As the blood poured from my teammate’s mouth and his tooth skittered across the artificial grass, I felt an overwhelming sense of deja vu. This wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed a gruesome injury playing five-a-side football. I myself had just recovered from ruptured ankle ligaments for the second time in 18 months, due to an aggressive tackle. What I’m describing will be familiar to more than 1.5 million adults who play “small-sided football” every week in the UK. They’ll all have seen a scrape, scuffle or been involved in an unwelcome fight during a game. But this was the last straw – and I knew I would have to hang up my boots. I’ve always loved football. When I was younger, it was all I could think about. Today, I’m a season ticket holder, Football Manager hopeful, Fifa teammate and amateur analyst. Cheering from the stands is my favourite way to spend a Saturday. I’ve never been a good player. But for me, that never mattered: playing five-a-side was about getting some exercise and hanging out with my mates. But the reality never matched up to what I hoped it would be. The amateur team I played for, Club Tropicana Drinks FC, was a ragtag bunch. We were a group of unfit high school friends, now in our early 20s. Due to spotty attendance, the squad quickly became a mix of cousins, colleagues from work I barely knew and even my 52-year-old stepdad, Andrew. He often ended up being our best player, complete with his special tracksuit bottoms with extra padding around the knees. We would meet on Thursday nights at Soccer City to try to sneak in a warmup before our 30-minute games in the league. There were plenty of memorable moments but a lot of the time, it just wasn’t fun. The game was too often overrun with fighting, insults and aggression. Three weeks into our league, we were “warned” about the team in our next fixture. When we played, we realised why. Our opponents had one player who didn’t like losing the ball, so would kick anything close by as hard as he could to regain control of it. I pointed out this technique to the referee. The shin kicker didn’t take too kindly to this and, in return, hurled homophobic slurs in my direction. Two matches later, I was in the thick of the action once again, this time as a peacemaker. I found myself separating a teammate and an opposition player he had grabbed by the throat. Why? He had punched him in the back of the head first. I also took an elbow to the ribs by a different player, but they did offer a half apology post-match: “You know what it’s like, mate!” A month later, I ruptured the ligaments in my ankle for the first time after being aggressively tackled. I screamed so loudly, even other matches in the venue paused. Despite being lumbered with a walking boot for a while after that challenge, the most worrying thing was that this behaviour was just the norm. None of the incidents I describe were deemed to be worthy of a yellow card. From fighting, personal threats, or even racial abuse – there was little inclination from anyone to get involved. Emotions would boil over, tempers would flare and before you knew it, someone was driving to A&E with a missing tooth. I understand the need to blow off steam, but even with little at stake, the pitch was always home to over-the-top aggression and bad behaviour. When incidents happened, they would be met by “Man up” or “What do you want us to do about it?” from league organisers or referees. But perhaps asking organisers to change a culture that is so deeply rooted in the game is futile. This wasn’t an isolated incident or a bad venue. I’ve played five-a-side in several different places and ugly fouls and abuse were common, even when we’d just rent a pitch with friends. On one occasion, sitting with a bag of frozen peas on my ankle, my perplexed girlfriend asked why this kept happening. I found myself unable to explain why we all continued to take out the week’s frustrations on one another. Eventually, I decided it was better for me to reluctantly hang up my boots than to try to improve a culture that was so resistant to change. I’ve found different ways to get my fitness fix but other sports don’t quite scratch that itch for me. Going to matches with friends and family members brings back the same buzz, that feeling of being part of something. I suppose it’s not about what you do but who you do it with. Making the most of a matchday has allowed me to feel connected to football again. Going with friends to men’s and women’s games has reminded me why I love rooting for 11 players every weekend. I’m part of a community that I was chasing elsewhere. As for the playing, I’ll leave that to the professionals. Brady Frost is a freelance writer