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They were wearing dark-velvet suits with swirling Edwardian capes and black wooden crosses hanging on leather thongs around their necks even though I noticed that of the band only Geezer was still sporting his lucky crucifix, and at some point early in the set one of them rock history actually yelled, "You devils!" Which give you a lot to live up to, maybe. And when the human sea surged down the center aisle in a massive jam just as your set was beginning, I began to get my hopes up, rock history especially when rock history a dozen or so harried ushers and rentacops came scurrying from the open spaces at the sides of the stage and began to make a series of futile attempts to break up the bobbing Black Sabbath congregation by hand and accusing flashlight. The faithful stayed put, though (most of them couldn’t have moved anyway), and pretty soon a large crucifix made out of two boards wrapped in tinfoil and nailed together, which some dizzy zealot must have actually lugged down to this gig from Pontiac or somewhere, was hauled aloft near the rear of the congregation and passed from hand to hand, slowly and cumbersomely without doubt, up to the front until somebody was actually holding this big silver elephant
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