I used to play tackle football on the weekends with my college buddies. There were probably 1-2 really good hits every weekend. We are relatively athletic guys, but my roommate was the only one who played football all 4 years of high school, and at the time I was about 6'1" 135.
So my roommate and my brother both got tattoos done the day before, so we all agreed that they could be 2 hand touch (didn't want them to get tackled and scrape the shit out of fresh ink). The team with my roommate runs a reverse and he is streaking up the sideline. I am playing safety, so I just plant myself about 10-15 yards ahead of him and wait, since he is playing two hand touch I can just grab him and don't have to try to actually bring him down.
When he gets within about 6 yards, I notice he isn't slowing down at all. Hell, he might not even run out of bounds. He had that crazy look in his eyes. Like he was in a flashback to what he wanted to do all of those games he was riding the bench in high school.
The best was I can describe this hit was the sound of multiple ribs breaking, a flash of white in my eyes, and him basically running at full speed straight through his super skinny and totally defenseless friend. I was so fucked up I couldn't even retaliate.
We lived together for 3 years after that, he was in my wedding, and we are still best friends to this day. But I'll never forgive him for hitting me with the cheapest shot of all time.
TLDR: ultra skinny me got blown up on the sideline by a guy who was supposed to be playing two hand touch. Concussion, broken ribs, couldn't breathe or sneeze for months. Still won the game tho.