At what point does a die-hard fan just become insane? I think I may have found out the answer this past weekend. That’s because I was lucky (read: dumb) enough to take in the Giants vs. Packers game from Section 107, row 33 at Lambeau Field.

By now, you’ve heard the gruesome numbers: -4 degrees at kickoff, -24 with the wind chill. It was the third coldest game on record in NFL History, and the closest I’ve ever been to questioning my priorities in life.

The journey began with an early Sunday morning flight from Raleigh to Chicago, continued with a four hour drive in my Hertz rental car to Green Bay, WI, and finished at one of the meccas of sports.

Lambeau is one of only a handful of sports venues that belongs in the same breath as Wrigley, Fenway and Yankee Stadium. It’s an old-school stadium with aluminum bleachers instead of cushioned seats and names like Bart Starr, Ray Nitschke and Reggie White lining the façade below the scoreboard.

Being the self-admitted sports nut that I am, getting to go to a game at Lambeau would have been a treat in itself…but seeing my favorite team go against one of the all-time greats in Brett Favre was almost too much to ask for.

The fact that my team won…on a 47-yard field goal…in overtime…after losing the coin toss to start the extra frame…well, that was just the icing.

The fans in Green Bay were great – congratulating me when the boys in blue would bust up a screen pass just when it seemed Ryan Grant was headed to paydirt, and even offering their condolences when Mr. Tynes decided to play games with the minds of everyone supporting Eli Manning and Co.

The Packers faithful served to add to an experience that made me feel like I was part of an NFL Films documentary.

How many times have you heard someone yell out “now THIS is playoff football?” For the first time in my life I knew I wasn’t being cliché when I uttered that phrase Sunday night.

It was the Ice Bowl part two, with a pair of the most storied franchises in football fighting for a chance to go to the Super Bowl.

The fans wearing the bright orange of winter hunting gear outnumbered those wearing the jerseys of their favorite players, and you could see every breath of every aficionado, player and official in the building.

For the first three quarters, it was cold…the fourth quarter was brutal. It doesn’t matter how many clothes you have on, and for the record I had eight layers on my upper body, three pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, two pairs of gloves, two hats and a gator…the cold will find you.

When the stadium crew cleaned the bleachers before the game, they must not have realized the water they used to do so would freeze immediately, coating the seats with a quarter-inch layer of ice – or maybe they knew full well and just didn’t care. In other words, standing was dangerous; sitting was border-line suicide.

The seasoned veterans that had been to a few Packers games knew to bring their own fold-out seats or blankets to sit on…needless to say I wasn’t that lucky.

I am proud to say I was in attendance, even if I did come within about 45 minutes of losing a digit or two.

It was one of those tell-your-grandkids experiences that you may have two or three of in your lifetime, if you’re lucky.

But man, I’m glad the Giants won…