Because it wasn't game-related, this is perhaps my worst ethical infraction. You have been warned.
The scene: gym class in high school. In that I had previously seen a soccer ball, I was arguably the best player on the field. A Korean exchange student, Phuong (pronounced "Foong"), was modestly talented but figured that when it came to soccer, he was culturally and genetically better equipped than Americans. He played with an aggression that exceeded his talents. He hogged every ball, took every shot, and lectured us about strategy and rules.
He also cut Stephanie down. Steph was a friend, a sweet girl and talented athlete who happened to get caught between Phuong and glory. When I was serving my time as goalie, she was playing fullback and had the temerity to impede Phuong's progress toward the goal. He tackled her hard, clamping his legs around hers and wrenching her knee perversely—and bloodying her face when she kicked her own lip. We had to help her off the field. As we did, she asked us for a favor. She asked for a little playground justice.
She needn't have asked. I was very much in the mood for a little Korean.
I inserted myself at center fullback. I cleaned the dirt off my cleats. Nothing would impede their progress. And Phuong came. And I checked him brutally, not even making a pretense of legality. And no one helped him off the field as blood erupted out of the two perfect holes in his calf.
I saw him a few years later, and he still had noticeably symmetrical scars there. He didn't speak to me. Bonus.