Umberto Eco made a provocative statement about social media when receiving an honorary degree in Turin in 2015: it “gives legions of idiots the right to speak when they once only spoke at a bar after a glass of wine, without harming the community. Then they were quickly silenced, but now they have the same right to speak as a Nobel prize winner.” While I do not entirely agree with this sentiment, there is some truth to it, particularly in the realm of football, where social media has significantly altered the share of voice between clubs and some fans. I missed the Denmark v England game owing to a work commitment but ventured online to gauge reactions to England being top of their group in the Euros. The vitriol against Gareth Southgate after the draw was incredible. Our most successful national manager since 1966 became the target of memes about boredom, safety and mediocrity. Simultaneously, Steve Cooper, one of the most progressive and well-respected British coaches, was appointed by Leicester. A tweet from someone with 400 followers saying “What happened to his face?” garnered 1.5m views. The fury directed at Southgate during the win against Slovakia that took his team to a fourth consecutive major tournament quarter-final was remarkable. Three years ago, at the beginning of my term as chair of Grimsby Town, we recognised the importance of being available online to try to foster a culture of trust and transparency. Over time, I dialled this back because it was hard to predict reactions. After a negative result, trying to highlight positives was like inviting 50 people to line up to punch you in the face. I learned to stay offline on Saturday nights, as immediate post-match emotions tend to skew responses. The anonymity and distance provided by social media amplifies this negativity, with some profiles pathologically unable to say anything productive. While social media has positive characteristics, negativity and nastiness seem to dominate this disembodied theatre of our lives. Several factors contribute to this; from an evolutionary point of view, we are wired to pay more attention to negative information because it could signal potential threats. Sharing these frustrations can bond communities of like-minded individuals, and negative comments elicit stronger reactions, causing algorithms to prioritise such content because it increases overall engagement. Throwaway comments, temporary and context-specific, now become part of the permanent record. In our second year, we faced criticism about the perceived weakness of our January transfer window. After winning our first game of February 3-0 at Crewe, I tweeted something along the lines of: “Not a bad window after all.” Screenshots were taken, stored and reposted a couple of weeks later after a bad game, with some fans being the arbiters of when we could be jokey or playful. In real life, a throwaway comment might be quickly forgotten, but online it’s preserved and can be thrown back at you when things inevitably go awry. This permanence is an issue when our biggest learning experiences come from our ability to try something, fail and, most importantly, move on quickly. I feel sorry for those born in the digital age who have to live with the knowledge that every embarrassing thing they do or mistake they make could be caught on camera or posted online. I recently bumped into an old friend I knew when I was nine and hadn’t seen for 40 years. We were in a dance group together as kids called Itchy Feet. For years I was thankful that this was in the pre-digital era and no photos existed of that period of my life. My mum, a keen ballet dancer and a mother of four boys, really wanted a girl to continue her interest in dance and I was co-opted to try disco dancing. Truth be told, I was rubbish and not that interested, so when I was given the ultimatum to choose football or disco, it was hardly Sophie’s choice. My friend had a grainy photo of me in homemade red and silver disco dungarees that she shared. I remember the photo being taken by a family friend in the park in Grimsby in 1979 and hadn’t seen it since. It matters less now I am 53, but I wonder what people might have thought of me as I tried to build my career in tech if it was the first thing that appeared if someone happened to Google my name. The biggest lesson from that photo is that few people can carry off the bow tie plus red and silver dungaree combination. It’s hard to overstate how bad online interaction can be for players, who are constantly under the spotlight. A generation of young players are advised to stay off social media, but it’s a herculean task. Positive reinforcement can be addictive when things are going well, but a poor performance can create a downward doom cycle for those young minds. In the past, they only had to endure terrace shouts, which, though brutal, ended when they left the stadium. Now, they face a legion of critics online, with negative comments persisting long after the final whistle and into their weekends. Anonymity in my mind often renders these opinions irrelevant, as those without followers are usually bots or individuals without real courage. As a general rule, anyone who can’t correctly spell dickhead deserves your sympathy, not fear. I tell my kids that most people are decent in real life, and those who aren’t can generally be avoided. Online, however, some are emboldened to say what they would never dare in person and it’s hard to imagine the lived experience of those who only find their courage alone in darkened rooms tapping out anger against the world. Last season, we reported an online troll to the police for making negative sexual comments about a female staff member, only to discover he was barely an adult, ashamed and contrite when confronted. Ultimately, social media should be seen for what it is: a reaction to the headlines of life, often without bothering to read the full article. Sometimes, that’s enough, but any real connection and understanding requires effort and empathy before we start to write. Jason Stockwood is the vice-chair of Grimsby Town