I've never been fully invested in Super Bowl halftime shows anyway except the one with Prince and that was way before I made my final declaration pie is always the winner when there is a choice between it or cake.

If I had made this declaration when Prince performed at the Super Bowl halftime show I would have missed that performance as well or it would have went over my head like the Super Bowl 50 halftime show did.

The reason I like pie is because it gets to the meat of dessert. Typically, when well-meaning folks bake a cake they never get the frosting consistency to my liking. Of course, I would never tell the baker I didn't think they put enough frosting on the cake and would half-heartedly say the cake was good and wonder why they just didn't make a pie.

That's why I brought a pie to the party I went to Sunday because pie cuts to the chase. You can't go wrong with it because the filling does what cake can't — leaves nothing to the imagination because you don't have to worry about there being too little or too much of it inside or out. I can't even remember the last time I've had bad pie, even mince meat pie.

I can remember plenty of bad Super Bowl halftime shows and I had been thinking through most of the game I was going to get me a slice of the pie I brought, an Edwards Reese's Cup pie, at halftime.

I watched a few minutes of the halftime show, my mind on the pie, and thinking the way they were filming the show it almost looked like it was pre-recorded.

Pie was calling and I went inside to get me a slice because we were watching Super Bowl 50 outside on my friend's deck overlooking the beautiful Roanoke River.

I took the pie from the refrigerator and got me a satisfactory slice.

Let me tell you that pie was good and although it was delicious, I talked myself into having only one slice and let my friends keep the rest because that's what a good guest should do as a way to say thanks to your host.

So I went back outside, pie on the plate, and casually watched the remainder of the halftime show and never figured it was anything but a halftime show.

That's what pie does for the soul. You're a better person when you have a slice of pie because it's so much easier to eat than cake, which tends to be crumby and you never know if the frosting consistency is going to be to your liking.

I ate the pie and still thought the halftime show looked pre-recorded and I wasn't the only one. It never occurred to me there was anything to the performance other than a performance that didn't hold my attention much.

As a frequent student of popular culture, the whole Beyonce thing is something I didn't study, the only thing I remarked upon was a probably very sexist comment that she and her entourage were hot and then I went for pie still thinking about Beyonce and her hot entourage.

Other than that, I don't think anyone else at the party had much to say about the performance. I know I didn't because I was enjoying my slice of pie and when you're eating pie your mind is on the pie and nothing else matters, even the supposed North Korean satellite which apparently flew over Levi's Stadium.

It wasn't until a day after the Super Bowl I read there was something more to the halftime show than I imagined it was and began seeing all sorts of posts on social media from racists saying the halftime show was racist and non-racists saying the halftime show was non-racist and me stuck in the middle thinking just how good that pie was.

Perhaps if the people commenting on either side ate pie like I did they wouldn't be worrying about political implications of a so-so halftime show.

The only thing the posts did was get me to thinking I should have at least brought back a slice of that pie with me.

I didn't want to be greedy, however, because a reader a few weeks ago who said my columns were divisive pondered what I would do if he called me a sweaty fat boy.

So I told my buddy's wife she and the family could keep the rest of the pie and it had nothing to do with the sweaty fat boy comment left on the website because these days I need a belt to hold my pants up even when I do indulge in a slice or two of pie now and then.

Of course this column has little to do with Mr. Smart Aleck sweaty fat boy poster, only to stick a divisive barb in his mean-spirited mind and encourage him to imbibe in the goodness of pie not hate.

It simply has to do with the magic of pie and how when you're absorbed in the world of pie you don't see things in black and white — you only want more pie.

That's why I'm glad I decided several months ago to take my pie stand. I'm a better person for it who never realized that halftime show was anything more than a halftime show which flew right over my head like a North Korean satellite — Lance Martin