Birmingham, UK — The gothic gray skies over Birmingham seemed to echo the somber mood as fans, friends, and legends gathered to bid farewell to Ozzy Osbourne, the Prince of Darkness. But no one expected the most electrifying moment of the day to come not from a guitar solo or a tearful ballad—but from U.S. Congresswoman Jasmine Crockett.
The Texas lawmaker, known for her fiery presence in the House and her advocacy for civil rights, surprised many by not only attending the private memorial but also delivering a speech that has since ignited headlines and divided the internet.
Dressed in a striking black wool coat, minimalist pearl earrings, and a sleek netted hat that nodded to both mourning and bold defiance, Crockett approached the microphone just after Jessi Colter finished her haunting rendition of “Mama, I’m Coming Home.” The chapel, filled with rock icons and political elites alike, fell eerily silent as Crockett stood before a towering photograph of Ozzy—the man whose legacy walked the line between madness and genius.
Then she spoke.
“I know I don’t fit the mold of the kind of person you’d expect to stand here today,” Crockett began, her voice unwavering. “But if I may be so bold—I’m here because I believe Ozzy Osbourne was more than a rock legend. I believe he was a hero.”
Murmurs rippled thr
ough the crowd. Sharon Osbourne leaned forward. Elton John turned his head. Cameras clicked—then paused, unsure if this was part of a larger tribute or an unscripted political moment.
Crockett continued.
“We all know Ozzy bit the head off a bat. But what many forget is that he also gave shelter to recovering addicts, quietly funded crisis programs in Birmingham, and once told a generation of misunderstood kids that it was okay not to fit in.”
She went on to recount a little-known story: years ago, Crockett’s cousin, a teen struggling with addiction and suicidal thoughts, found hope in Ozzy’s raw and brutally honest lyrics. That same cousin later attended a recovery center in Alabama—partially funded by anonymous donations that, as she revealed, were later traced back to Osbourne’s team.
“I don’t care if this sounds controversial. I don’t care if it makes headlines,” Crockett said, emotion building in her voice. “This man didn’t care about playing it safe—and neither do I. Ozzy Osbourne saved lives. And in my book, that makes him a damn hero.”
The chapel was still. Then, a slow clap—followed by a full standing ovation. Elton John wiped away tears. Post Malone nodded solemnly from the back. And Sharon Osbourne, visibly moved, mouthed, “Thank you.”
But while the funeral room responded with warmth, the internet was less unanimous.
Within an hour, #JasmineCrockett and #OzzyHero trended on X (formerly Twitter). Some praised her courage to speak authentically at such a raw moment. Others called it political grandstanding, accusing her of turning a solemn tribute into a platform for personal branding.
MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow applauded the speech on air that evening, calling it “one of the most unexpectedly human moments in politics this year.” Meanwhile, conservative commentator Ben Shapiro tweeted, “Ozzy Osbourne was not a hero. He was a drugged-out shock rocker. Crockett’s comments are embarrassing.”
Back at the memorial site, however, Crockett didn’t stay for interviews. She laid a single black rose beneath the growing pile of flowers and walked quietly toward the exit, flanked by minimal security and no entourage. One fan captured a candid photo of her pausing at the entrance gate, looking back one last time at the mural of Ozzy above the chapel doors.
It’s unclear whether Crockett had any personal relationship with the Osbourne family, though unconfirmed reports suggest she had met Sharon Osbourne at a mental health fundraiser last year. Regardless, her presence at the funeral—and the statement she made—has sparked renewed debate about what defines a public figure’s legacy.
For decades, Ozzy Osbourne was seen by many as a caricature of rebellion: the eyeliner, the theatrics, the wild interviews. But in recent years, especially following his Parkinson’s diagnosis, his more reflective, vulnerable side came into focus. Quiet donations, advocacy for music therapy, and heartfelt interviews revealed a layered man behind the chaos.
Jasmine Crockett’s words may have shocked some, but to others, they captured something raw and often overlooked: that redemption and legacy don’t always wear suits and halos. Sometimes they scream into microphones and stumble onstage—yet still manage to change lives.
By sunset, as the crowd dispersed and the last chords of Ozzy’s favorite Sabbath song echoed faintly from the chapel speakers, one sentiment lingered: love him or hate him, Ozzy Osbourne mattered.
And thanks to Jasmine Crockett, perhaps more people will be forced to rethink exactly why.
