I watched the Super Bowl in a nursing home. Carrying pizza with all the toppings in one hand, a bottle of Coke in the other, I walked into my Dad's room, TV blaring pre-game chatter.

Having had surgery just a few days earlier, the meal was probably not what his doctor would order, but it was what "The Doctor" ordered on this Super Bowl Sunday. Both of us huge New York Giants fans, it was he who gave to me my love of sports, and yes, my love for the Giants.

Dad was planted in his black wheelchair with silvery spokes, seated to the right of his bed and facing the TV. That chair was his home on wheels now that he can never walk again.

Dad smiled when he saw me, a little extra sparkle in his eyes when he saw the big white box and liquid refreshment, all the while the thought of his beloved Giants in the Super Bowl dancing behind those eyes.

I opened the box, took out a slice, and placed it gently on one of the paper plates that came with the pizza. It was still a few minutes before kickoff, and Dad slid the front corner of the slice onto his eagerly awaiting taste buds. The cheese kept a stretched link between him and the slice, as his hands pulled the piece towards his plate. I hoped he would chew the cheese well. When did the child become the parent?

We have shared many moments watching the Giants together, but this game is more special than the others. He is not well, and the roll the Giants have been on has been a great release from the suffering for both of us. That is one of the secrets of sports, and that is why we enjoy them so much. A three-hour vacation from what can be harsh reality, to a place where we can scream, root and carry on without worry … without fear.

We both happily chewed on our pizza, then Dad took a slow sip of bubbling Coke from his plastic cup, the brown liquid chasing down the sauce and pie crust. We had followed the Giants for many years and had suffered together through some of awful years with the team. Then, Lawrence Taylor, Bill Parcells, Phil Simms and company slowly brought the team and its fans toward the light. Playoff losses to the Joe Montana-led San Francisco 49ers, then the Chicago Bears slowed things down. But in 1987, the Giants won their first Super Bowl, and we, as fans, received a long-awaited reward for our loyalty. Four years later, 1991 would bring another Super Bowl title.

Dad looked at the pie with interest. I got up and pulled out a second piece for him, and without a word he went to work on it with energy. A good sign. His appetite was good this day.

Who knows if this would be the last time my Dad and I shared a Giants Super Bowl together, although I hope the answer to that question has more to do with the mental and physical health of Eli Manning than my Dad.

Kickoff arrived and we were ready. A story that has been played out throughout the years, all over the world, unfolded in the room that day. Parent and child, the joy of sports, rooting ... sharing. It turned out to be a great vacation.