As a kid, I watched a lot of sports on TV. Afterwards, I’d go outside and be the hero in my own game. I hit a rubber ball over the granary for a walk-off home run. Or I threw and caught the winning touchdown pass. Tom Brady never did that.

I watched the first Super Bowl, which wasn’t even called that yet. That was between Vince Lombardi’s Packers from the NFL and Hank Stram’s Chiefs from the upstart AFL. Bart Starr vs. Len Dawson. Max McGee had two touchdowns. Don’t ask me what I did yesterday.

During the first Super Bowl halftime, two men took off in jet packs from the 50-yard line and jetted above the stadium. The 11-year-old me just assumed jet packing was in my future. Maybe that’s coming. It would be handy to check the fields.

Since, I’ve watched almost all the Super Bowls, sometimes with loud, imbibing friends. This most recent I watched with Pam on the couch. Pam likes football about as much as a hangnail, but the Super Bowl Is a cultural phenomenon.

The halftime show has grown to be its own super event. Each year, one of the biggest stars on Earth performs an amazingly choreographed 1-minute production. As the players head to the locker room, a giant stage magically appears filled with dancers. “Where’d that come from?”

The earliest Super Bowl halftimes had college and high school marching bands. The first big name performer was Al Hirt in New Orleans in 1970. That was the first Vikings Super Bowl. The Vikings were in three more. We don’t want to talk about that.

It’s a trip through time to see the list of the Super Bowl halftimers: Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross, Shania Twain, Paul McCartney. Prince singing Purple Rain during a rainstorm in Miami was an extraordinary thing.

This year’s highlighted performer was Kendrick Lamar. I’ve heard of Kendrick, but not much. I had to look him up to see that he is an “American rapper, Pulitzer Prize winner, and one of the most influential hip-hop artists of his generation.”

He sang really fast. Rapping isn’t exactly singing; it’s more speaking rhythmically. As Lamar began rapping, sitting on the hood of a Buick GNX, I realized that my not-so-good hearing wasn’t getting all the words. We turned on the captions. That helped, but the captions were racing to keep up and still missing words that were coming rapid-fire.

It was dazzling and spectacular. The dancers were athletic and flew about the stage. I was just impressed that Lamar could remember all that as he poured the lyrics out. I enjoyed the pageantry, but I wasn’t getting much of what was going on. I assumed the costumes and props and lights all meant something.

Friends were watching, too. A couple texting buddies weighed in. “I’ve never felt so old and white in my life,” one said. The performers were all young and Black, and this was obviously leaning into Black culture. That’s a bit of a foreign land to me, but I enjoyed experiencing it.

Another was complaining that the game was dull, and now the half time was, too. I reminded him that “69-year-old white guys probably aren’t the target audience.” The game was dull; it reminded me of the Viking Super Bowls. At the end of the halftime show, Pam slipped away.

The next morning, I set out to see if I could learn about the parts of the halftime show that went over my head. The first thing I saw was from the Star Tribune’s music critic Chris Riemenschneider:

“‘The revolution’s about to be televised,’ Kendrick Lamar shouted at the start of Sunday’s Super Bowl halftime show. ‘You picked the right time but the wrong guy,’ he added. Au contraire. Lamar’s appearance as the first rapper ever picked as a solo halftime headliner in the NFL’s big game was big-time overdue. Having him be the guy to finally do it, though, proved to be a perfect choice.”

It turns out that Lamar’s next gig is in Minneapolis at U. S. Bank Stadium. Maybe some of us can meet at Meyer’s Bar and carpool up there.

The reviews I read were all positive. And there was lots of symbolism as I suspected. The lyrics were sewn together from Lamar’s hits. Certainly, there was commentary on Black life in America, and likely some political digs at you know who.

Then there’s Lamar’s very public feud with Drake, another current star. The song “Not Like Us” spins from that. It’s a “diss track.” I have no idea what their feud is about. But I’ll borrow from Rodney King: “People, I just want to say, you know, can we all get along?” That line pops into my head often lately.

Lamar was joined part way through on the ever-shifting stage by fellow rapper, SZA. It was the first time two performers at the Super Bowl had the current number one and two hit songs. This is the popular music of our time. You can probably tell I don’t have any rap albums. Are there rap LP’s?

Occasionally I hear grumblings from old guy friends about rap or hip hop or funk. These are peers who all grew up listening to rock and roll. Not that far back in history, parents worried rock and roll would cause juvenal delinquency, or worse, sexual deviancy.

When I was young, every wedding dance included alternate sets of “old time” music between the rock and roll. A few polkas and waltzes gave the oldsters a chance to hit the dance floor. I have wondered when the Super Bowl is going to have a polka band perform the halftime show. When will old time get its due? “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Super Bowl 60 halftime. Let’s give a warm welcome to the Leon Olsen Show!”

Last summer I was in Detroit. On a free afternoon, we went to the Motown Museum. Motown music was an important tributary to the rock and roll river. Some of my favorite songs came from there. Black music has been part of American music, going back to slavery. I imagine there’s a pretty direct through-line between Motown and rap.

I’m just thankful to live in a country where so many cultures flow and blend together. Diversity is getting a bad name in some quarters right now. Don’t fall for that. If you have any sense of our nation’s history and purpose, you know diversity is our secret power.

If you can’t appreciate our diversity, well, that’s un-American. If you feel that way, you’re “Not Like Us.”

— Randy Krzmarzick farms on the home place west of Sleepy Eye, where he lives with his wife, Pam.