My Junior year of high school, when we were playing Gatlinburg, their star player came charging at me, breakaway. My entire team and the ref were still beyond the half-field line when I (the keeper) charged, cutting down the angle. She made a larger hit in her dribble, I slid… and when I looked up, the ref and my team were standing around me. She hadn’t stopped when the keeper slid, just plowed right into me, and I caught one of her knees in my face, something in my leg, something somewhere else. I stood up and told the ref that I was going to sit down (when he asked if I was ok) and kind of remember walking off the field. I also sort of remember the ref telling that girl he was going to give her a yellow card if she did it again.
I got to the bench, sat down and looked at the girl next to me (kind of noticing that I’d been replaced on the field by then), and she looked at me in horror. That’s when I realized that my nose had started bleeding and Dad was running from the bleachers around to the team benches.
By the end of halftime, I’d regained my senses enough to go back in the game and save us from an utterly humiliating defeat.
By the next year, I’d learned to grab legs when I slid, flipping less keeper-adverse players over my shoulder. That star player came in on a breakaway once during that game and learned that she didn’t want to do it again. I didn’t have to defend against a breakaway again that game.