I feel for you op, where I used to live it was in blocks of 3 houses, we had the house, a path that ran all the way in front of the houses and then grass, all fenced in with a lovely metal fence, so we didn’t have a front lawn, it was communal grass.
Every bloody summer the end house would play football, there was a green space about 20 seconds away, but no, they had to play right outside the houses, and my end house was always the goal area.
Every day for hours the ball would be smashed into my door, my kitchen window which one day got smashed and the metal fence. It would go on for hours, every day. They weren’t little kids either but almost adults. Drove me round the fucking bend.
In the end if the drove me too mad I just used to let the dog out and would burst the football, “oops sorry, he just slipped past me”, you couldn’t even walk out of the door without almost getting hit by the ball. So glad we moved.