Football is supposed to be fun. Okay it’s big business for the advertisers, the players, and the stadium. If you do manage to snag a set of tickets — after coughing up a lung or two, promising your first male child, and mortgaging your house to the hilt — it’s more than just fun, it’s bankrupting excitement. But for the rest of us leaping unknowns, it’s the boob tube, hot wings, and fun.
Amusing ad spots, entertaining half-time show, and hopefully a great game.
So this year’s Superbowl LI (51 for the Roman-numeral-challenged) had a phenomenal half-time show, Lady Gaga is one hell of a showwoman, putting on a spectacular feast of music, pyrotechnics, and special jumping all around — she flew through the air with the greatest of ease, like a daring, be-spangled Peter Pan in sequins.
The game, too, was exciting (after half-time) — too bad I fell asleep and missed the Tom Brady magic. But I did manage to awaken as the Vince Lombardi trophy was marched through a throng of Patriot players kissing the shiny ball on its way to the MVP — exciting.
Those were the high spots.
Now onto the commercials.
Long ago, I first started watching the game for two reasons: A column in February (because you know you run out of ideas), and the commercials. Then as all things, it became a yearly habit. As the years passed, the tone of the ads changed. Gone now are the cavemen, the lizard, and the funny trading babies — but alas, the game remains.
The ads last year were all about making the car dealers richer and addressing drunk drivers — with a Dorito or two thrown in to break the monotony.
For the horse, dog, and beer fans, the Budweiser Clydesdales, absent this year, provided the sappy lovers a good sniffle or two.
But this year the political propaganda was enough to choke a Clydesdale, and it never ended. We were bombarded by outright propaganda ads at every commercial break — come on a little kid escaping the poverty of Mexico and picking up trash along the way, really?
And it was a field day for the tweeters. You couldn’t get a yard down without someone complaining of one thing or another.
“Lady Gaga should have made a statement.” “Lady Gaga did make a statement but we missed it.” “Trump this — Trump not that.” Leave it alone. Stop the madness.
The politically correct elite ruined the Golden Globes, the Screen Actors Guild, Saturday Night Live, and now gagged the Superbowl with ads that de-funned the whole night.
Not for nuthin™ — we get it “Trump bad. Obama good. Let’s let in all the undocumented and refugees, because we are America and that is what we are supposed to do.” Yada, yada, yada.
I’m done. Congratulations Hollywood, Madison Avenue, and the politically correct, you have finally managed to destroy all the fun of every show I ever enjoyed. You are all on notice — there won’t be an Oscar column. I will not be watching. I don’t care what anyone wears, or who wins. The movies aren’t fun and without Billy, and neither is the show.
Follow me on Twitter @JDelBuono.
