Nacho crumbs have been vacuumed up by the dog. The last bottles of beer have been tossed into the recycle bin. Women are once again watching Lifetime and “Desperate Housewives and Dancing With the Stars.”

Still…a cloud hovers over many households.

Men across the country are rooted in front of their blank TV’s, wearing their football team’s jersey, and clutching the remote.

My husband’s dull stare was no exception.

Super Bowl XLIII was over. Football season had ended weeks ago.

I tried everything to snap him out of it; a juicy steak, the History Channel, and even the ‘Dance of the Seven Veils.’

He was beginning to depress me. Where was Dr. Phil when I needed him?

“Hey, pretty soon you’ll be out on the golf course, swinging those new clubs you received for Christmas. You’ll be shanking it to the right before you know it.”

I quickly sprang to the window, dropping the blinds before he could see the two feet of snow piled against the window from the latest snow storm.

“The ESPN commentator said that opening day of baseball season is almost here. March madness is in full swing and there are a bunch of games on this weekend.”

Should I feel for a pulse? Maybe I should nix the sports talk.

“Won’t be long before we open the pool and you’ll be riding the John Deere smoking a cigar” I quipped cheerily.

I was still met by an unblinking stare. Were his pupils still dilated in the shape of footballs?

“There is always the “honey do list.” I said unrolling a paper accordion in front of him.

No response.

Desperate, I glanced down at my wrist, noticing that I was wearing the purple rubber band, from the head of broccoli I had cleaned that morning. I swore I saw, “What would Madden do?” scrawled in bold white letters.

Suddenly, it hit me like a Favre ‘Hail Mary’ pass into the end zone in the last thirty seconds of the game.

I threw on a football jersey, stuffing my shoulders with every padded bra I owned.

“Let’s get ready to rumble,” I screamed in my best Hulk Hogan impersonation, while stamping my feet.

Was that a flicker of life that I saw in his eyes?

I hit the power button and ESPN purred to life. I jumped in front of the big screen TV and whipped out my yellow highlighter. Frantically I began drawing John Madden circles, quickly connecting them across the screen.

“If you sweep the garage, clean the basement and shovel up the dog land mines think how good you’ll feel,” I said drawing a smiley face.

“For the love of half-time,” Howie Long shouted. “He has no pulse. We’re losing him. Give this guy some hot wings, STAT!”

“Howie, go color-commentate, will you?” I said. Gripping my “honey do list” like it was an NFL playbook, I had an inspiration.

“If you finish, we’ll be able to watch college basketball and hockey all weekend long. I’ll make my famous chili so spicy hot, that it’ll melt all the snow and create a new Minnesota lake.”

Suddenly, the color returned to his cheeks, as he spiked the remote and did a ‘Lambau Leap’ over the couch.

“Yeah!” he said head butting the wall, pounded his chest and rumbled out of the room.

I did it and with no bloodshed…yet.

Does anyone know how to get highlighter off of a big screen TV?