While some of the fans in the stadium hurled coins at each other and thousands more traded insults, only the 22 men in the tunnel now engaged in a pre-match brawl knew why the kick-off had been delayed. As the opposition's talismanic ex-England international had walked towards me in the tunnel before the game, I knew what was coming. "You have a long, long way to go my friend," he said, looking me up and down while his team-mates broke out into arse-kissing laughter. "You look familiar," I said. "Didn't you used to be somebody?"

It was an example of a light-hearted incident between players, which is not exactly the choice of words I would use to describe a few of the events in recent weeks, when it feels like behavioural standards in the Premier League have hit a new low. John Terry, the England captain, is the subject of an alleged racial slur charge for words directed at the Queens Park Rangers defender Anton Ferdinand while a similar charge has also been levelled at the Liverpool forward, Luis Suárez, who since his exchange with Patrice Evra has made a bizarre stab at explaining what actually happened to a Uruguayan newspaper.

And away from the elite clubs there appears to be no let-up to the catalogue of ever growing misdemeanours that are making the headlines. Last weekend Antolín Alcaraz, the Wigan Athletic captain, committed the ultimate footballing transgression by spitting on a fellow professional, his actions overshadowing Alan Hutton's latest attempt to use football as a smoke screen to inflict physical harm on other human beings.

Before I'm accused of passing judgment on others, let me make it clear that I am no saint on the football pitch – I've traded blows as well as insults – although what I will say is that I firmly draw the line at racially abusing and/or spitting at players, both of which to most sane footballers are seen as the actions of cowards.

My speciality has always been what cricketers call "sledging" and what footballers irritatingly refer to as "banter". Over the years I have heard some fantastic acid drops that have cut players in half far more effectively than a crude tackle. Robbie Savage was a particular fan of what we in the trade call "cashing him off", which involves one player telling another how much money he has and how little money they have in comparison. Not particularly classy but it seemed to work for Savage.

Occasionally, however, what starts out as fairly harmless banter escalates into something physical. During one game I overheard an opponent tell my team-mate that he knew of somebody who had slept with his then girlfriend, who was a famous singer. The remark went down badly, the mood of the game changed and every challenge thereafter seemed to end up with somebody in a heap on the ground. Only after the game when we were breaking the two of them up in the away changing room did the other players find out the reason why the game had turned into such a battle.

Much of what is said on the pitch is in jest. After all, there are a number of players who have been playing against each other for years, and because of that they have developed their own relationship on the pitch, even though they don't know each other socially. There is a mutual respect, which helps to explain why, when I looked under my kitchen sink the other day and emptied the contents of a carrier bag, I discovered that, without realising, I had collected several Manchester United shirts from the same player.

If one of these players I've built up a rapport with was to foul me, then the chances are I'd let him help me up knowing that he probably wouldn't have meant it. Yet if another player I'd had a run-in with did the same thing, I would more than likely tell him where to go and ask the referee why he hadn't been booked for it at the same time. All of which, admittedly, does nothing to help relations.

Player behaviour isn't all down to the 11 who take the pitch. I had a manager who used the physical side of the game as some kind of sadistic way to get a point across to an opposition manager that he didn't like. We always knew our manager had a bit of previous with his counterpart in the other dugout when we heard the words "this is a massive game" (when it wasn't), or "we need to be physical on Saturday" (when we didn't) and "we owe them one" (which translated as he didn't like their manager). We'd nod our heads but never paid particular attention to carrying out the instructions, because very often we felt we were better footballers than we were being given credit for.

Despite all this, it is the player and the player only who is in charge of his actions. There are mitigating circumstances like peer pressure and the dreaded red mist brought about by bad tackles and wicked comments, but the player has ultimately to take responsibility for anything that he does on the pitch. I have watched myself back on TV a few times without recognising the individual who has lost all control; it happens, unfortunately.

If only I had adopted the approach of a fellow professional who was having a great game against a very tricky team-mate of mine. Speaking with him just as we jogged out for the second half I asked what his secret was: "We both know the same girl and I asked her along to watch today," he said. "So what?" I replied naively. "Well, she's sitting next to his wife," he added.

I guess all is fair in love and war.

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