Now look here— I ain’t sayin’ this Bad Bunny fella can’t sing. I’m sure he’s a fine entertainer, what with his shiny pants and that fancy Spanish talk. But I’ll be damned if the world don’t feel sideways when the Super Bowl halftime show—the same one that once gave us Springsteen and Prince—gets handed to a guy named after a rabbit with an attitude problem.
Down here in Texas, we got our own royalty. His name’s King George Strait. He don’t need choreography or pyrotechnics—just a Stetson, a fiddle, and a song that’ll make a grown man stare into his beer like it’s the last one he’ll ever drink.
So when folks started that petition askin’ the NFL to swap the Bunny for the King, I couldn’t help but grin. Ten-thousand signatures, thirty-thousand, hell, I don’t know—there’s a lotta people who still remember what country sounds like. George don’t need smoke machines. The man is the smoke.
Now maybe I’m just old-fashioned. Maybe I miss when a stage smelled like diesel, sweat, and heartbreak instead of cologne and lasers. Truth is, I prefer an arena rock show over a football game any day—unless, of course, it’s a rodeo. Then I’ll drop everything, grab a Dr Pepper, and cheer like a fool for the broncs and bulls.
The only Bad Bunny I’ve ever known had horns and hopped through the desert. We used to call ’em jackalopes—mythical little bastards that made more sense than this halftime lineup.
If the NFL really wants to “unite America,” they might start with a cowboy hat instead of a glitter bunny suit.
Until then, I’ll be right here—boots up, watchin’ Pure Country reruns, prayin’ for the day George walks back out and reminds the world how a story’s supposed to sound.
If the Bunny wants Texas, he better learn the two-step first.
Sign the petition here 👇
Pancho.