Brit makes Super Bowl bearable

The Writing on The Wall

With Republicans in control of Washington, it’s only a matter of time before Super Bowl Sunday becomes a national holiday. The Super Bowl game is of the few times in the year when the phrase "must-see TV" isn’t a blatant exaggeration.

Coming from a long line of Giants supporters, the Super Bowl has never been much of an event for me. Eagle’s fans, you understand. But for those of us with no interest or stake in the game, the commercials and the halftime show manage to keep us pleasantly entertained.

However, at 2.4 million dollars for every 30-second spot, this year’s were ridiculously overpriced for their performance. At least $50 million could have been better spent on reforming the healthcare system on the African continent, or rebuilding Sri Lanka’s tsunami-beaten coast. At the very least we could have traded one of those awful CareerBuilder spots to buy me one of those gorgeous Cadillacs that were on all night.

More than one commercial harkened the inevitable return of that brilliant 20th century philosopher, MC Hammer. Hammer has either finally sold his soul to "the Man," or he is releasing an album in the spring. We’re still not quite sure which would be worse. It is nonetheless reassuring that both he and his pants can still move like that at his age.

Speaking of arcane cultural icons, Barney was booked for the evening, so Fox dug up another dinosaur for the halftime show — Paul McCartney. Using "Hey Jude" as the rousing, fanfare-infused patriotic finale is a desperate cry for help. It would have been more energizing to see Ashlee Simpson lip-sync a Nick-at-Nite theme song medley.

At least she’s a bloody American. We cannot let the irony of McCartney’s performance amid pictures of the Statue of Liberty and giant red, white and blue "NA NAs" pass us by. The Super Bowl is as American as apple pie, preemptive war and those gorgeous Cadillacs — Paul McCartney, not so much.

He isn’t the first bloke to share the halftime stage, however. We floated Bono over the Atlantic on his inflated head back in 2002, in order to watch him sweat through an American flag lining the interior of his jacket. If this is becoming a trend, it is a strange one. Whoever keeps deciding that McCartney and Bono, two liberal European blowhards, provide excellent entertainment for beer-guzzling Red State football fans appears to be more out of touch than the New England Democrats.

Let’s give credit where credit is due, however — both Brits mercifully kept the boobies to a minimum, which is more than can be said for their American counterparts. If either McCartney or Bono had a "wardrobe malfunction," my tortilla chips and picante dip would have been back for a second round.

With the threat of lawsuits in the air, McCartney had to keep the strip show limited to taking off his jacket. If he was wearing any dominatrix apparel — a serious possibility — he kept it hidden under his red shirt. Hopefully Janet Jackson had time to grab a pen and a cocktail napkin to take some notes.

Advertisers were hopefully taking notes, too. If not for the "Don’t Judge" line of commercials from newbie Ameriquest Mortgage, the perennial advertising leader Anheuser-Busch and those gorgeous Cadillacs, the entire night would have been a bust. If this continues, all of you Eagles’ fans might actually have to watch the Super Bowl for the game.

Brian Goodman is a sophomore SCOM/history major.