My dad died in October 2005 after over 60 years as a Packers fan. He grew up in the western part of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and they got the Milwaukee newspapers, not Detroit. He saw the Packers play many times in Detroit, dating back to the 1960s, but he never had a chance to see them play at Lambeau Field. He was such a passionate fan that, after his heart attack in 1988, he wasn't allowed to watch their big games on TV. When they played in the Super Bowl in 1997 and 1998, my brother and I watched the game and gave him updates. He only turned on the first one when it became clear that they were going to win, and he never watched any of their loss to Denver the next season.

In 1997, when the team sold shares of stock - they are the only community-owned team in the major North American league sports - I bought him one share for Christmas. When he opened the present, he started to cry - one of the few times I ever saw him do that. Between 1998 and 2004, he and my mom went to several of the team's stockholder meetings, which were held at Lambeau Field. It wasn't the same as seeing them play there, but he loved it.

Some of the last conversations we had, when it looked like he was going to recover, were about his frustration with the Packers. They finished 4-12 in 2005, including a 21-14 loss in Cincinnati the day after he died, which didn't seem fair.

About a month ago, due to a lucky set of circumstances that I don't want to explain to avoid getting anyone in trouble, a small portion of my dad's ashes were spread on the field at Lambeau. He would have been thrilled.

Green Bay's next game was against, of all teams, Detroit. My dad despised the Lions, and I'm sure he enjoyed watching the Packers throttled them 34-13.

Two weeks later, the Packers decimated Seattle 42-20 to reach the NFC championship game, and a day later, the Giants stunned the Cowboys. That meant the game would be in Green Bay.

The temperature was about 0F at kickoff and slowly dropped as the game went on. Neither team played particularly well - it's hard to play football with numb fingers - but the Packers made a key set of mistakes late in regulation. That meant the Giants had a chance at a reasonably short field goal to win the game as regulation ended.

I'm not going to say my dad messed up the snap, but somehow it went astray, and Lawrence Tynes missed the kick, sending the game to overtime.

The Packers won the toss. This was going to be the dream finish.

And then Brett Favre threw a terrible interception.

A couple minutes later, Tynes somehow kicked a frozen football 47 yards for the game-winning field goal, and the Giants were on their way to the Super Bowl.

That's not what was supposed to happen.

Sorry, Dad. At least you had the best seats in the house.

I was just talking to my brother, and we were discussing the upcoming Michigan and Arizona primaries. I told him about the DailyKos effort to get Michigan Democrats to vote for Mitt Romney, - they figure that keeping Romney in the race as long as possible helps splinter the Republicans.

I said that I couldn't bring myself to cast a vote for Romney, even if it would help the Democrats in the long run, and he reminded me that my grandfather would probably come back from the dead and haunt me.

Grandpa hated George Romney, Mitt's father. Not because of anything he did as governor, but because of what he did to make a name for himself in the first place. In 1954, the Nash and Hudson car companies merged, becoming American Motor Company (AMC). Shortly afterward, Romney was named as the company's CEO.

My grandfather had been working for Hudson Motors for almost 20 years, but when Romney decided to dump the Hudson nameplate, Grandpa was out of a job without any severance pay or benefits. He also owned a farm, but that didn't produce enough income, and the family never recovered financially.

Grandpa died in 1997 after years of illness. One of his few treasured memories from his last few years was the fact that he outlived Romney, who died in 1995.