Wi-Fi, Bigfoot, and Bad Bunny: America’s Halftime Show, 2026 Edition

by Ray Shelton

Somewhere in America right now, a dad is still refreshing his TV settings because Bad Bunny’s halftime show “didn’t sound right”—as if thirteen minutes of Spanish triggered a firmware malfunction in his Samsung.

The performance ended minutes ago, but the national meltdown is just warming up. There are still chips on coffee tables, tweets being frantically deleted, and at least three cable news panels debating whether thirteen minutes of Spanish constitutes cultural progress or a hate crime against the English language. Which tells you everything: this wasn’t a halftime show designed to make you comfortable. It was designed to exist unapologetically in the middle of the most over-focus-grouped, committee-approved, brand-safe event in human history.

Bad Bunny didn’t come out to heal America’s divisions. He came out to remind America that its divisions have a soundtrack, and tonight it wasn’t in English.

No translations. No genre detours. No reassuring “don’t worry, we’ll get to the part you recognize.” Just Spanish, rhythm, movement, and confidence at a volume that made the Super Bowl briefly stop being about football and start being about culture colliding with expectation.

And before anyone asks “why would the NFL do this,” let’s be clear: this was not a mistake. This was a strategy.

The NFL didn’t book Bad Bunny to make your uncle happy. They booked him because they are no longer in the business of preserving nostalgia—they are in the business of growth: global, streaming, Latino audiences. Latinos are 20% of the U.S. population and growing. The same reason the league plays games overseas, partners with Roc Nation, and pretends TikTok is a personality trait.

Bad Bunny is not a niche act. He’s Spotify’s most-streamed artist globally—a record four times (2020, 2021, 2022, and 2025). If that feels surprising, that’s not a market failure—that’s a perception lag.

So what you just watched wasn’t a cultural ambush. It was a business decision with choreography.

Which brings us to the backlash—because of course there’s backlash. There always is when a cultural center shifts and doesn’t leave a forwarding address.

The anger isn’t really about sound mixing or song choice. It’s about ownership. The halftime show has long been treated like a shared national artifact—something familiar enough that no one has to work very hard to meet it. Comfort disguised as tradition.

Bad Bunny broke that contract by refusing to center the undecided viewer. And that triggers a deeply American response: “If this is for everyone, why doesn’t it feel like it’s for me?”

We’ve heard this before. Rock was noise. Rap wasn’t music. Hip-hop was “too political.” Now Spanish-language pop is “confusing.” Same panic, new playlist.

And then there was Captain Capslock, who took to Truth Social after the performance to declare it “one of the worst ever!” and predicted the “Fake News Media” would give it great reviews because “they haven’t got a clue of what is going on in the REAL WORLD.”

The real world is where Bad Bunny has 19.8 billion streams. That’s not a media conspiracy—that’s Spotify’s accounting department doing its job. Though I’m sure Captain Capslock will provide his own “official” viewership statistics shortly, calculated using a methodology best described as “vibes and grievance.”

Captain Capslock had already declared himself “anti-them”—both Bad Bunny and Green Day—calling the lineup a “terrible choice” that “sows hatred.” He skipped the game entirely, citing distance. Apparently, California was too far, though his Scottish golf courses never seem to pose a logistical problem.

But here’s the part worth sitting with: the NFL didn’t flinch, didn’t apologize, didn’t explain. Because they didn’t miscalculate.

They’re betting that the future of halftime shows isn’t consensus—it’s relevance. That the biggest stage in American entertainment can no longer pretend America is monolingual, monocultural, or waiting to be eased into reality.

Bad Bunny didn't try to win the Super Bowl. He used it—to expand the field, to occupy space without translation, to say that feeling the music is enough, and understanding can come later if you're curious.

Bad Bunny didn't try to win the Super Bowl.

He used it—to expand the field, to occupy space without translation, to say that feeling the music is enough, and understanding can come later if you’re curious.

And if you’re cheering, complaining, confused, or already googling lyrics? Congratulations. That means it worked.

Meanwhile, somewhere in America, people were genuinely asking where the Kid Rock halftime performance was—less because they wanted to watch it, and more because it appeared to exist in the same way Bigfoot does: heavily promoted, rarely seen, and mostly discussed by people insisting it was definitely real.

And for anyone who actually tried to watch the Turning Point USA All‑American Halftime Show instead of Bad Bunny? Congrats: you just participated in the first halftime event that may or may not have existed in the physical world. It streamed online (featuring Kid Rock, Brantley Gilbert, Lee Brice, and Gabby Barrett), sort of happened at the same time as the real show, and doubled as a patriotic PSA, a country concert, and a test of your Wi-Fi endurance—all while leaving viewers googling, “Wait…where am I supposed to be watching this?”

Basically, it was Bigfoot with a guitar.

The takeaway? The NFL didn’t lose control—they picked a side. Growth over comfort, relevance over familiarity. Bad Bunny didn’t break the halftime show. He revealed what it was already becoming. And the loudest complaints? That’s just the sound of the cultural center moving.

Look, full disclosure: I’ve never watched a Bad Bunny performance before Sunday. Never listened to a full song. I’m revealing my age here, but I actually know Kid Rock’s catalog—I could probably sing you a chorus or two if you forced me.

But that’s exactly why this mattered.

Because what I watched wasn’t designed for me to sing along to. It was designed to exist—boldly, unapologetically, in a language I don’t speak, on the biggest stage in American culture. And instead of feeling excluded, I felt like I was watching something important happen. A statement performance that didn’t need my approval to justify its presence.

That’s not alienation.

That’s just what it looks like when the center actually moves.

And if thirteen minutes of Spanish at halftime feels like the ground shifting beneath you? Good. That means you’re paying attention.

---

Pro tip:

If you're calling in sick tomorrow because Bad Bunny's performance gave you an existential crisis about American identity, just say you have food poisoning. HR isn't ready for that conversation yet.