A band announcer’s joke falls flat, but the outrage may be off key

In the high-spirited, often barbed world of halftime performances at historically Black colleges and universities, the line between friendly ribbing and offense is as well-trodden as the 50-yard line. That familiar terrain is now the subject of intense scrutiny after FAMU band announcer Joe Bullard's joke about Alabama State University’s plus-sized dance brushed up against that line yesterday.  

As FAMU’s famed Marching 100 band prepared for its performance, Bullard, the band's longtime announcer, known for his colorful quips, in what can only be described as the spirit of classic HBCU band banter, Bullard jokingly congratulated Alabama State’s “Honey Beez” dance team as “the new face of Ozempic,” a reference to the popular weight-loss drug. The remark was met with immediate and audible groans from the crowd, a clear signal that the joke had landed with a thud.

The reaction from Alabama State’s administration, however, was far more than a groan. University President Quinton T. Ross Jr., a former state senator, swiftly condemned the comments as “derogatory and disrespectful” and said he immediately took the comments up with FAMU President Marva Johnson, at the game, before further elevating the issue by calling the SWAC Commissioner and firing off a formal letter and posting it to the university's social media page.  

But a look into the unique culture of HBCU bands and the specific history of the Honey Beez, which traces their roots back to 2004, reveals a more complex picture, one where the offense seems to clash with a long-standing tradition of self-parody and competitive jest.

The Honey Beez are not a traditional dance team; they were created explicitly as a gimmick. As the Honey Beez caught on, the popularity of the group created a rif with the Albama State's premier dance team the Stingettes which was documented by HBCU Buzz in 2015. In a documentary, “The Price of Glory,” members explained their separate appeal, with the Honey Beez embracing a different, more comedic aesthetic. Their routines often feature powerful, ground-shaking splits that have themselves been the subject of countless jokes from announcers and fans alike about causing earthquakes or requiring field repairs.

This context is what has left many observers perplexed. Why is a joke about one aspect of the team’s very public persona—its size—considered beyond the pale, when jokes about the physical impact of their dancing are treated as part of the show?

“Let’s not forget why their own band created them. As a gimmick! They were exploited because of their size!” read one typical response on social media, critiquing Alabama State’s own branding of the team while defending Bullard’s intent.

Strategic overreaction
HBCU band culture is built on a foundation of “the show during the show,” where announcers like Bullard are expected to lob verbal grenades in a tradition of boastful and biting humor. The intent is rarely malicious, even when it misses the mark.

The consensus among fans and commentators familiar with the scene is that Bullard’s joke was simply bad—clumsy, unfunny, and in poor taste. The crowd’s reaction was the appropriate response. Mr. Bullard’s remarks, while crude, clearly did not rise to a level that warranted two official letters and a days-long news cycle. The crowd’s immediate reaction provided the necessary correction.

The appropriate course now seems to be the one the bands themselves have long understood: acknowledge the misstep, learn from it, and move on to the next performance. In the grand tradition of the halftime show, there’s nothing to see here.