People often ask Ozzy Osbourne, who is now fifty-four, how much longer Ozzfest, the heavy-metal package tour he headlines every summer, will last. "I've asked Sharon," Ozzy says, referring to his wife and manager. "She looks at me like I'm a fucking idiot and says, 'We'll know, darling. We'll know.' " Ozzy says he's currently in therapy five days a week, coping with the stress of his wife's recent bout with cancer. Nonetheless, Ozzfest hits the road once again this summer, featuring Korn, Marilyn Manson and, joining Ozzy's band, former Metallica bassist Jason Newsted.

How are you doing?

Oh, I'm preparing for my Ozzfest. Going into heavy training. I run, I use weights. What happened to me last year -- I'm the world's greatest procrastinator. I go, "I'll get on my exercise bike tomorrow." Then three days before the tour, I wanna get slim, look young and attractive, and it don't work that way. I had a double whammy last year, because just before the tour I found out my wife had colon cancer, which fucked me up. It fucking blew my doors off.

Touring must have been very tough.

To be honest with you, I don't really remember that much of the last Ozzfest. Looking back, I think I had somewhat of a nervous breakdown. Because she's . . . I've never loved anything or anybody like I love my wife. My dad died before my mom. My uncle died before my aunt. So I was expecting I would die first. Because of my lifestyle, I've scraped death every fucking day. And then my plan was all fucked up. I mean, cancer, any sickness, when it hits you and your household, it goes through you like a fucking forest fire. I can honestly say I've never been so fucking frightened in my life. I mean, people would say to me, "Ozzy, you gotta be strong." I gotta tell you, dude, I ain't that kinda guy. I ain't like John Wayne -- bite the bullet. I'm like a fucking wet fart when it comes to the emotional side of it.

This is for our summer-tour issue. Are you much of a summer guy?

Well, I'd rather do an outdoor show in the summer than in the fucking winter.

Right.

Funnily enough, I was going through one of my files this morning. What the fuck was wrong with me in the Eighties, man? The clothes I used to wear and the fucking hairdos. Fucking hell. What the fuck were we smoking?

Have you ever had a big stage prop that didn't work?

I remember when Randy Rhoads was alive and we played a gig in L.A. We'd done universities, and Blizzard of Ozz was getting up in the charts, and we had our first big arena show. There was this fucking thing where the drum riser rose up and this big giant hand pushed out. In the hand was this sling, like a catapult, with meat in it. This catapult was supposed to throw this meat into the audience. Well, they'd been trying it out all day, so the elastic wasn't quite as springy during the show. I'm standing there, I put my foot on this lever and several fucking pounds of offal slowly comes and splats on the back of my head.

Will your family come to many of the shows this summer?

They'll try. But Sharon's got her own chat show starting up. I think she starts shooting in August.

Are you excited about that?

You know what? I mind my own fucking business. Because if I say I think it's a bad idea, I'll get an earful of fucking verbal.

Will you do one more season of The Osbournes?

I never say never. Funny thing is, we're called America's favorite family, and we're fucking English! Last year, I met the queen of England. I met the president of the United States. My wife got colon cancer. I got a star on the Walk of Fame. I got the biggest hit TV show in MTV history. And it's global -- it's in China, it's in Russia. I don't know how the fucking Chinese understand it.

What was it like meeting the president?

You know when you meet a person, you either get a good vibe, a not-so-good vibe, a bad vibe or a terrible, goddamn awful vibe? He's got no vibe. I mean, he's the most powerful man in the world! Though I suppose if you're the number-one man in the world, you ain't got to worry about having a fucking vibe. You just have to be willing to put your finger on that fucking button.

[From Issue 924 — June 12, 2003]