“Leo Leary had been giving the ends a talk on being ‘cagey.’  ‘Cagey’ play is foxy—­such as never getting in the same position on every play, moving about, doing the unexpected.  If you wish to put your tackle out, play outside him, and draw him out, and then at the last moment hop in close to your own tackle, and then charge your opponent.  The reverse is true as well.  The unexpected and unusual make up ‘cagey’ play.  Much emphasis had been laid on this, and we were all thoroughly impressed, especially Weatherhead, that year a substitute.

“Weatherhead’s appearance and actions on the field were well adapted to cagey play.  Opponents could learn nothing by analyzing his expression.  It seldom varied.  His walk had a sort of tip-toe roll to it, much similar to the conventional stage villain, inspecting a room before robbing a safe.  In the course of the afternoon game, Weatherhead put his coaching in practice.

“We had a habit—­practically every team has—­of shouting ‘Signal’ whenever a player did not understand the orders of the quarterback.  Mal Logan had just snapped out his signals, when Al Weatherhead left his position.  Casting furtive glances at the opponents, and tip-toeing along like an Indian scout at his best, the very personification of ‘caginess,’ Weatherhead approached Logan.  Logan, thinking Al had discovered some important weak spot in the defense, leaned forward attentively.  Weatherhead rolled up, and carefully shielding his mouth with his hand, asked in a stage whisper ‘Signal.’

“A piece of thoughtfulness that expressed the spirit of the man who did it, and also the whole team, took place at the Algonquin Hotel at New London, on the eve of the Harvard-Yale game in 1914.  The Algonquin is fundamentally a summer hotel, although it is open all the year.  The Harvard team had their headquarters there, and naturally the place was packed with the squad and the numerous followers.  Eddie Mahan and I roomed together, and in the room adjoining were Watson and Swigert, two substitute quarterbacks.  Folding doors separated the rooms, and these had been flung open.  In the night, it turned cold, and the summer bedding was insufficient.  Swigert couldn’t sleep, he was so chilled, so he got up, and went in search of blankets.  He examined all the closets on that floor, without success; then he explored the floors above and below, and finally went down to the night clerk, and demanded some blankets of him.  After considerable delay, he obtained two thin blankets, and thoroughly chilled from his walk in his bare feet, returned to the room.  Passing our door, he spied Eddie curled up and shivering, about half asleep.  I was asleep, but a cold, uncomfortable sleep that is no real rest.  He walked in, and placing one blanket over Eddie and one over me, went back to his own bed colder than ever.

“I am a firm believer in rough, rugged, aggressive, bruising football,” says Hardwick.  “The rougher, the better, if, and only if, it is legitimate and clean football.  I am glad to say that clean football has been prevalent in my experience.  Only on the rarest occasions have I felt any unclean actions have been intentional and premeditated.  We have made it a point to play fierce, hard and clean football, and have nearly always received the same treatment.