Pure Inspiration.

The definition of inspiration is 95% perspiration. So I was told by a coach when I was aged just 13. His name escapes me, maybe because he didn't make that much of an impression on me. Or maybe I wasn't that good as an athlete. Or maybe I didn't have the dedication or application as a young runner. But in saying that, I'm still running - nearly twenty three years later. He probably had more of an affect on me that I actually remember. His words obviously stuck, to a certain extent.

The definition of inspiration is simple. It is an arousal of the mind to special unusual activity or creativity. Or it is the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something - especially to do something creative.

Both of those sentences sound the same to me - just written in different ways.

Yesterday I was a witness to history. History to Irish and world sport. History to remembering where I was when such an event happened. I remember where I was when September 11th 2001 occurred. It was a bit like when I grew up when adults around me stated where they were when JFK was assassinated, or when Elvis died. It was one of those moments in life that you remember where you were in the world.

I remember where I was when David O'Leary slotted home that penalty in Italia '90. I'd be very surprised if the circular green and brown carpet hasn't still got stomping marks - where I jumped up and down non-stop for two hours that day. I had it recorded and replayed it for all the neighbours, several times. I leaped about the place so many times, celebrating it like it was my first time witnessing the event.
I also remember vividly where I was when Ray Houghton scored against Italy in World Cup '94. I ruined another part of the swirly carpet.

Yesterday I knew I was witnessing history. This time I knew that I would have an opportunity to write as I witnessed it being made.

Lethargy. Ineptitude. Laziness. Over-confidence. Cockiness. Self-entitlement. I saw none of that in the young lady from Bray. We saw thankfulness, dedication and modesty ooze from her every pore.

She was sharp and quick. Her body was tuned perfectly. She had earned this moment plainly just for the past twenty odd years of training.

Her time was now.

Her defence was rigid. Elbows in close to the body. Even though her opponent was waiting on the counter-attack for the slightest opportunity, it never really came. She didn't allow it. Dancing feet for the four rounds that lasted eight minutes. I tried to dance like that for twenty seconds as an exercise, and I was bloody wrecked. And I consider myself fairly aerobically fit.

She may have been nervous a touch, but that was to be expected. This was an Olympic final after all. The crowd expected too. Even Princess Anne had to shield her ears from the noise generated from the roar of the hordes gathered.

But pure inspiration poured forth. All those years of hard work bore fruit. The young Katie did Ireland proud - especially for her family and herself.

Let's hope Ireland garners this enthusiasm and moves forward with as much positivity. Feck the cynicism and negativity - look what happened when we last embraced four amazing years of sport from  1990-94.

Oh - and did I mention in amongst those World Cups we won our last Gold medal in Barcelona 1992?

Maybe we owe all our congrats of prosperity during the boom years to Michael Carruth - not to either soccer team.
Here's hoping the Katie effect will be as generous to us all.