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In Tom Shevlin's year at Yale, 1902, Mike Sweeney, his old trainer and coach at Hill School, was in New Haven watching practice for about four days before the first game. Practice that day was a sort of survival of the fittest, for they were weeding out the backs, who were doing the catching. About five backs were knocked out.
If, in the last game against Harvard, the team that fought so wonderfully well against Princeton could not do the impossible and defeat the great Haughton machine, it was not Shevlin's fault. It simply could not be done. It lessens in not the slightest degree the tribute that we pay to Tom Shevlin. Francis H. Burr Ham Fish was a great Harvard player in his day.
The result of Shevlin's coaching is well known to all, and I shall always remember him after the game with that contented happy look upon his face as I congratulated him while he stood on a bench in front of the Yale stand, watching the Yale undergraduates carry their victorious team off the field. Walter Camp stood in the distance and Shevlin yelled to him: "Well, how about it, Walter?"
He contributed as much as any human being possibly could to the university that brought him forth. Tom Shevlin's undergraduate life at New Haven was not all strewn with roses, but he was glad always to go back when requested and put his shoulder to the wheel. The request came usually at a time when Yale's football was in the slough of despond. He was known as Yale's emergency coach.
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