now the crowd was getting frustrated. But it’s been a long road for us Bears fans. Most had the attitude I did – it’s better to be 9 points ahead than 9 points behind. My friend sat down. He looked like he was ready for disappointment. We’re ahead, I reminded him.

Then each team scored a touchdown, and the Saints looked like they were coming alive. They really had a lot of momentum at the end of the second quarter, and everyone was glad it was half time. We were thankful that the Bears would receive the ball in the beginning of the second half.

I was too nervous to even leave my seat at half time. I never left to get something to eat or drink or even go to the bathroom during the whole game. Somehow I worried I would miss something important, or would not be there to yell at the opportune time thereby not fulfilling my Fourth Phase role properly. As the Saints kick started the second half and I watched Devin Hester just below our seats, I yelled, Come on Devin. Give us Seven. He had a good return, though not a touchdown.

Then it was 3 and out, and we were worried. I kept getting more nervous with each quarter. Though we never fell behind during the whole game, I kept worrying about the momentum switching and the Saints just charging through to a lead. But the crowd didn’t sit. We kept yelling. We were still confident, just a little worried. We screamed and screamed during EVERY Saints offensive play. We even caused a few false starts by the Saints. The Fourth Phase was in the game just as much as our defense (which held them to no score several times in the red zone) and our offense led by Rex (who had thrown no interceptions -- which I was consciously aware of but wouldn’t dare utter that word).

But when Reggie Bush caught a pass and broke away from our defenders and ran all the way towards the end zone, we were crushed. The dismay turned to anger as he slowly swaggered for the last few steps and turned directly towards Urlacher and taunted him, though Urlacher wasn’t even covering him during that play. It was a disgusting move, which should have gotten him a flag but didn’t. It got something better. That little gesture got the entire team, and especially the defense, so riled up they would make sure the Saints would not pull ahead. I told numerous people later that the Bears seemed like they were on fire until that point in the game, but after that they seemed like they had a rocket under their ass.

It was like they shot out of a cannon to insure they would pile on the points and the Saints would score no more. Though they went three and out, Brad Maynard had a spectacular punt that pinned the Saints inside their own 5 yard line. Just before the snap, I said to my friend, This would sure be a great time for safety. I screamed for a sack. I was so worried that we were only ahead by two; at least if we were ahead by more than a field goal I would feel better.

As the Bears blitzed Drew Brees, he got rid of the ball at the last minute and didn’t even throw to a receiver. Then I saw Urlacher and some other defensive players rush up to the referee screaming and pointing. Intentional grounding, people were screaming. Yeah, that would be good, I thought. Then, after what seemed like several minutes, the flag came out of the pocket and just before that the Bears players started putting their hands together over their heads. I heard someone yell Safety. I saw the ref make the same gesture. Yeah, I thought, that’s a safety signal. But why? I know a lot about football, but I didn’t know an intentional grounding call in the end zone would result in a safety. The realization hit me quick as the crowd roared and the concrete beneath our feet vibrated. The fans were jumping up and down. I hugged my friend. I gave rounds of high fives to all the fans in front of me and next to me as I had for the previous four scores. And I sang “Bear Down” even louder. And I was in shock.

The rest of the game was like a race track blur. It seemed like the time went by so fast. If there was any chance that the Saints had any momentum left, the offense took it away with a great drive capped off by an incredible catch by Bernard Berrian. He caught it in the end zone opposite our seats, so I never really enjoyed that backwards somersault until I saw it hours later when I came home to watch the TV highlights that I couldn’t turn off – just like I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. We sang once more. I told my friends I planned to sing “Bear Down” a lot that day, and now my prediction was coming true.

The next time the Bears had the ball and they gave it to Thomas Jones, it was like he became magic when he touched that ball. He was suddenly on fire. He kept running and running every play, further and further down the field. When they got to first and goal, I yelled, Give it to Jones. I hoped they wouldn’t pass. This was Jones’ drive. He deserved that touchdown, and I knew he could run it in. And he did. As I was jumping up and down, I heard the words that stopped my world: “We’re going to the Super Bowl.”

The girl in front of me turned and looked me right in the eyes and said it. Everything got quiet in my mind. And I realized she was right. It was 32 to 14 in the fourth quarter. I felt great after Berrian’s catch, and knew we had a commanding lead with 25-14. But I was still worried, since two touchdowns would wipe out that lead. When the fan in front of me said that, it gave me chills because I knew she was right. There was no losing this game now. The Bears were so hot; no wonder I hadn’t been cold the whole game, though by now the wind had picked up, the temperature had dropped, and the snow was falling. Several people said that Papa Bear Halas was sending the snow down, because that’s what happened in the fourth quarter in ’85. And here we were, more than 20 years later, and we were going to the Super Bowl. I hugged my friend again and couldn’t stop screaming.

I grabbed my phone and called my brother just as we started to sing “Bear Down.” I didn’t even say anything, just let him enjoy the sounds of the ecstatic crowd. Then I told him, This is it. We’re going to the Super Bowl. I was more determined now than ever to find a way to get tickets. I had been trying for three months, ever since the Bears were 7-0. I asked everyone I knew who might have some connections to give it a try for me. Most thought I was crazy. It’s a long way until the season is over, they said. What makes you think the Bears will be in the Super Bowl? I have a feeling, I told them. I want to try now, while I still have a chance, before every fan in Chicago is trying for those tickets.

The next several minutes the crowd couldn’t stop screaming. Even when the Bears got the ball, it was hard to keep quiet, though the electronic scoreboard reminded us: Quiet. Offense at Work. Then we watched another great drive, capped by another running touchdown, this time by Cedric Benson. It couldn’t get any better. It was 39-14 and the game was nearly over. I called my die-hard Bears fan friend Kenny in California, so he could hear “Bear Down” this time. Then I remembered I hadn’t even called my husband yet. He is a Bills fan deep down, after all. I’ll call him when the score is final. And as the streamers flew, I called my husband and told him this was the best sporting event I had ever attended in my life. I had the biggest smile on my face. It stayed there until I fell asleep many hours later.

My California friend called to tell me to stay in our seats to watch the Halas Trophy being awarded to the Bears. I hadn’t thought of leaving. No one left, except the two Saints fans behind us. The stadium was full. The game was over. The crowd was still screaming. People just kept hugging and high-fiving. The jubilation was infectious. As we watched the sportscasters on the big screen interviewing our great players, we all reveled in the moment we knew would happen. We weren’t in disbelief. We expected to be here. But we had been worried, of course. This is Chicago. These are the Bears. It’s been a long time. Now the worry was behind us. We watched Virginia get the trophy named after her father, and watched Urlacher and Rex get the accolades they deserved, along with Jones and Benson and the rest of the team.

Even after the ceremony was done, no one wanted to leave. We were all enjoying the taste of victory, and it was so sweet. The fans filed out slowly, and I hoped we’d be returning to the tailgate lot. Hours before the game, Rich and Greg showed me the bottle of the champagne they brought. Save it, I insisted. We’ll want to celebrate after the game. They weren’t sure, but I convinced them. I was glad I had. I wanted to get to the car and pop that cork in honor of our fabulous Chicago Bears. And we did. We drank a little more and listened to “Bear Down” blaring from the car speakers next to us a few more times. It felt like the song was inside my chest and was about to burst out.

After I got home, I had to watch every channel I could, to see every version of the highlights. I went to bed with a new mission: I had to check back with everyone I had contacted weeks earlier to see if any of them had any chance of getting me Super Bowl tickets. I just had to get to that game and see them win it all.

Then just 9 days before the Super Bowl, I made one last call to one more person who might get me those sought-after tickets. If you want them, I have two you can have, he said. I was sitting, and I stood up and held my breath and wanted to scream: Yes. But I quietly said, You’ve just fulfilled my dream. Oh my gosh! My heart beat fast as I got out my credit card and gave him the address to FedEx the tickets to. When I got off the phone I couldn’t help but run up to some co-workers and tell them the news. They were jealous, of course, but happy for me. Then I called my brother and told him we were going.

And now I’m getting ready to fly to Miami to experience the Super Bowl. And so are the Bears. And they plan to come home with rings on their fingers and a trophy for the whole city.