That is quite a wound for playing tag. I didn't get it this bad when I was in a water balloon fight for my high school graduation. I was running barefoot down a gravel driveway, chasing a couple of people, and took a corner too fast. My feet slipped out from under me, and I slid down the driveway. Youch. I hobbled up to the house and the mom saw me and rushed over because I hadn't noticed that my wet, gravelly legs were running with blood. It looked so much worse than it was. She took me to the bathroom to get cleaned up and Neosporined, but three of my classmates had one of their friends pinned to the ground and they were wiping peanut butter in his hair and calling the dogs over. In a true show of living in the spirit of things, the mother told them to take it outside. (Note that they were all, including the one with the peanut butter in his hair, laughing their asses off.) It took about fifteen years for the scars to disappear from my right leg, left knee, and right elbow. Mostly.