I am a football fan. I have worked every major and minor holiday at some point over the years, but I have never worked on Superbowl Sunday. So hear me now and believe me later: I don’t care about the halftime show.
I love music, but I can live without it for those 15 minutes between halves. That time is better spent… well, you know, going to the bathroom. Making a sandwich. Grabbing another beer. The real important stuff that we can’t do during commercials anymore because the damn commercials are so Culturally Significant now.
I don’t even remember any halftime shows until the Justin Timberlake/Janet Jackson “wardrobe malfunction.” And that I would’ve forgotten too, except for the hue and cry that went up the next day. I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d seen when Justin grabbed at Janet’s jacket and a flap opened up. It all happened so fast, and frankly, I hadn’t been paying close attention. But suddenly, America’s foundations were rocked by a brief glimpse of a breast, and the Super Bowl halftime show – a way of killing time and entertaining the non-football fans – became a Thing. Like the Super Bowl itself.
I can’t help feeling a growing suspicion that the game itself has become perhaps only the second or even the third most important thing in this annual show. This year, with Colts set to dominate the proceedings, the game may well be an afterthought by halftime. (Sorry Saints fans, just trying to be realistic here.) But will a 12-minute medley of The Who’s greatest hits, with their larger-than-life selves scrunched onto a TV screen, really make this a memorable Super Bowl? I’m guessing not.