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Bruce Arthur: There are many ways to describe the fountains of nonsense that orbit around the Super Bowl, but the best way is probably that it is a towering monument to the most American of bullspit, as an overdubbed movie might put it. The Playboy party will take place at a Hampton Inn; Paris Hilton will be at the ESPN “Next” party, despite being a relic of the past; a ticket to one of the Leather and Laces parties featuring Carmen Electra, Jenny McCarthy and the woman known as “JWoww” costs up to US$850, which is coincidentally what sensible people should be paid to attend. It is a great stinking soup of money and power, celebrities and their reflected glow.
But some of the glow is genuine, even if it attracts the most obsequious of moths. And so, we come to Madonna, who will be the halftime act at the Super Bowl Sunday, and appeared Thursday to speak to the media. Would she employ her thin veneer of an English accent? Would she be pompous? Would she be naked? She hadn’t done that for a while, but it seemed wise to be mentally prepared.
She was none of those things. She was OK. The modern American celebrity journalism machine, however, filled in the BS for her.