Taylor Swift won the Super Bowl and sealed it with a sloppy snog! Oh no, wait… Patrick Mahomes won Super Bowl 58, but I’m sure Taylor’s caffeinated fans and Joe Biden’s desperate White House will give her all the credit for the Kansas City Chiefs’ win against the 49ers.
It was a veritable yawn-a-thon that turned into a nail-biting overtimer and saw Peppy Patrick gamble big and best the better team on paper in sunny Vegas. Cue confetti-soaked smooches, steroidal Travis Kelce hoisting the Vince Lombardi, screaming ‘Viva Las Vegas’, and super sexy Brock Purdy crying into his jockstrap.
It nearly all came off the rails for the slow-starting Chiefs when Tantruming Travis raged like a he-hulk and shoved his 65-year-old coach Andy Reid. Note to Mr Kelce: as a 34-year-old near-retiree you know better than to attack the coach who benched you seemingly because your tight end wasn’t that tight. Boo hoo, big ham.
In fact, for the first half, the 49ers were so busy scoring and shaming Calamity Kelce, that Taylor was probably left wondering if her carbon-belching mercy dash back from Tokyo had been worth it after all.
By the way, whatever potion they pumped into her on that long-ass flight needs to be mainlined pronto to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Was it the billions? Was it an in-flight glam squad? She looked impossibly well-rested and raging hot in her $720 corset and schoolgirl pony.
In fact, up in the C-Suite it was a night of rampant WAG-a-licious delight. Blake Lively cosplaying as a teen cheerleader, Brittany ‘Spears’ Mahomes squeezed into red latex, Ice Spice… still styling her bob in a preposterous Cheetos sheen.
Camera-shy hugs, chugging contests and conspicuously taut midriffs. I think we all have to shake off a Taylor hangover today! Talking of shaky – out wheeled Usher on his roller-skates to deliver surely one of the worst halftime shows ever.
Stumbling his ‘hits’ (don’t ask me to name them) and jiggling his bits, he sweated like Whitney Houston in a heat wave (side note: sorry Reba McEntire, but your timid National Anthem was not Whitney worthy).
Even a sudden strip-show couldn’t save this halftime has-been. Nor could Alicia Keys, parachuting in from Hamas HQ in her ruby-encrusted jumpsuit to deliver yet more bum notes. The skates, that horrifying bedazzled fake-abs chest plate, the sheer lack of melody… all a big Xanadon’t for my money.
When the cameras weren’t cutting to Team Tay, light relief came in the form of every hackneyed Hollywood type lining up to ogle and mock in a parade of ensemble cast commercials.
There was the Wicked movie trailer tease…. bouncing Beyoncé’s Verizon country album drop… and Ben Affleck-Lopez looking happier than ever as he danced for his Dunkin’ millions – even if his annoying wife was shamelessly flirting with Tom Brady.
From Victoria B to Jennifer A and Addison Rae, the full alphabet sweep of A to Z List got a look in. But my firm fave was an irritated Christopher Walken having to suffer a barrage of Christopher Walken impressions which made me want to go out and buy a BMW. (Michael Cera selling CeraVe moisturizer also gets special mention.)