Ozzy was *so* much more than just the Prince of Darkness. He was real. He was kind. He was *human* in the most beautiful way. I still can’t believe it — I asked him, on a total whim, if he would sign his name across my knuckles, draw a smiley face on my knee, and autograph it… and you know what? He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t ask for money. He just smiled, chuckled that Ozzy laugh, and did it. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And when he saw my ridiculous bat-shaped sunglasses? He *loved* them. Said they were “bloody brilliant.” That was Ozzy — always seeing the weird and wonderful in people, and celebrating it. He made everyone feel like they mattered. Like you were part of some strange, beautiful family where the only requirement was being *yourself*.
I’ve never met a celebrity who was so genuinely *a fan of his fans*. He didn’t just tolerate us — he *cherished* us. Took time, showed patience, remembered faces, laughed with us, cried with us. Ozzy’s heart was bigger than any stadium he ever rocked.
And the wildest part? My ten-year-old nephews are *obsessed* with him. They know every lyric, every riff. They ask questions about Black Sabbath, about “Crazy Train,” about what it meant when Ozzy bit the bat. They’ve never met him, but they *feel* him — his energy, his honesty, his love. That’s the kind of legacy Ozzy leaves behind: a bridge across generations, built on music, madness, and a whole lot of heart.
We love you, Ozzy. Forever. You weren’t just a rock star — you were a legend with a soul of gold. Thank you for loving us rig
ht back.
