The lights rose, the crowd roared, and then—just as quickly—fell into silence. Across the stadium, a strange stillness swept through the air. On the colossal screen, framed in smoke and fire, a familiar silhouette appeared. Black curls. A cross glinting at the chest. And then, that unmistakable voice.
Ozzy Osbourne was back.
Not in body, but in spirit.
Workday’s 2026 Super Bowl commercial, “Rock Star,” was expected to be another lighthearted corporate parody like its predecessors. But what unfolded instead was something far more profound — a resurrection. For millions watching around the world, the ad became a final bow for the man who had turned rebellion into religion and chaos into cultural canon.
💬 “You call yourselves rock stars?” Ozzy’s voice thundered, stitched together from archival footage and audio fragments — a feat of sound design and love. His tone carried that unmistakable snarl, both mocking and magnetic. “I’ve trashed hotel rooms in forty-three countries. Been on the road since I was sixteen!”
The screen flickered through flashes of his life — smoky stages, shattered guitars, crowds that looked more like worshippers than fans. Office workers in the commercial froze mid-scene, their laughter fading into awe. The line between satire and sanctity blurred. What began as comedy became communion.
As the two-minute spot unfolded, it transformed into something closer to a short film than an advertisement. Each image felt reverent: Ozzy backstage, laughing with Tony Iommi; Sharon watching from the wings; a young fan in a torn Blizzard of Ozz shirt screaming into the night. Then, silence. A deep breath. And the screen turned black.
From the darkness, one final line appeared — simple, luminous, and devastatingly effective:
“For Ozzy — the one and only.”
For several seconds, the stadium remained still. Even in an event built on spectacle, that moment felt sacred. Then, as if on cue, the silence gave way to thunder — applause, cheers, chants of “Ozzy! Ozzy!” rolling like waves through the stands.
It was more than nostalgia. It was a cultural heartbeat.
Super Bowl commercials are designed to entertain, to sell, to make people laugh. But this one — created in collaboration with Sharon Osbourne, Zakk Wylde, and Ozzy’s longtime creative team — transcended its format. It became a tribute, a digital séance, a love letter from an industry that owed him everything.
Behind the scenes, Sharon confirmed that every second of the spot was built with intention. “Ozzy always wanted to make people laugh,” she said. “But he also wanted to remind them who the real rock stars were — the ones who lived it, bled for it, and never gave up.”
The ad closes with a lingering shot of an empty stage — a single mic stand, lit by a lone spotlight, waiting for a voice that will never return and yet will never fade.
For one night, advertising gave way to artistry. A corporate campaign became a memorial. And as the cheers roared once more through Allegiant Stadium, it was clear: the Prince of Darkness may be gone, but the world will keep his light burning — in riffs, in rebellion, and in every soul that ever found freedom in the noise.
Ozzy Osbourne didn’t just play rock and roll. He was rock and roll. And thanks to a 120-second Super Bowl miracle, he rose once more to remind us all.