Sabbath formed the year I was born, first song I learned on guitar was Sweet L3af, saw Ozzy in ‘82 just after the plane crash, countless Ozfest’s, 1998 reunion show, etc etc….. I’ve seen a lot of fans talking about what band was uninvited, or who didn’t live up to the hype, or which band shouldn’t have been there… I watched the entire show and, for me, the lifetime soundtrack was as touching and meaningful as a McCartney concert…

abbath formed the year I was born. Maybe that’s just a coincidence, or maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying the soundtrack to my life was already being written before I even took my first breath. The first song I ever learned on guitar? Sweet Leaf. That riff—that sound—was the start of something that never let go. From the first moment I heard it, I knew there was something deeper going on. It wasn’t just heavy. It was raw, real, and strangely comforting.

I saw Ozzy in ’82, not long after the tragic plane crash that took Randy Rhoads. There was a weight to that show, a sense that the music was holding up something much bigger than just entertainment. I’ve lost count of how many Ozzfests I’ve been to since. Each one had its own energy, its own highs and lows, but they were all part of the same thread—a continuous evolution of a sound and spirit that shaped generations.

Then came the 1998 reunion. To be in the same space as the original lineup again—it felt like witnessing history breathe. I wasn’t just watching a band. I was standing with thousands of people who had also grown up, lived, and changed with this music running in the background of their lives. That show was electric. No gimmicks, no apologies. Just Sabbath, as it always should have been.

Lately, I’ve seen fans picking apart who was or wasn’t invited, who fell short, who didn’t belong. And sure, debates like that have their place in music circles—we’ve all got opinions. But I watched the entire show, and I wasn’t looking for perfection. I was listening to a lifetime of memories being echoed back at me. Every note, every growl, every off-kilter solo carried the weight of decades. For me, the experience was as touching and meaningful as seeing McCartney perform songs he wrote in his twenties, now laced with a lifetime of meaning.

When you’ve been walking with a band for that long, it stops being about tightness or technicality. It becomes about connection. Black Sabbath wasn’t just a band I liked. They were part of my identity. They taught me about heaviness—in music and in life. They gave me space to feel things that didn’t always have words. And they kept showing up, again and again, even as the world shifted around them.

So no, I don’t care who wasn’t there or who didn’t “live up to the hype.” I care that they were there. I care that I was there, too. That the soundtrack of my life still echoes in the chords of Sweet Leaf and the roar of a crowd that knows exactly what it means when Tony hits that first note.

For me, it was never about hype. It was about home