Hugh Keevins: It's my anniversary waltz on Twitter

It was a year ago today I joined the ranks of the Twitteratti, since which Twitter's share price has risen by twenty per cent amidst weekend talks of a potential takeover bid for the company.

The two events surely can't be un-related, can they?

That was meant as a joke, which is, as I now understand only too well, an alien concept in my world of social media.

Twelve months at the coal-face of truth on Twitter has given me a sense of perspective where this particular phenomenon is concerned.

If you're involved in football as it is covered by the broadcast media you are viewed as a legitimate target of war and the more combative your followers are, the better they like it.

The criticism you receive is, based on personal experience, more often than not gratuitously insulting and designed to do nothing other than cause offence rather than stimulate debate.

But I signed up to find out what Twitter was all about in the first place, and now I know. Let me give you an example of what I'm talking about.

So far, the only time I have ever trended on Twitter was when I said that I had met Rangers' manager Mark Warburton at a social function and he had come across as a nice man.

This prompted an outbreak of displeasure on a barely credible level and was my Welcome to Twitter moment.

It is a place where people come to have their prejudices aired and justified and to exercise what is a massively negative attitude towards everyone and everything.

But the game in general is in a dark place in terms of anti-social behaviour and I think it's the duty of the right thinking to defuse any regrettable situations with humour if possible when they have a public platform.

On the other hand, condemnation of the mis-guided, I've discovered, is actually frowned upon by those who will not be told their misbehaviour is unacceptable.

But if you're capable of desecrating the memory of 66 people who perished in the Ibrox disaster, as happened when Rangers were in Aberdeen yesterday, then your understanding of what is right and what is wrong has to be questionable to say the very least.

Mock outrage is what these people do best in order to cover their tracks.

Friday night on Superscoreboard was a classic case in point.

Let me preface my remarks with the bit about personal interest. Derek Johnstone is someone I have known professionally and personally for forty-five years and a man I am proud to call a friend.

Chris Sutton is a former Celtic player I collaborated with over the production of his weekly newspaper column until I left the industry and he sent me a touching text message which I keep in my mobile phone to this day for reasons of sentimentality.

It was therefore uncomfortable for me to listen to two people I like tearing strips off each other while the programme's audience sat with their jaws dropping.

And what a widespread audience.

A newspaper colleague from back in the day who is currently touring Spain by train told me he was sitting in a restaurant in Bilbao on Friday night when he was approached by a fellow countryman alerted to his presence by his Scottish accent.

"Did you hear about DJ and Sutton on Radio Clyde?" was the opening gambit from the other visitor to the Basque country.

Closer to home the Celtic minded on Twitter were applauding Chris for his reference to Derek as a "Cheerleader."

This will be the same Celtic minded element who castigated Chris for not being a cheerleader when Ronny Deila was all over the place while managing their club.

Those with sympathy for Derek, meanwhile, tweeted about the time the former Celtic full back Tosh McKinlay took me round the Superscoreboard ring, metaphorically speaking, for twelve rounds while landing plenty of telling blows.

What they don't know is that I could call Tosh anytime at all and get shown nothing but friendship and civility. Two guys had a fallling out and moved on, which happens every day of the week where those involved in football and the media are concerned.

I would hazard a guess and say it's highly unlikely Derek and Chris will ever exchange a word between now and the end of civilisation, but the big yin was still on time for his work the following day and put in a four hour shift to show he carried no visible scars from a bruising encounter.

Pound for pound, I would suggest I'm probably the most attacked pundit on Superscoreboard, and have now become a magnet for the members of the Twitteratti who react badly to the mention of my name or the sound of my voice.

But I'll still be back on air tonight, and so will my big pal.

You'll know us by the fact that we go by our real names and don't, like some others, hide behind daft wee drawings and made up monickers to prevent the possibility of ever having to answer for what they've written.

Incidentally, it is also true that Twitter has introduced me to some people with a wonderful sense of humour and others who are kindness personified. They have my respect and gratitude.

You'll know who you are because you don't hide behind anonymity while throwing abuse about.

Anyway, entering my second year on Twitter means I'll continue to moan about any casual acceptance of intolerance in all its sinister forms while using no more than 140 characters.

Deal with it.