As one or two of the more observant among you will have recently noticed, there's been the odd tweak to the site overnight.
Suddenly there's a chance to comment; to have your say. Oh, and he now wants some money…
Less than the price of a pint, to be fair. And in an ideal world, you wouldn't charge; it would be access all areas for now't as Ady's Skips, Fincham Demolition and the British Army put the odd roll of bread on the Waghorn table.
So I guess a brief explanation is in order. Why comment isn't free. Not here. Oh, and where exactly is this all going…
Let's go back to the very beginning. And without going all the way back down the citizen journalism road again, one of the greatest bequests of the Internet is the ability it has given everyone to have their say.
Everyone can claim there own little space on the world-wide web and announce to this great, global cyberspace community what their taste in music is, what they ate for breakfast, who they really fancy at school – and, indeed, via friendsreunited, who they really fancied at school 40 years ago – and, of course, what they really think of, say, Andy Hughes.
Which is great. Whereas, say, ten short years ago it was only the priviliged few that had access to a keyboard, a print press, a newsagents and a delivery boy, now you all have one – a keyboard, that is. No-one – increasingly – needs a print press, a newsagents and a paper-boy. We all have the web.
But – and you can ask everyone from the BBC, the Daily Telegraph, Archant and Norwich City Football Club about this – what we, as publishers, also have is a legal responsibility in terms of libel, slander, racial incitement, sexual discrimination, religious prejudice, etc, etc.
Not to mention, on a local level, important relationships to maintain and sustain. That's the reality. Which is why everything has to be read; to be moderated. Which is why the BBC had such a re-think on the way that they ran their own football comments and messageboards.
Which is also why when your fate is in the hands of a mischevious, 13-year-old football fan from, say, somewhere down the other end of the A140, you place a little bar to his entry. Small enough for those that care and want the ability to engage in a robust football debate to jump happily over; just big enough to make those who just want the chance to run amok in the neighbour's back garden reason to think twice.
Can they really be bothered..?
It's not a perfect solution – but it's our solution to a problem that besets media companies the world over. Interaction without moderation – how do you do it?
Because we do value your opinions; you do have every right to disagree; football – indeed, sport – is a passionate subject; it stirs whole tides of conflicting emotions; they have to be given an outlet; a chance to be heard.
That's one of the other great lessons of the Internet. That certain walls that separated newspapers from their customers have come tumbling down; that the tables have turned; you hold the power; you have the power to take your on-line eyeballs elsewhere and find your sports news from a whole host of sources – be they good, bad or indifferent. Be they official or unofficial – or, indeed, entirely of your own imagination's making – you can pick and choose like never before.
Ten years ago and there were four TV channels and a newsagents at the end of your street. Today, there are hundreds of TV channels and a supermarket eight miles away.
You can find your news in this world and another – you can send your avatar off into your 'Second Life' to find your news in a virtual world. Back in the real world, you can find your news on your mobile phone, your lap-top, your PC, on a tablet, a Blackberry, on an iPhone and – occasionally – in the pages of a newspaper.
And we have to come and find you. We now have to fit into your life-style; not you into ours.
Hence why we're trying to break new ground with our subscription service – text. Off your mobile phone. No more credit card details. We swap texts and you're in.
Because that's where my seven-year-old will lives his life. Via whatever's sat in the palm of his hand. Most 17-year-old's already do.
It's not in his genes to access news in the way that his old man did; what's in his jeans is a mobile phone. Well, not yet. He can wait till his 14th birthday.
Watch the TV news. The next time it floods, watch the way in which the development of mobile phone technology has empowered us all to turn TV reporters for the day as the brown waters start to lap up against our back door.
Everyone now has their chance of 10 seconds of News At Ten fame. We reach not for the phone, but for our TV camera; we then switch back to the phone to send our moving images off and on into homes across the globe.
In effect, we all own a TV transmitter.
The difficulty – or the frustation – comes when the Chief Constable of West Mercia Police holds a formal 'Press conference' to warn of the rising torrents; to appeal for calm and prudence as we all gather around the stand-pipes hastily erected at the end of the street.
At that point, we can't all go; we can't all fit into the designated room. At that point, the community – willingly or not – has to entrust that task to a specialist; to someone who has been in that situation before; someone who knows the rules of the game; is aware of this vague code of conduct that surrounds such events.
And that person will be a journalist. It might not the one you'd send; he might not ask the questions you'd like, but someone has to go in and fetch out the news.
What he can, however, do then is bring it you in the most convenient way possible; in the way that makes your life easiest. He – or she – fetches it out and puts it in the palm of your hand. And doffs his cap as he does so.
So what has all this got to do with Norwich City's prospects for the forthcoming season? Er, nothing.
What has this got to with the way that you interact with your favourite football club and the news that it daily generates? Everything.
You rule. Enjoy.
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