He started with “Crazy Train,” and the crowd sang louder than the speakers. His voice cracked in places, but that didn’t matter. Every syllable was weighted with decades of memory. You could feel it in your chest—the sound wasn’t perfect, but the moment was. It was more than music. It was goodbye.
“Mama I’m Coming Home” brought tears to more than a few eyes, including mine. That song felt different this time, like Ozzy was singing it to us. To Sharon. To his bandmates. To himself. For a man who was once considered too wild to last a decade in the industry, here he was, 50 years later, saying farewell with grace and grit.
The highlight? The Black Sabbath reunion. Seeing Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward take the stage again with Ozzy was pure magic. When they launched into “War Pigs,” the ground practically shook. It wasn’t about nostalgia anymore—it was about reclaiming history and giving it a final chapter.
Ozzy didn’t fake his energy. He looked older, tired, but undeniably present. He smiled, he pointed at fans, and he whispered “I love you all” more than once. There was no overproduction, no gimmicks. Just Ozzy being Ozzy—honest, raw, human.
It was Saturday, July 5, 2025. That’s a date I’ll never forget. Because it wasn’t just Ozzy’s final show—it was the last time many of us would ever feel that unique electric charge of a man who became heavy metal. And he did it in his hometown. Full circle.
What struck me the most was how connected we all felt. Strangers in the stands held hands, hugged, and cried together. You could see old-school fans with faded tour shirts and younger fans who never got the chance to see him live until now. It was a communion of rock souls.
As he closed with “Paranoid,” the sky above the stadium lit up with fireworks. And even though we all knew this was the end, we screamed like it was the beginning. That contradiction—knowing it’s over but wanting more—is what made it so powerful.
I walked out of that concert changed. Not because of how loud it was, or how cool the setlist was, but because it reminded me what it means to be moved by art. Ozzy gave us more than music. He gave us permission to be loud, weird, wild, and broken—and to still matter.
