The man who once snorted ants off a sidewalk and allegedly bit the head off a bat is now trading his leather pants for a rocking chair. Ozzy Osbourne, the 76-year-old godfather of heavy metal, is preparing for his final act—a bittersweet farewell with Black Sabbath this July at Birmingham's Villa Park. "I don't want to die in a hotel room," growls the man who practically invented rockstar excess, now shuffling toward retirement like a wounded lion returning to its den.
This isn't just a concert—it's a Viking funeral for an era. The original Sabbath lineup (minus Bill Ward's drums) will reunite under a constellation of rock royalty: Metallica, Guns N' Roses, and Tool will join what's essentially a heavy metal version of the Last Supper. Ozzy plans to perform seated—either on a throne suspended above the crowd or planted firmly on stage—his Parkinson's-ravaged body now a far cry from the bat-chomping madman of yore.
Behind the scenes, there's delicious irony: the man who survived decades of chemical warfare against his own liver is now battling something far more mundane—British real estate taxes. The Osbournes abandoned their $18M California mansion (complete with 11 bathrooms) for a reportedly haunted 17th-century asylum-turned-home in Buckinghamshire. "We'll rescue dogs, shout at neighbors—normal people stuff," quips Sharon, the real power behind the throne.
Even the preparations feel mythic. Bassist Geezer Butler admits to pre-show nightmares, while guitarist Tony Iommi nearly refused—until learning proceeds would fund Parkinson's research. Ozzy himself vacillates between resignation ("I'm practically dead") and dark humor (he's joked about getting bionic legs).
As the final chords of "Paranoid" echo this summer, one truth remains: the man who taught generations to rebel is staging his most shocking act yet—growing old gracefully. The Prince of Darkness is finally coming home—not in a blaze of glory, but with the quiet satisfaction of a war-weary soldier. And perhaps that's the most metal exit of all.
