"The Super Bowl....Sanitized for Your Protection..."

The NFL, I imagine, has more than its share of medical issues.

After all, with the exception of boxing, professional football is probably the most physically damaging sport still allowed by law.

With the other possible exception, of course, being golf.

But only if you're Tiger Woods and forget to delete the damn numbers on the speed dial.

It occurs to me, lately though, that there seems to be a fairly new malady afflicting the league or, at least, some of the folks associated with the league.

PTSD.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Oh, not the players, past or present, necessarily.

I'm talking about the folks who book the talent for the Super Bowl halftime shows.

They show definite signs of anxiety, insecurity, skittishness, et al, all recognized symptoms of the anxiety disorder known to be caused by exposure to a terrifying event or ordeal.

In this case, I'd suggest, said terrifying event or ordeal was the sudden, "unplanned" appearance of Janet Jackson's exposed right boob at the 2004 Super Bowl.

Entertainment organizers were obviously stunned, appalled, even terrified at the un-bra-ing.

The emotional nipple ripple effect was swift, obvious and apparently long lasting.

Just look at who's appeared at Super Bowl halftime in the years since.

Paul McCartney.

The Stones.

Prince.

Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers.

Bruce Springsteen.

Not a boob in the bunch.

Come to think of it, not a soul under the age of, at the time, fifty, either.

And this year...."ladies and gentlemen....for your half time entertainment....people try to put em' down....t-t-talkin bout.................THE WHO!!!!"

Wow.

Safe rock and roll.

In the top ten of oxymorons, number four with a bullet.

Don't get me wrong. I grew up with all those guys and am a card carrying old fart with a full collection of the assorted works of the aforementioned superstars.

But it's clear that the halftime organizers are totally pushing the envelope of bringing "contemporary" superstar entertainment to the half time show....without risking offending anybody.

Couple of random thoughts.

First, there's a truth in advertising problem.

The Who is Pete Townshend, Roger Daltry, John Entwhistle and Keith Moon.

John died a few years back and Keith has been dead for decades.

The two Who left standing are talented boys, but the "group" that will play the show is not The Who who gave pop culture, among others, the seminal albums "The Who Sells Out", "Tommy" and "Who's Next".

This duo would be better described as "Who's Left".

Second, it pisses me off personally, just a little bit, to be forced to face the reality that accompanies the booking of these folks.

The ass kicking, culture changing, parentally unacceptable, various and sundry rock and roll bad boys of my youth are now considered the safe choice.

I can't begin to tell you how much that sucks.

Cause I can just hear the conference room planning session that preceded the choice.

"...Amy Winehouse?...nah, she'll show up drunk and punch somebody......Lady Gaga?....well, let's not even go there.......hey, how about Adam Lamber......oh, yeah....wait!....I know!......Mick Jagger!"

Geez.

Or, more to the point, geez-er.

I suppose PTSD was inevitable after Justin launched the good ship Janet's Tit, but...damn.

Could be worse, I suppose.

They could simply rewind and recycle, talking us back to the half time entertainment that appeared at Super Bowl XXI in 1987.

Mickey Rooney.

George Burns.

And an assortment of Disney characters.

Wait a second....look at that picture.....is that Goofy's hand on Snow White's boob?

Get Wayne Newton on the phone.

Stat.