e who lost his temper in the big
games and caused his team to suffer by his being ruled out of the game.
Men say, "Why, that is the fellow who muffed a punt at a critical
moment," or recall him as the one who "fumbled the ball," when, if he
had held it, the team would have been saved from defeat.

You recall the man who gave the signals with poor judgment. Maybe you
are thinking of the man who missed a great tackle or allowed a man to
get through the line and block a kick. Perhaps a mistaken signal in the
game caused the loss of a first down, maybe defeat--who knows?

Through our recollection of the things we should have done but failed to
do for one reason or another, our defeats rise before us more vividly
now than our victories.

There is only one day to make good and that is the day of the game. The
next day is too late.

Then there is the ever-present recollection of the fellow who let
athletics be the big thing in his college life. He did not make good in
the classroom. He was unfair to himself. He failed to realize that
athletics was only a part of his college life, that it should have been
an aid to better endeavor in his studies.

He may have earned his college letter or received a championship gold
football. And now that he is out in the world he longs for the college
degree that he has forfeited.

His regrets are the deeper when he realizes that if he had given his
best and been square with his college and himself, his presence might
have meant further victories for his team. This is not confined to any
one college. It is true of all of them and probably always will be true,
although it is encouraging to note that there is a higher standard of
scholarship attained on the average by college athletes to-day than a
decade or so ago.

I wish I could impress this lesson indelibly upon the mind of every
young football enthusiast--that athletics should go hand in hand with
college duties. After all it is the same spirit of team work instilled
into him on the football field that should inspire him in the classroom,
where his teacher becomes virtually his coach.

When I was at Princeton, we beat Yale three years out of the four, but
the defeat of 1897 at New Haven stands out most vividly of all in my
memory. And it is not so much what Yale did as what Princeton did not do
that haunts me.

One day in practice in 1897, Sport Armstrong, conceded to be one of the
greatest guards playing, was severely injured in