AT the risk of sounding like a boring old ‘far ticked off’ sports reporter, more and more about the world of athletic endeavour is getting me down.

Globally sport is presently all about the wrong headlines. Drug use and abuse, results rigging, betting scams and scandals, racism and homophobia, just some of the complicated and uncomplimentary issues striding the world of sport.

The sheer unalloyed joy of summer's London Olympics is now one side of a coin weighed down by the flip turn of unedifying examples of tainted incidents.

And there’s literally no escape unless you migrate to a stony outcrop in the middle of the ocean, or an uninhabited desert island. Even then you suspect anyone wanting to totally get away will still be bombarded by the communication cacophony of satellite links, emails, twitter and, the ubiquitous internet.

Unfortunately, the lock on Pandora’s box has been smashed open and rendered unfit to be fastened ever again.

Social media has become a useful tool and certainly a more democratic vehicle for views to be aired quickly and to the widest of audiences.

But it has also become the preserve of the disaffected, the despicable, the dissolute.

Anything and everything is inspected, dissected and more often than not infected with the bile of web-weasels who are never satisfied than when applying the logic of the lobbying loon-bird to all manner of sports, clubs, teams and players.

It’s like being assailed by the tiresome drunk or vein-bulging thug on the last bus home, only said sad miscreants number hundreds, thousands, millions.

There are no corners in which to hide and everyone is fair game, be it world-class or humblest sportsman or woman.

Take York City, yes York City.

This week I have been astounded by the venomous vituperation that has been reserved for captain Chris Smith. He missed the midweek draw with title hopefuls Gillingham, an absence that unleashed a flurry of fury from some City followers of The Press’s website.

The more kind suggestions declared City were better off without him, others proposed his immediate release from the club.

Remember, this is the Minsterman who skippered City to two historic Wembley triumphs, whose performances at the heart of the defence were key to that double delight.

I’ve never read so much rot, though luckily, even before Hillsborough I have steadfastly refused to have anything to do with that national newspaper that rhymes with shun.

When I have watched City last season and on several occasions this term, Smith has always been one of the most reliable defenders. He has been a constant whom you wonder is able to maintain such a level of solidity given how many different centre-back partners have operated alongside him. The tally must be at least seven.

Ironic too, how another yeoman defender, Dan Parslow, should also be subject of those key-jabbing web-bleaters.

But if you have ever watched Smith and Parslow, they are not players who hide. They do not shirk. They are not fearful of putting bodies on the line, putting heads where pain is possible.

They are always in the thick of it, unlike many players, who, when the bad times roll in, opt to hide, not wanting the ball, shunning responsibility, doing the risk-free minimum. And, besides, isn’t the meaning of fan supposed to provide support during the full and the lean times?

For all this instant ire, it is to be hoped that instant karma will kick in and the acid that drips from the paws of the web wolves melts their keyboards into an unusable plastic mush.

Sigh England – he’s on his way back

MOST dispiriting message of the week? The news from Jose ‘mouth’ Mourinho that England revisited will be his next managerial destination.

Mr self-aggrandisement himself declared that once his Real Madrid tenure is over he will return to the Premier League.

The announcement was made almost as if to provoke a huge “hurrah” from us poor Jose-deprived masses.

The real cries of relief will surely come from Spain, the latest stopping-off point for a coach whose gifts for building successful teams are overwhelmed by his over-weening self-regard.

And you can bet he won’t be shipping up at either Huddersfield or Blackpool. So just whose job is he after?