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"Alright babes, how's those keepy-ups coming along?!" shouted over number fifteen from the subs bench. After my exams finished last Wednesday, I was immediately thrown into an environment I certainly would never normally have considered, never mind enjoy…me, and football? Why spend the first days of your summer holidays as a glorified ball girl? Well, number 15 and his teammates were certainly no prima Donna football queens. When a couple of my friends and I heard that the Ireland Special Olympic games were coming to Belfast this June, we did what we always do, and threw ourselves into the volunteer pool for a bit of craic. It just seemed like one of those unique opportunities that only comes along every once in a while, and after completing the gruelling registration form and tagging along to the information days we were really no more knowledgeable, but definitely up for the event. I've honestly come to believe that everything happens for a reason. At one of the last information days in Antrim my two friends and I decided to volunteer to help out at the football venue, in the Danny Blanch flower stadium in Belfast. It really was a bit unusual, after all, I had never heard of the stadium, nor had any real passion for football! However, it just seemed to leap off the page at us, so with the AS-Levels finished, we headed up to Belfast on a cold, wet Thursday morning-far too early to mention! The stadium was a hive of activity, yet there was a wonderfully relaxed, friendly atmosphere, which grew daily. Our group mentors took excellent care of all us-young, and old! –volunteers, be it kitchen staff to events services, or ball girls like myself! The crux of my whole experience was undoubtedly my relationship with the athletes, which, after all was the real reason I'd been inspired to drag myself out of bed at such ungodly hours! Whilst there was a level of competition between the six teams, the quality of football was outstanding. Young lads of sixteen ran alongside men in their late forties. Some players were undoubtedly more skilled than others, yet the sheer equity present from kick-off outshone any free-kick Beckham could ever produce, or any event in the World Cup thus far. Every sub was played, only one red card was distributed, and although there was a bit of consoling to do after some close matches, the respect between players was stirring. Every player on those pitches was hand marked by God to show us how to really play the game of life. Whilst my football skills emerged no better from the experience, my outlook has been changed for the better. Amy Mulvenna June 2006 |
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