Violence begets violence
I do not pretend to be good at fighting, by the way- not even slightly. Against the average untrained idiot on the street, sure, I reckon I could probably hold my own, depending on size, speed, and age. (This is helped somewhat by the fact that I always have something that can be turned into a weapon, if required, on my person.) But against trained killers? Forget it. I'd be just as dead as any other victim.
And I am constantly reminded of my shortcomings as a fighter by the savage way in which our school's grandmaster can simply pick apart my techniques just by watching me throw a few punches and kicks. Sparring against more skilled and higher-ranked students is always an education, delivered in most brutal and summary fashion, usually at the end of a well-placed fist or foot.
The difference between me and most professional "football" players is that when I get punched or kicked or kneed, I don't flop about on the mat whining and crying about how unfaaaaaaaaaair that big bad meanie was for hitting me. I'll leave that to girls, thank you very much.
Or, y'know, pro European soccer players.
It should be noted here that I make special exceptions to this rule for men like our Supreme Dark Lord (PBUH) who has been playing "soccer" for something like 40 years, and has trained in full-contact martial arts, and has fought actual cage-fights. I certainly have no problem listening to men like that talking about how great football is- but that is because they aren't pansies.