On Athletics:For most of the year the green patch by our estate served as a soccer pitch, but come summer it was transformed into a running track. To the untrained eye, it was the perfect 400 metres, and those long straights and tight bends could pass for Oslo's Bislett Stadium - at least enough for our purposes.
We were 12 or 13 and we would line up as John Walker, Steve Ovett, Steve Scott, Eamonn Coghlan. The girls were Mary Decker, Yvonne Murray, Liz McColgan. We broke world records with incredible ease, sometimes twice in an evening.
The above-mentioned were runners we identified with, not just because we watched them on TV or read about in magazines but because we saw them, talked with them and had their autographs - all thanks to our annual trip to the Cork City Sports.
It would begin in the lobby of the Imperial Hotel, where we'd drink glasses of Cidona and watch the athletes arrive. Our first year, 1984, was like a baptism, and when the American Johnny Grey walked in he needed no introduction, and with that out came the yellow autograph book.
At that point the first and only autograph in the book was that of my sister, next to which was scribbled a cartoon-like portrait.
"Who do'roo that?" asked Grey. "Who dah artist?"
We were in awe of his thick American accent, and more than that his brand-new runners and his shiny Santa Monica Track Club jacket. Within minutes Grey was our new idol, and as we all expected he won the 800 metres that night. His time of 1:45.56 still stands as the Cork City Sports record.
As twilight fell on the old Mardyke track no one dared leave, not with the announcer now updating us on the progress of Yuriy Sedykh. So we watched this giant of a man in the all-red USSR vest as he flung the hammer what seemed the full length of the arena. It landed at 86.34 metres. No matter that our interest in hammer throwing was non-existent, we had witnessed our first real world record.
The next year, 1985, was mostly about Mary Decker. We had watched bleary-eyed as she tripped over Zola Budd at the Olympic Games in Los Angeles the summer before, then cried furiously on the infield. Now here she was before us - all grace and glamour in her tight US strip. She won the 800 metres in 1:57.68, and that record too still stands.
Ending the meeting was a star-studded men's mile, and it didn't matter who actually won. For what seemed like an hour afterwards we stood next to godlike figures such as John Walker and Steve Scott as they patiently signed autographs, talking among themselves about running in Oslo, Zurich, Koblenz. We would look at these athletes and think, "That's my life; that's the life I'm meant to lead."
We discovered a new hero the next year, when the Spaniard Jose Abascal won another stacked mile. When Marcus O'Sullivan beat Abascal to win the world indoor title in Indianapolis the following March we knew O'Sullivan had run a great race.
It was another O'Sullivan - Sonia - who stole the show at the 1987 Cork Sports, probably the last time we watched the event with adolescent eyes. None of us had heard of Sonia, and we were blown away when this fiery-looking 17-year-old hauled back Liz McColgan in the 3,000 metres, sprinting to victory in 9:01.52 - a national junior record. Now more than ever the life of a star athlete seemed attainable.
Back in the ballroom of the Imperial, Sonia looked every bit the star, in black leather jacket two sizes too big and a hairstyle straight out of Smash Hits magazine. It was clear she was going places.
The next time I saw Sonia was four years later, at the indoor arena of Boston University. She had just posted a world indoor 5,000-metre record, 15:17.28, and I had shaved half a second off my indoor best for 3,000 metres - a time not worthy of mention.
It didn't matter that she was thinking Olympics and I was still thinking NCAA championships; we were sharing the same world, at least briefly.
Who knows how many other youngsters have been inspired by the Cork City Sports. When you're young and looking for idols there is nothing to beat seeing stars in the flesh; you go home thinking anything is possible. For that reason alone the Cork City Sports is still a priceless asset to Irish athletics.
