Entertainment

Super Bowel Fan Fiction

LOUIS BRUNEAU, Contributor

Having grown up in the greater Boston metropolitan area during the regions’ glory years, one could assume that such valor would have made me passionate about sports. I stayed up to watch the Red Sox win the World Series in 2004 and heard people honking outside my window for more than half an hour in joyous celebration. But things returned to normal; a week later I was just as unreceptive to sports as before (excepting badminton). So, instead of commenting on the athletes, I’m reviewing the Super Bowl Bridgestone Halftime Show, featuring Madonna.
I have no idea who hired Madonna for this. Does anyone watching football really want to see Madonna? Maybe she’s on another one of her “ups” and thus, requires mass-media exposure once again. She definitely made a triumphant return, utilizing her time machine to enslave hundreds of innocent Roman warriors (probably Spartans, knowing her connection to the gay community), in order to haul her solid gold robe-beclad form (estimated weight, 12,000 tons) astride a massive video-platform to the center of the Astroturf. Not knowing any Madonna songs turned out to be for my benefit, as she rapidly cycled through a medley of her greatest hits: “Vogue,” “Music,” the new song that sounds like a Macy’s commercial, they were all there!
But even Madonna, elder stateswoman of music, is not enough to carry a Super Bowl halftime program alone—even if it is sponsored by a company as reliable and innovative as Bridgestone—so plenty of stars were injected into the proceedings. Loving My Friend’s Apes & Orangutans (LMFAO) popped up with a hep dance and reaffirmed their heteronormative “sexiness.” Thankfully, Madonna quickly shoved them off the stage, where they perished in the hideous void. M.I.A. & Nicki Minaj made an appearance to inaudibly rap about how they really really liked Madonna when they were teenagers, and then were lost in the abyss as well. Finally, Cee Lo Green emerged in an extremely tasteful black cloak, to sing along to a song that I already can’t remember. He was supported by either a gospel choir or a mourning Polyphonic Spree. I spent most of my time pondering how expensive a mobile video stage would be, (if I had one I would play Korn’s “Freak On A Leash” 24/7) and whether or not U2 would think it was too “loud” or gaudy. If anything, U2 could use Madonna’s backup dancers (Take note, Bono), although that gigantic American flag from two years ago had modest appeal. *Cough*
So, Super Bowl 2012: You wanted the best, and you got what feasibly could be posited as the best by those who hold more power than you would know what to do with. And you don’t even know what you want, do you?

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