Feb 03 2004

Blame It On the NFL

by Megan Edwards

Howard Dean’s gotta be happy about Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction.” “I Have a Scream” has fallen off the charts while every twelve-year-old in America scours the Web for images that will prove once and for all she wasn’t wearing a pasty.

So here’s the irony of the undeniable tackiness of the Super Bowl’s halftime show and the National Football League’s hollow apologies. The NFL won’t let the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority buy advertising time during the Super Bowl. You know those cute “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” ads? Nope. They link football with gambling. Can’t have it. A hip-hopper grabbing his crotch is fine. But Vegas? Come on! Little children watch the Super Bowl. They might get the idea that people bet on sports.

Now, here’s some evidence that the NFL big cheeses knew that Justin was going to have her “naked by the end of this song.” They wouldn’t let casinos here show the game on screens wider than 55 inches. Something about their copyright, they said, but I’m wondering. On a screen the size of a barn door, there would have been no debate over what was stuck to (or stuck through) Janet’s nipple. Hey, here’s an idea, I can hear them thinking. Let’s make ‘em squint. Then they’ll talk about it for days.

So now what happens? Janet sells more albums, MTV gains more viewers, and Justin’s no longer a Mouseketeer. And nobody can blame a shred of it on Sin City.

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