When a voice over the loudspeaker is supposed to uplift the crowd, this one shattered expectations. During halftime at a recent college football game, a veteran announcer took aim at a dance team with a barbed, body-shaming remark that left spectators stunned—and soon, the nation watching. He called Alabama State’s plus-size dance team, the Honey Beez, “the new face of Ozempic,” referencing a prescription weight-loss drug. The comment was captured live and shared widely, triggering swift backlash, apologies, and an intense conversation about respect, dignity, and performance culture.

This isn’t just a story about a bad joke—or a mean slip of the tongue—it’s a cultural moment exposing how language around bodies, athletics, and public identity still carries weight in unexpected, painful ways.

The Halftime Moment That Went Off Script

On Saturday, September 27, 2025, during a game between Florida A&M University (FAMU) and Alabama State University (ASU) at Bragg Memorial Stadium, the FAMU band announcer Joe Bullard made the remark in question. He had long been a fixture at games, the familiar voice guiding song selections, calling out solos, and narrating halftime show highlights.

But this time, his commentary crossed a line. As the Honey Beez dancers—the plus-size dance troupe that performs alongside the ASU “Mighty Marching Hornets”—wrapped up their routine, Bullard’s voice crackled through the stadium speakers: “the new face of Ozempic.” The reference wasn’t subtle. It implied that their bodies were fodder for a weight-loss narrative.

The reaction was immediate. Some in the crowd gasped, others booed. The video footage, captured by fans and media, spread fast. Social media lit up with calls for accountability.

Why That Phrase Hits So Hard

To many, it wasn’t just a throwaway line—it was a punch. Here’s why:

Drug reference in a personal context
Ozempic is a medication prescribed for diabetes, but has gained notoriety for weight-loss associations. Using it in reference to dancers tied their bodies to a medical product rather than celebrating their artistry. This frames their bodies in terms of “medical problem” instead of performance.
Public setting, public vulnerability
These performers were in front of thousands, performing with pride. To have an announcer mock their bodies during their moment in the spotlight created a collision—public art and public critique. The stage became a battleground.
Dynamics of HBCU and representation
The event happened at Historically Black College and University (HBCU) stadium context. The Honey Beez, as representatives of ASU culture, are more than dancers—they’re symbols of confidence, history, identity. When body shaming occurs in that environment, it resonates deeper. FAMU’s own president condemned the remark, saying it did not reflect the values of her university or the HBCU community at large.
Echoes of policing bodies in entertainment
In many performance spaces—dance, pageants, theater—bodies are under scrutiny. Comments like this reinforce negative narratives about weight, beauty, and acceptance. When someone in authority gives a microphone to that critique, it amplifies the harm.

The Aftermath: Apologies, Damage Control & Institutional Responses

Within hours, institutional voices moved. FAMU President Marva Johnson issued a public apology to the Honey Beez, to ASU’s leadership, and to the broader HBCU community. She framed Bullard’s comment as a violation of respect and dignity.

ASU President Quinton Ross also responded decisively: he called the comment “absolutely unacceptable.” He reaffirmed the value of the Honey Beez dancers, praised their discipline and pride, and urged their supporters not to let negativity overshadow their contributions.

And Joe Bullard himself posted a statement of regret. He said his words were meant as lighthearted “banter,” but acknowledged they came off as hurtful and disrespectful. He asked forgiveness from those offended and vowed to reflect on his actions going forward.

Still, many saw this apology as too little, too late. The power imbalance—his voice amplified through the stadium, their response limited in real time—remains a key part of the controversy. Some have demanded he be removed from announcing duties, citing the need for accountability beyond words.

The Honey Beez: More Than What Meets the Eye

Let’s take a step back and center the performers. The Honey Beez are ASU’s plus-size dance team, who perform with the Mighty Marching Hornets. Their presence challenges narrow notions of dance bodies. They train, rehearse, synchronize, and bring energy to halftime routines just as any dance troupe does.

The weight of that duty is heavier when people question their worth not by their moves, but by their appearance. Their response to the moment has been dignified and firm. They posted behind-the-scenes videos, sharing training, team chemistry, and their bold, fearless identities. Their message: performance is about more than shape.

By not shrinking, by not withdrawing, they shifted the narrative. They reasserted their own light, even in the glare of harsh commentary.

Bigger Ripples: What This Reveals About Culture & Respect

This incident is more than a moment in a game—it’s a lens on several broader dynamics:

1. Words in public forums carry weight

A microphone in a stadium isn’t like a private conversation. Those words echo, especially when many ears are listening and recording.

2. The persistence of body policing

Even in progressive times, the policing of bodies—especially of women, black women, plus-sized performers—remains deeply ingrained. That has implications for mental health, esteem, and equity in performance fields.

3. Institutional responsibility matters

Universities, stadiums, broadcast operations—they’re not neutral stages. They set culture. When a university president condemns such behavior, it sends a signal that values matter beyond wins and losses.

4. Apology versus accountability

An apology is a start—but many will watch what happens next. Will announcers receive training? Will stadiums update speech guidelines? Will performance teams get protections when they’re publicly disrespected?

5. Representation and visibility

When dancers who don’t fit stereotyped molds become visible, they challenge viewers. Some embrace that; others react with discomfort. The question is: how do we respond? With mockery, or with respect?

What’s Next: Trends to Watch

Will Joe Bullard remain on announcing duty, or will FAMU reassign him?
Will other universities review announcer scripts or enforce new standards for halftime commentary?
Will there be broader training around body respect in performance spaces?
How will the Honey Beez continue to respond—through performances, media appearances, or advocacy?
Could this moment spark renewed focus on how athletic and entertainment events treat performers behind the scenes?

Final Thoughts: Healing the Mic

That one voice over the loudspeaker—meant to stir excitement, rally the crowd—should not have been used to degrade, demean, or deflate. In this moment, we saw how public stages and private identities collided. We saw how dancers—doing what they love, under heat and floodlights—were reduced to a punchline because of the bodies they inhabit.

Yet in that moment of disrespect, the resilience of the Honey Beez, the clarity of university leaders, and the demands of the crowd remind us that dignity does not require perfection. It demands empathy. It requires accountability. It asks: when voices carry, what do we choose to amplify?

Because the next time someone strikes the mic, the question is not just what will they say, but whose dignity will they protect.