THE FRIDAY REPORT: Unsocial media

The chips-on-their-shoulders brigade, all pseudonyms and cloaked with inadequacy, ready to vilify. Picture: SOUTH PARK

“I just want to reiterate that I hate Dwayne Russell’s guts.”

Perusing five minutes of social media or web chatter is generally all it takes to be confronted by the inane, the profane and the downright noxious.

The above examples come from one of Australian sport’s most popular fan forums. To illustrate the depth of toxicity, the first comment was written by one of the forum’s moderators.

The samples included stem from various topics based on footy’s fourth estate – the media – and give air to “Joe Public”. As illustrated, unencumbered by responsibility and emboldened by anonymity, Joe at times is neither sociable nor articulate.

I’ve purposely not used examples of the daily bile directed at players. For the record, social media enables praise as much as it allows “fans” to denigrate players on the basis of race, appearance, rumour, domestic arrangements, performance, background, contract, club and public utterances.

Naturally, it’s worse for AFLW players.

Remember the reaction to the publication of a photograph displaying the kicking action of Tayla Harris? Her leg extension was not dissimilar to that so brilliantly captured in the statue of Ted Whitten outside Whitten Oval. For that she copped a tide of sexist abuse and physical threats.

You read that correctly. A photo of a female player kicking a Sherrin prompted men to threaten sexual abuse and violence.

“The game is getting more and more scrutinised,” said Paul Marsh, head of the AFL Players Association. “It’s a huge issue. With the advent of social media, it’s also less rational. This is part of the journey of an AFL player … they have to learn to cope with the highs and lows.”

Some of them – Tom Boyd, Ty Vickery – did not cope. Consultations to mental health professionals by AFL players soared by 140 per cent between 2017 and 2018, and a number of high profile players have taken time out from the game.

“This is a high-pressure industry that young men and women are being exposed to and a lot of them are not ready for it,” said Marsh.

But the chips-on-their-shoulders brigade, the men hiding behind pseudonyms and cloaked with inadequacy, are more than ready to vilify. A change of club, an average game, an interview, a new partner, skin colour … it’s fodder for the shrunken-shouldered and twitchy-fingered.

“Players today have got all of these other anxieties associated with the game, such as social media and media scrutiny,” said Tim Watson. “When I started, you could escape the attention and analysis. I don’t know how our group of players would have dealt with it.”

He’s right.

Imagine being 21 and thousands of people you’ve never met are calling you a dickhead because you missed a goal on the run under pressure from 50 metres out.

Or a coach whose family no longer recognises your personality because you’ve sacrificed seven days a week to a club’s cause and yet the pile-on from the public includes abuse, menace and malevolent gossip.

Or a female footy presenter making your way in a traditionally male environment and being subjected to hourly innuendo, daily disparagement and permanent slander regarding your looks, voice and figure. Ever heard Brian Taylor called out for his shape? Neither have I.

And it’s all from a smattering of weak, anonymous and pathetic men.

This is not to downplay the thoughtful and reasoned contributions to social media from the overwhelming majority of the sport’s followers. Technology allows us to connect, share and revel or commiserate in the highs and lows of footy. We celebrate this.

So please don’t walk past your mate, brother or colleague polluting our great game and our community with infantile vilification and invective. We are better than that. We are better than this post from the same fan forum described earlier: “What the f— is this gay shit?”