Super Bowl LX (Good Bunny)

Super Bowl LX, as a football game, was underwhelming. At 36 of 60 minutes played, Seattle had three field goals and the German moderators were wondering out loud whether a kicker had ever been MVP. “Naja, wenn er der einzige ist, der Punkte gezielt hat? [Yeah, but if he’s the only one who’s scored points?]” At this point, the Patriots had 4 first downs and had punted 7 times. That is either pathetic or a testament to the Seahawks’s defense.

The half-time show

Bad Bunny’s half-time show was amazing. It was a revolution. It was a masterpiece, equal to or possibly better than Prince’s masterpiece from 2007 (YouTube). It is not easy to make a show for such a huge arena. Bad Bunny put together a giant series of music videos with incredible sets. It was like a mini-musical. The vibe was a plea for love, not hate, but also a call for revolution.

It was a call for unity and an obvious call to fight for justice and equality. It was revolutionary in the sense that what it presented was so obviously a better alternative to the hateful, mean, and overarching military face we’ve seen lately. In a world determined increasingly by hate, preaching love is revolutionary.

The only Super Bowl half-time show opinion that matters

Big Bunny introduced himself a couple of times throughout by his real name—Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio—launching into his quick Spanish rapping as he wandered through a sugar-cane maze on a plantation. I’m not a big fan of this style of rapping but the man oozes charisma. He’s an incredible showman. This, despite his Spanish being nearly impenetrable for me. He sang only in Spanish except when he said “God bless the USA”.

They turned the whole football field into a celebration of Latin culture: there was a giant sugar-cane field, a taqueria, a piragua stand, a bodega (marqueta), a house, living rooms, a dance floor, all through which he wandered, singing and greeting people; there was a separate concert area on top of the bodega, from which Lady Gaga belted out a tune, accompanied by a huge Latin band.

Ricky Martin was there. He looked pretty good, if not amazing! It’s heartening to think of people reacting viscerally to his oozing machismo and good looks, thinking that he’s intent on stealing their wives, and whose wives would absolutely be packing their bags if they didn’t know that he’s as gay as the day is long. Which, like, 🤯 for just the right kind of benighted son-of-a-bitch.

This was a jubilant jab in the eye those sons-of-bitches but only because they’re such snowflakes that it has rendered them incapable of acknowledging game. It’s only offensive if you hold offensive opinions. This is a lesson in culture: This show is just as American as trucks and country music. It’s just as American as Kendrick Lamar and rap music. It’s just as American as Prince. None of those cultures are the one I personally know as an American, but it’s blindingly obvious that they all belong to the amalgam of America. It’s reductionist and racist to fight it. Just stop trying. You won’t win in the end. You’ll just cause a lot of needless misery to others and, ultimately, to yourself.

This was a call to stop the madness. It was anti-ICE without saying it was anti-ICE. It was only anti-ICE because ICE is for hate, not love. It was pro-U.S.-Latin culture, celebrating the details we all recognize. There was a giant truck in a field; there was a bodega; there was a barbershop; there was a dominoes game, a nail salon; there was an actual wedding; there were workers in the cane fields; there were workers on telephone poles; there were probably a dozen little things I didn’t even notice because it’s not my culture.[1] I barely understand Spanish.

It didn’t matter if you understood Spanish. It was clear that this all said: we are not who they say we are. We eat ice cream and fried foods. We get married. We sing. We dance. We drive trucks. We are you. You are us. We are the same. What the hell are we fighting about?

So much dancing. So much joy. Hundreds of joyous dancers and singers parading with all of the flags of South and Central America, with the U.S. flag in the lead, but only one of many, as Bad Bunny recited all of the country names. He holds out a football with “Together we are America” written on it. “The only thing more powerful than hate is love” is emblazoned all over the stadium. He took the opportunity with both hands and ran with it. The exuberance, joy, and revolution was palpable.

You’ll be able to tell whether someone’s a butt-hurt whiner if they start counting American flags, or if they point out that only Lady Gaga sang in English, or any of a dozen things that I am not even equipped to notice because my mind isn’t small enough. None of that matters—especially for someone from a country like Switzerland, where you’re expected to understand four languages when watching the Olympics—what matters is that (A) it was a hell of a show and (B) it was a hell of a message.

Even the haters from the other side[2]—who will complain that Bad Bunny couldn’t possibly deliver a revolutionary message from within the constraints of one of the most capitalist celebrations, the Super Bowl—should sit this one out. Bad Bunny says “toma mi cerveza”. Do not listen to them. Listen to this half-time show. Sway to the beat. Feel the joy. Reject the hate. Build your community. Join the revolution. It shouldn’t end here. This should be a beginning.

Bad Bunny, Lady Gaga, and Ricky Martin

The rest of the game

Back to the game. It’s the end of the third quarter. It’s still 12–0. Ten seconds left. Quarterback sack of Drake Maye—the 20th in this postseason, a record—and … a fumble, with Seattle recovering.

In the fourth quarter, we quickly get the first two touchdowns, one for Seattle, then a quick one for the Patriots. 19–7.

Maye makes up for this quick show of competence by throwing an embarrassing interception, which Seattle can’t quite capitalize on, but their kicker gets his fifth field goal, cementing, for me, his MVP pick for the game. He has 16 points! It’s a Super Bowl record!

Maye eats another huge sack but then makes a good, long pass to make up the ground again.

Another sack. Fumble. Touchdown Seattle. 26–7

Replay shows that it was actually an interception because the ball never touched the ground. The sacker deflected it, then another guy caught it on the fly and ran it into the end zone for a touchdown. Seven sacks. So far.

Another field goal for Seattle at some point. It’s now 29–7 with 4:27 left to play. The Patriots have collapsed.

They get one more touchdown with a no-look pass by Maye that’s so bad that the back catches it with his fingertips, a mere centimeter or two from the turf. The German moderators noted that they’ve never heard a touchdown celebrated less. 29–13 (they failed to make the two-point conversion, to no-one’s surprise).

The game peters out, ending largely in a defensive triumph for the Seahawks and a likely 48-hour suicide watch for Drake Maye. Yeesh. The guy had a bad night. To sum it up: Patriots’ Offensive Line Surprised To Learn Super Bowl Was Yesterday (Babylon Bee).