It seems a bit odd that a sport supposedly known for tough guys clashing with brute force for bone-crushing victory would find Madonna smack-dab in the middle of the final battle between two clans of rugged men. We thought football appealed more to the those unchallenged by testosterone deficiency. Our peripheral exposure paints a picture of 200+ lb. men with thick necks, a high tolerance for alcohol, and about as much femininity as a bull. The stereotype of grunting men consuming buckets of food and wailing a banshee bellow whenever their respective tribe makes an impressive field maneuver or a bastard with a whistle affords the opposing warriors a leg up (regardless of the legitimacy of the “call”) is generally what we think of when we picture weekend football spectatorship (thank you Budweiser). So, to have a stage filled with an extravagant show from a bedazzeled Regina of Prima Donnas surrounded by a cohort of gay men and artsy dancing waifs struck us as curious. Of course, football ain’t what it used to be, so really, the image of adrenaline-charged men using their bodies as blunt weapons of mass destruction while eking out just a few yards of advancement at a time through mud and turf is probably more nostalgic than anything. We’re not really questioning your manhood, present-day footballers, but … well, actually we are. So, to have M.I.A. flash her obscene gesture during the halftime show gave us some relief knowing that we wouldn’t have to sit through the whole affair wondering why the event felt more like American Idol than Monday Night Football. You go, girl.