Sick of all the critics. Was everything perfect? NO! But I’m damn sure glad we travelled from California to be part of music history.

Sick of all the critics. Was everything perfect? NO! But I’m damn sure glad we travelled from California to be part of music history.

 

You know what? Not every note was pitch-perfect. Not every light cue was bang on. But that didn’t matter. Because we were there. We lived it. From the second we stepped off the plane from California, we knew we were chasing something bigger than a flawless concert—we were chasing a moment that would never come again.

 

And that moment came.

 

It came when Ozzy’s voice cracked not from weakness, but from raw emotion. When Tony’s riffs sounded like thunder and Geezer’s bass rumbled in your chest. It came when Bill Ward—yes, the Bill Ward—stood tall behind the kit like no time had passed. You could feel the decades, the battles, the legacy, and the love pouring out of that stage.

 

The crowd? Electric. Generations of fans singing every word, holding up lighters and phones not for Instagram likes, but because they felt something. A sea of black tees, horns in the air, and tears in the eyes of grown men who never thought they’d see this moment again.

 

So yeah, the critics can nitpick all they want. They can point out setlist choices or technical flaws. But we were part of something real. Something loud, emotional, unrepeatable. That stage in Birmingham wasn’t just a concert—it was a final chapter, a spiritual gathering, a farewell hug from the gods of metal.

 

We made the journey. We witnessed the end of an era. And we’ll carry that with us for the rest of our lives.

 

Perfect? No.

Unforgettable? Absolutely.