Behind the Bucket: What You’re Not Told About Special Olympics Ireland

Every year in early May, you'll see the familiar buckets and smiling faces on the streets—it's Special Olympics Ireland’s National Collection Day. A day filled with hope, awareness, and goodwill.

But behind those buckets is a story most of the public never hears.

In 2010, a close friend of mine—an athlete with special needs—was told by her club she couldn't go to the All-Ireland Games unless she paid her fees upfront. No pay, no place on the team. She was on social welfare, and desperate not to miss out, she took out a personal loan with a 170% interest rate.

Yes, you read that right—170%. She was paying €45 a week out of her limited income, just to be part of something that should have supported her. Eventually, when the debt overwhelmed her, I stepped in and cleared nearly €500, just to protect her dignity.

And this wasn’t just a one-time thing.

The very same sport manager who pushed this “pay or stay home” approach went on to win a national volunteer award in 2011, celebrated on TV as “humble.” Meanwhile, athletes were being pressured, isolated from friends and family, and expected to pay yearly fees without question. It was a “club only” culture—and anyone who asked too many questions was pushed to the edges.

To this day, I still support that athlete. Every Christmas, I send her a care package—a food parcel—because I know what that experience did to her and how little support still exists. She became a huge part of my life, and I became part of hers—a support system the club never offered.

Seven full photo albums from over a decade of events sit in her home—photos I took, printed, and shared at my own expense. The club even asked to use a few of them. I never charged, never asked for thanks. But looking back, I see now how one-sided it was.

Let’s be honest—after 2013, when National Collection Day was outsourced to a private company, the number of buckets on the streets hasn’t increased. It’s declined. And yet the public still gives, assuming their donations are directly helping the athletes. But the reality on the ground? It tells a much different story.

And as for me? I now live alone. I barely leave the house aside from weekly shopping. My days are quiet, often spent asleep during the day and awake at night. That athlete gave my life purpose after huge personal changes. Supporting her gave me connection. But what happened around her club took much of that away.

So this year, before you drop your change in a bucket on May 2nd, ask yourself:

Who really benefits?
Are athletes being supported—or just used?
Where’s the accountability?

Don’t let the polished branding and feel-good messaging distract from what really matters: dignity, transparency, and the right to be included without debt or shame.

It’s time to speak the truth.

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