"I am not a big sports guy."

With these words, I thought I had found the perfect guy.

I was told football was just not something he cared about. Sure, baseball was America's pastime but he didn't have to watch it.

Golf wasn't his thing, and neither was basketball.

The only sport he really cared about was cycling, of course, and it was only on for a few fast weeks in July.

This was magic to my ears.

Not a fan of sports myself, I thought of all the quality time we could spend together, or, how when we did watch TV, it would be things we both liked.

Maybe it was too much to ask for a guy to want a marathon of Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock movies.

I had the disillusionment that Lamar's words meant he would never watch a game.

I was wrong, so wrong.

First, there was the Tour de France, three weeks of cycling that plays over and over, all day on some obscure sports channel.

"Three weeks," I thought. "I can handle three weeks. It's the only sports stuff he watches."

Then came the World Series.

"How long does this junk last?"

"What junk? You mean the World Series? It's the best of out seven."

But baseball games last forever.

"I hope it's over in four," I mutter.

Sometimes, it is.

Then I am accused of cursing his team - which, he has no team, he just wants it to go all seven games - and stopping his baseball joy short.

"I only watch the World Series," he says. "I don't watch the other hundreds of games leading up to it."

I roll my eyes.

Come Saturdays in the fall, he may not care if he misses the game but if it's on, he wants to watch.

And then on Sundays - Sundays, I know what he will ask.

"Can I watch the game in here?"

‘In here' being the living room, the place I normally am with the bigger TV. The TV in the bedroom is tiny and not exactly the size for watching much beyond reruns of "Everybody Loves Raymond."

Of course, the game usually overlaps with a Sunday marathon of all three of "The Matrix" movies back to back.

"You've seen those a couple of hundred times," he says.

"I still don't understand them!"

No one does, that's why they play them every weekend.

But the only way to get him to watch TV in the same room with me is to let him watch the football game.

A game that he sleeps through.

With the remote nestled in his hand.

"Can we turn it?" Cole will ask.

I point at the remote. "He's got the remote."

"But he's asleep..."

He tries to slide the remote away only for his dad to mumble, "I am watching it!" without opening his eyes.

Being able to watch a football game while asleep must be a special gift that men possess. My uncle can do the same thing.

So, we suffer through four quarters of a game we don't care about, then the post-game wrap up, and some other half hour of football talk.

Just once I'd like for him watch a movie or something I wanted to watch or just sit in here with me. Usually, he hides in the bedroom, where he watches documentaries and shows about wives who snapped, evidently trying to stay two steps ahead of me.

The only quality time I get, is when he watches football.

"It will be over soon," he says.

No, it won't.

One sport season ends and another begins.

It never, ever ends.

It's Saturday, Sunday, Monday -- practically seven days a week.

"I don't like watching football," Cole says. "Or watching any sport on TV. It's more fun to play than watch. To me, this is just boring."

"Your future wife thanks you," I reply.

And if he changes his mind between now and then, I just hope he doesn't fall asleep with the remote in his hand.

Sudie Crouch is an award winning humor columnist and author of the novel, "The Dahlman Files: A Tony Dahlman Paranormal Mystery."