Thank you so much for providing a Superbowl halftime show full of good ol' American vim and vigor and free of breasts and malfunction.
Thank you for playing all of my favorite songs of yours, in order, and for modifying your voice to age-appropriate levels.
Thank you for being short, sweet, and to the point: providing us with good music, without explosions, half-naked female "back up singers" or boys' choirs from any of our country's impoverished areas.
In short, Mr. Petty, thank you for giving me exactly what I expected from you with no more and no less. You will not make the headlines tomorrow for flashing your penis to millions of viewers worldwide, but I'm guessing you're okay with that. Maybe someone will write a nice article about how awesome you were, with a picture that doesn't need fuzziness or black dots over it, and I can hang it on my wall as a reminder that it's still possible for someone not named Justin or Britney or Janet to have a fantastic Superbowl halftime show.