Maurice Brosnan: A losing quest to reprogram the sporting social media algorithm 

A view of the app for TikTok, Instagram, WhatsAppp and Twitter on a phone screen.

The quintessential county final picture: three elated men, arms around each other, a cup held high. An NFL coach’s sacking. Clips from Interstellar and Succession. A meme blending Eddie Hearn, Rocky Balboa and that ugly incident at a recent Leinster hurling game. This is who we are.

Or rather, this is what we have become. In recent weeks, I’ve been actively trying to reprogram my various social media algorithms. Searching certain words on Instagram. Actively interacting with the better TikTok accounts. Dutifully pressing “Not interested in this post” on the bile that bubbles up on X.

Trying to reprogram the social media algorithms to more accurately reflect these special interests, to the point that this is what Instagram offers in response. The New Ireland provincial jersey. Dog tributes. A tin whistle cover of ‘No Broke Boys’. Weird. But I built this feed, brick by brick.

It doesn’t last. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to stretch this particular elastic; eventually it will snap back into its own aggravating shape. For many of us, the early charm of social media was those neatly delivered, routine doses of alerts pertaining to our select few interests. The sporting person’s one stop shop, a curated stream of breaking news and blockbuster clips and a like-minded community seeking the same. It was curated to be so.

That transformed a long time ago. To rephrase Bob Dylan, the feeds, they are a-changin’.

The Elon Musk ownership has altered X in countless ways. It is not just a clunkier, less user-friendly platform. It is far more political and performative. This development has had dramatic consequences for our compartmentalised world of media and still more dramatic ones for the sprawling world of real life.

A host of media outlets, including NPR and the Guardian, have departed. Clubs such as St Pauli and Werder Bremen quit the platform last year. Staying on X has itself become a statement act. Do you still want to linger in that particular digital town square? What does that say about us? Who are we listening to and what are we willing to ignore?

There was a time when it seemed obviously useful. This should not be confused with some nostalgia-twisted golden age. At no point was it devoid of vitriol or abuse. It is 10 years since Conor Cahalane challenged a troll targeting his brother, Damien, after a Munster championship defeat. Ruby Walsh quit Twitter eight years ago due to the tantrums of gamblers who couldn’t regulate their own rage. The aftermath of the Euro 2020 final and the abuse hurled at Marcus Rashford, Bukayo Saka and Jadon Sancho was a moral low point.

And yet, it is worth remembering the promise of Twitter in particular. Voiceless people found a voice and discovered that it carried weight. They could challenge authority in a way that felt genuinely new. Speak directly without first asking permission.

Athletes, supporters and outsiders alike could speak unfiltered without needing a gatekeeper. Raheem Sterling used the platform to expose how certain sections of the media fuelled racism through their portrayal of Black footballers and he did so without relying on a press pack that included representatives from those very outlets. That was powerful.

Now you have to scream just to be seen. ‘Content creators’ manufacture controversy. Entire accounts exist purely to provoke. The algorithm rewards anger because anger never looks away. You want transfer gossip, Irish scrum analysis and an annual John O’Shea nutmeg clip? Fine. But take the most extreme election takes, Jeffrey Epstein updates and endless crypto ads with it. Dissent is monetised. Engagement is everything. Spin this wheel enough and you’ll see the house always wins.

There is now a mini-industry devoted to beating the algorithm. The more you read, the clearer it becomes: it is unbeatable. Boil their advice down and it comes to this: Log off. Touch grass.

In time, organisations will recognise the demand that already exists. What if the GAA built its own proper digital hub: live scores, clips, stories, statistics, all gathered in one sane place? Let county boards, clubs and members tend it and keep it clean. A republic of sport rather than an empire of noise. Imagine.

The advance of alternatives is starting to unfold. Over the past while, there has been a clear rise in the popularity of WhatsApp groups. The growth of this microcosm stems from an obvious attraction, a steady stream of conversation to be gobbled up in peace, away from the algorithm’s roar.

In this increasingly digital age, it feels naïve to suggest a complete escape. Even still, it is worth asking the uncomfortable questions: How did we get here? Where it has become so easy to destroy people without feeling bad about it? Where we don’t have to imagine anything because the images are always provided to us? Where giant companies have been made to feel like they are essential, the only viable way to consume news, to find community, to belong.

Every scroll is a reminder that you can’t beat the system. The system will beat you. It is a losing battle to try to remain sovereign within a machine built for amplification, conflict and polarisation. If it isn’t a grand retreat let it be a series of small withdrawals, back to quieter corners where we try to reclaim a little agency and maybe, a little peace.