(Billboard) – Adele might be saying hello to the 2017 Super Bowl. According to British tabloid newspaper The Sun, the National Football League is eyeing the British soul siren for next year’s half-time performance. A source from the National Football League allegedly told The Sun, “There is nobody bigger in the world than Adele right now and organizers are doing absolutely everything they can to try to persuade her to sign up. She’s sold out every date on her tour, everyone wants a piece of her and they know they can bank on her bringing in the viewers.” The insider added, “It’s Adele’s nerves that are the issue — it hasn’t been an easy sell.”
This definitely might be much ado about nothing seeing as the only people who tell the truth less than The Sun are National Football League sources, so forgive me if I’m not texting my ex just yet. But if this cockamamie idea does come to fruition? Dumbest shit the NFL’s done since…. well… dumping materials that burn your skin off all over a field, right before the Hall of Fame Game was supposed to be played on it, two days ago.
But Adele? Adele? I mean, fucking Adele? She’s great, she’s got pipes, but she’s no halftime singer at the Super Bowl. I thought Coldplay was too lowkey last year and they’re a fucking eight ball compared to Adele. Plus, they had Beyonce shaking her ass. We’re gonna go from AC/DC at kickoff to “Someone Like You” while teams take naps in the locker room? That’s silly.
And look, I don’t even really give a fuck about the halftime show. I could very easily walk into the other room, grab a beer, eat some chips, and really not care about what I was missing, even if it was the ghost of Bowie. But this is supposed to be America’s big night of entertainment, so fucking entertain me. Give me Katy Perry’s boobs on a fire breathing dragon robot while a costumed shark haphazardly flails his arms about. That sounds like an acid trip, but it’s literally what happened in Arizona. If you’re going to make us take an extended break from football, make Twitter fun at least. It’s late enough, don’t put me to sleep with Adele on stage, under low lights, in a mumu and some flats while she croons about her ex for the millionth time.