Time once again for my annual lament at the passing of a great American pastime. I’m sad to see the football season winding down to an end for another year. As the Broncos were eliminated last night, I regretted that there would be no more Tebow Time until the preseason games next August. This is going to put a major crimp in my sex life.

Every Sunday, my husband and I celebrate naked football day. We like to have the game going while we scrump like bunnies, because at our age, it helps to hear the crowd cheering us on. It’s nice to know that the defensive players are also exhausted by the third drive and sucking wind. Of course, we never make it to a third drive.

Two years ago after the Super Bowl, we were desperate to have some kind of background noise from the TV, so we randomly chose a channel. Up came Norm Abrams on The New Yankee Workshop. Norm got his television start as a carpenter on This Old House, an old favorite of mine.

On this occasion, Norm was building a chest, and explaining how to put together the drawers. I heard snatches as we struggled for inspiration. “Notice the dovetailing …” I blushed.

He was relentless. “Now we’re going to take the router … tongue in groove …” Okay, that’s it. I was officially weirded-out. We lost our place, and were too embarrassed to even snuggle. I did the walk of shame into the bathroom to get dressed.

In February, we start naked NASCAR. I get a little thrill when I hear, “Gentlemen, start your engines.” On top of the cheering, we get to hear the thunder of unlimited horse-power. My only stipulation is: no drafting.