Over 120 million people watched the Super Bowl halftime show on Sunday. Another couple of million viewers saw a competing show online. By Monday morning, America had already split into two camps: some declared it a cultural celebration, while others called it an affront to everything American. That went for both shows. And neither side had it correct. Not because the truth was somewhere in the middle, I actually think this is more interesting than that.
There’s a 70-year-old psychology experiment that explains exactly how two groups of people watched the same 13 minutes and saw completely different shows. And there’s an irony buried in the two halftime performances that nobody is talking about, one that might actually be the most important thing either side could hear right now.
Let me explain.
When the NFL announced last fall that Bad Bunny would headline the Super Bowl halftime show, a very predictable thing happened. The announcement immediately became a flashpoint in America’s ongoing cultural divide. The objections ranged from vaguely economic, “why pick someone most Americans don’t know?” to explicitly cultural, that Spanish lyrics don’t belong on the biggest American stage, to, let’s be honest, even more racist perspectives.
Following the show, the President of the United States called it “absolutely terrible, one of the worst, EVER” on Truth Social. Jake Paul, a man who literally lives in Puerto Rico, called Bad Bunny “a fake American citizen who publicly hates America.”
Going back to the NFL’s choice, the reality is that Bad Bunny is the most-streamed artist on the planet. Four out of five years, he’s topped Spotify’s list. He just won the Grammy for Album of the Year. Whatever your opinion, the NFL didn’t pick him randomly, and for a sports league looking to go global, it makes sense to get the world’s biggest music star for your signature event.
So, in response, we ended up with two halftime shows for two Americas. Each represents their unique set of values that the other side could never comprehend. That’s what I want to talk about, and if you’re willing to hear me out, I hope that we end up somewhere different and a little surprising that’s lost in the outrage.
But we need to start by understanding how two groups of people could watch the same performance, and be 100% convinced of their interpretation of what they just saw. And to explain it, let’s look at a different game over seventy years ago.
They Saw A Game
There’s a famous psychology study from 1954 that I’ve been thinking about a lot recently. It’s called They Saw a Game “ by Albert Hastorf and Hadley Cantril.
Here’s the setup. It’s November 1951. Dartmouth is set to take on Princeton in football. It was a big deal. Princeton was undefeated, and its quarterback was an All-American. He’d been on the cover of Time magazine, and this was his final game. The game itself was brutal. All kinds of penalties. Princeton’s star left the game with a broken nose and a concussion. A Dartmouth player broke his leg in the third quarter. Tempers flared. Both campuses erupted in accusations afterward.
So a week later, Hastorf and Cantril did something simple. They had students from both schools watch a film of the game. The exact same footage. Same plays, same hits. They then asked them to count the penalties they observed.
Princeton students saw Dartmouth commit more than twice as many as Dartmouth students counted. Same film. Yet, based on the comments and the data, it was as if they saw a completely different game.
The researchers concluded, and this is the part that sticks with me, that
“the game actually was many different games, and each version was just as real to a particular person as other versions were to other people.”
Just sit with that for a second.
“Each version was just as real to a particular person as other versions were to other people.”
They watched the same footage. And their brains, primed by which side they were on, mentally constructed different realities.
Now. Fast forward to today.
We just watched two different halftime shows. More likely, some watched Bad Bunny with appearances by Lady Gaga and Ricky Martin, and some watched Kid Rock lip-syncing Bawitdaba on YouTube.
And each group is absolutely certain that what they watched was the real America. This goes so far beyond halftime shows.
When It Isn’t A Game
The “They Saw a Game” phenomenon explains some of the most critical, most consequential, and defining moments of recent history. We observed it on January 6, 2021, and more recently, in videos of ICE operations in Minneapolis. Americans watched the same video and perceived it completely differently depending on which side they had already chosen.
Hastorf and Cantril’s study reveals something more critical. It’s not just that we see things differently because we’re on different sides. It’s that being on a side impacts what we’re capable of seeing in the first place. Our tribal identity doesn’t just influence our opinion after the fact. It can literally filter what information gets through. We look for points of confirmation. We dismiss points of contradiction. And if we’re told before we ever see something that it’s not for us, that it’s against us, that it’s an attack, then that becomes the lens. It acts as a barrier, shaping the only reality we perceive.
Months before Sunday, conservative leaders had already written the narrative for their audience about Bad Bunny. Spanish lyrics. Un-American. Divisive. It was so egregious that they offered their audience alternative entertainment. Before the show ever happened, for many people, the verdict was already in. They didn’t need to watch it. They’d accepted the talking points. Their Facebook posts, Tweets, or Truths were already written, waiting just long enough to make it appear that they had considered the other side and rejected it. And if they did watch, they were watching through a filter that allowed an American citizen and the world’s most listened-to performer to appear before a backdrop that said “The Only Thing More Powerful Than Hate is Love,” and they considered it a violation of their values.
We saw a show. But we didn’t see the same show.
Watch It Like An Opera
So here’s where I want to try something. I want to propose a different lens.
If the first and most obvious barrier to the Bad Bunny show was “I can’t understand the words,” and let’s be honest, for a lot of people, that was enough of a trigger that confirmed what they’d already been told. I’d like to suggest watching it differently. Watch it the way you’d watch an opera.
I know that sounds pretentious. Stay with me.
Opera is one of the most celebrated art forms in Western culture. It’s referenced in every sophisticated drama you’ve ever watched. People get dressed up. Dignitaries attend. And operas are pretty much always performed in Italian, German, or French, aka languages that most of the audience doesn’t understand. Nobody calls that un-American. Nobody organizes an alternative opera in protest against its existence.
Now, if you’ve ever paid attention to operas, the stories are intense. Infidelity. Murder. Suicide. Revenge. Seduction. Scandal. They’re themes that go way beyond Bad Bunny and Kid Rock’s lyrics. La Traviata is literally about a courtesan dying of tuberculosis after a passionate love affair. Carmen ends with a stabbing. Tosca features political corruption, torture, and a woman throwing herself off a building. These stories are celebrated because we understand that art reflects the full spectrum of human experience. We appreciate them differently. We let our ears hear the emotion. We watch the performers and feel what they’re trying to convey, even when we don’t understand a single word.
Can we extend that same cultural generosity to Bad Bunny?
So let’s try it! Rewatch it or watch it for the first time like that. Let the music carry you. Get into the culture. Watch all the performers. Feel the energy of what was being portrayed rather than hunting for reasons to reject it. If you do that, you might notice some different things.
We start in the sugar cane fields, where the traditional pava hats pay tribute to Puerto Rico’s working history. We get carried through a neighborhood scene: people playing dominoes, food stands, and a small-town community gathering that looks like any block party you’ve ever been to. Maybe not exactly like yours, but you can pick up similarities that transcend culture. Then there’s the wedding. It was 100% real. An actual couple got legally married mid-show, with Bad Bunny serving as their witness, and Lady Gaga singing at their reception. Image after well-choreographed image of family, community, celebration. And love.
That’s what this opera was. Through modern pageantry, there were family gatherings. Small-town life. Struggle. Heritage. Celebration of the deepest connection between two humans and their people.
How do those ideas align with your values?
There is one final aspect that has been bothering me, and it is why I decided to share this. Because there’s an incredible irony that both sides potentially missed.
Let me ask you something. If you felt that Bad Bunny didn’t belong on that stage, and the cultural moment of the last few months, or maybe even years, has you feeling like the world is changing too fast? The things you grew up with are disappearing. The America you knew is slipping away, and nobody’s doing anything to hold onto it? To celebrate it? If that’s you, I need you to hear what Benito actually sang at the end of that show.
He closed with the title track from his Grammy-winning album. Debí Tirar Más Fotos. It translates to “I Should Have Taken More Photos.”
And here’s what it’s about.
It’s about sitting on a porch in San Juan, watching a sunset, thinking about the nights you used to have, ones together with your friends, playing dominoes with your grandfather, sharing drinks, listening to music, and just laughing, together. Well, those nights don’t happen anymore. People moved away. Life changed. The old neighborhood isn’t what it was.
Disfrutando de noches de esas que ya no se dan.
Enjoying those kinds of nights that don’t happen anymore.
It’s about wishing you could go back. Wanting to return to the last time you looked into someone’s eyes and tell them the things you never said. Wishing you’d hugged people more. Held onto the moments instead of letting them slip through your fingers.
Debí darte más besos y abrazos las veces que pude.
I should’ve given you more kisses and hugs the times that I could
And then, the realization that no matter how much you want to go back there, that world is gone. Your friends have kids now. Your grandfather isn’t going to be around forever. The neighborhood is changing. You can’t freeze it in place. The only thing you can do is appreciate what you have right now, gather everyone together for one more photo, and keep moving forward.
Vamo’ a disfrutar, que nunca se sabe si nos queda poco.
Let’s enjoy it, because you never know if we’ve got little time left.
It’s that sentiment. That aching nostalgia for a world that’s changing faster than you can hold onto it, that wish for the old days, that love for your people and your place and your way of life, that’s the exact same feeling driving so many who say they can’t connect with Bad Bunny.
The man they rejected is singing their song. He’s singing about wanting to preserve a way of life. About being afraid it’s disappearing. About the importance of family, and home, and community, and holding onto the people you love while you still can.
He just happens to be singing it in Spanish, about Puerto Rico, instead of a small midwestern town. But those lyrics, just imagine if this were a song you’re hearing for the first time during the Turning Point USA show. What would you think if, over country guitar, someone emotionally singing in English:
Enjoying those kinds of nights that don’t happen anymore
I should’ve given you more kisses and hugs the times that I could
I hope my people never move
And if I get drunk today, well, that they help me
I should’ve taken more pictures when I had you
Debí tirar más fotos de cuando te tuve.
Abrázalos tanto, tan fuerte y tan cerca como puedas. Hasta que no puedas más.
Hold ‘em as long and as strong and as close as you can
‘Til you can’t.
Oh, wait, that last lyric was a Spanish translation from the closing song of the Turning Point USA show, with Kid Rock performing Cody Johnson’s Til You Can’t.
We’ve become so focused on what divides us that our filter keeps us from hearing that the message is the same. We’re so desperate to fight for values we feel are uniquely ours, but if we pull back the barrier, we can discover something quite different.
And that difference is similarity.
We all saw a game.
But do me a favor and go rewatch it as an opera.
