Super Bowl XLVIII: At Least No One Was Naked - The American Spectator | USA News and Politics
Super Bowl XLVIII: At Least No One Was Naked
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Lasers shot into the night sky, blinking lights filled the stands and fireworks burst over the field. At his drum set was Bruno Mars, shimmering gold blazer, skinny black tie, Justin Bieber hair, and all.

Mars preformed the way all Super Bowl flops wish they had. He hit every note, the choreography was stellar, the light show dazzled, and thank God—there were no wardrobe malfunctions.

Well, besides the topless Red Hot Chili Peppers in spandex. It was a little strange. The classy coordination of Mars and his band were replaced by jumping and hollering. Don’t get me wrong, I know plenty of people were thrilled by their entrance, but can we just note that the combination of Mars and the Peppers was just—off? But okay, the NFL appealed to a broader audience.

Now, “your sex takes me to paradise” might not be family-friendly, but at least we were spared from a half-naked Beyonce. Mars’s tribute to the troops forever imprinted his name on the history of Super Bowl shows to remember. Our fighting men and women came on-screen to dedicate Mars’s next song to their loved ones at home. This pulled a few tears from the already-mourning Denver fans and even the rejoicing Seahawk die-hards stopped to remember those overseas. Mars then belted “Just the Way You Are” while seemingly floating across the field. The ladies swooned, more fireworks popped, and everyone nodded in agreement that this was an excellent halftime show.

The commercials had their fair share of sexual innuendos and scantily-clad women—because even yogurt can be sexualized these days—but all in all, the Super Bowl was an improvement. I mean, between supporting our troops and a puppy-horse friendship, Budweiser stole the show. Despite being one of the lamest Super Bowl games in recent history, the entertainment made up for Manning’s blunders.

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