I am not gay. But then I don't feel that I should have to "come out" and say as much. It is nobody's business but my own. The cricketer Steven Davies's recent declaration has triggered a spate of absurd media debates in an all too predictable attempt to uncover why the newspapers, TV, radio and websites have no gay footballer to chew up and spit out.

It is starting to feel as though the fault is with us players for not producing a gay professional on demand. Just to be clear, there is more chance of a player's civil partner saying: "Just get me a card this year" than the Premier League outing its first gay footballer. For a start, look at the media coverage that already surrounds the topic despite not even having anybody specific to hold up as an example – who would want to be at the centre of that?

If we apply the law of averages theory, it is highly likely there are gay players among the professional ranks of football, despite its culture. That said (and with apologies for stereotyping here), anyone watching players arriving at a match for the first time could be forgiven for thinking the game was played exclusively by homosexual men, such is the attention to detail given to hair placement, general attire and a luxury gentleman's wash bag – don't even get me started on some of the things I have seen produced from the latter.

The reality is that I don't "officially" know any gay footballers, although I suspect I have been only a Jäger bomb or two away from a team-mate confiding in me. What we are all agreed on, however, is that there is principally one very good reason that gay players would keep their sexual allegiance firmly in the locker: the fans.

For the most part football supporters give out stick that qualifies as banter. But every now and again an element will cross the line. From abusing players for their skin tone to their nationality, certain fans will grab hold of anything if they can get a cheap laugh and be able to tell their mates down the pub later on what they shouted out.

It takes an awful lot to sicken me on a football pitch, probably because I am desensitised, having heard it all before. In certain sections of some grounds I am so used to hearing discriminatory chants that those people may as well be shouting out their weekly shopping list. There is one man at a London club who shouts the same thing at me from the same seat every season. Now I just smile and he laughs, happy that I have heard him.

Unfortunately, whereas I am now hardened, others are still forming their protective shell. I saw a talented young kid reduced to tears in the changing room because of the abuse he took from a couple of buffoons a few years ago. He never told anyone what was said and nobody ever asked him but, thinking back, I can definitely guess.

So would you come out and then travel around the country playing football in front of tens of thousands of people who hate you? I wouldn't. I would be in the dressing room feeling hugely depressed that certain components to our great game make it all but impossible for me to do anything other than keep quiet. I would also have in mind the gay footballer Justin Fashanu, who tragically took his own life in 1998.

Thankfully football has moved on since those days, or has it? Rewind to Fratton Park, September 2008, when Sol Campbell was subjected to homophobic abuse and a section of Spurs supporters were caught on film singing: "Sol, Sol, wherever you may be, Not long now until lunacy, We won't give a fuck if you are hanging from a tree, You are a Judas cunt with HIV." Apologies if you didn't like reading those words. But spare a thought for how Campbell felt when he was listening to them.

Sadly, I'd say the general abuse players receive hasn't got much better. It is very rare that there is any appreciation of the opposition's great play, a stunning goal is normally met with a thousand hand gestures from the stands and our best talent is routinely booed with the sort of vigour and hatred that, I feel, offers us a precious insight into society as a whole.

Amazingly, having said all of that, I'm pretty sure a gay player would have few problems coming out to his team-mates if he were offered a hypothetical, "nobody outside the team will ever find out" clause. It isn't because we're a superior breed – even I wouldn't take on that argument with half the England team conspiring against me. Quite simply, it is because we're all about looking after ourselves and, consequently, we try not to get too involved with other players' trials and tribulations.

The changing room is a very harsh place to survive – say what you like about footballers' lack of intelligence (and people often do), the banter is razor-sharp and anything out of the ordinary is seized upon in a flash. But this is precisely the reason why a gay player would feel comfortable coming out here. A footballer is a footballer, it doesn't matter if you are black, white, straight or gay, players are at ease in this environment, where they are used to piss-taking.

But the terraces are a different ball game. We are not at home here and are very much on our guard around fans. The changing room offers a strange, familiar sanctuary where the preferred etiquette is to have a quick laugh, look as if you know what's going on and get on with things before anybody starts asking uncomfortable questions such as: "Are you gay, mate?"

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