Philadelphia has long been a city of baseball pluralism — a town where loyalties split across neighborhoods and league lines, and where the sport’s echoes trace back to the earliest professional diamonds.
In 1873, the city hosted its first known intracity matchup between two professional clubs, when the Philadelphia White Stockings squared off against a version of the Philadelphia Athletics in the National Association — not the Connie Mack-led club that would later win five World Series titles, but a predecessor in name only. Still, the seed was planted. And for more than 80 years, Philadelphia was a multi-club city, one of the few in America where baseball had a civic sibling rivalry baked into its summer rhythm.
That rhythm ended — quietly, even abruptly — on Monday afternoon, June 28, 1954, at Connie Mack Stadium, when the Phillies defeated the Athletics, 3–2, in a seven-inning, rain-delayed exhibition that doubled as the final act of the Philadelphia City Series.
The game was part of the seventh annual Junior Baseball Federation benefit, drawing a record crowd for the event — 15,993 fans, surpassing the previous year’s mark and offering one last taste of the city’s two-team identity.
A 41-minute rain delay in the first inning halted play early and seemed to rattle Hal Raether, the A’s 21-year-old righty making his professional debut. When the rain let up, so did his command: five hits and four walks over two innings, all three Phillies runs crossing in the first two frames.
There was flair and grit, too. After Willie “Puddin’ Head” Jones popped out following the delay, Richie Ashburn walked and Stan Lopata singled. A double steal attempt was cut down by the most improbable contributor of the afternoon: Rollie Hemsley, the 47-year-old A’s bullpen coach, pressed into catching duties due to injuries and attrition. Hemsley, who hadn’t caught in a big-league game since 1947, threw out Ashburn, then singled in his lone plate appearance. A five-time All-Star and one of baseball’s great journeymen, he reminded the crowd that once, not long ago, he was one of the best.
Earl Torgeson and Bobby Morgan followed with RBI singles. In the second, Marv Blaylock added another run-scoring hit. That would be enough.
The Athletics mounted their charge. Joe DeMaestri tripled in the third and scored on an Eddie Joost sacrifice fly. In the fourth, Moe Burtschy — who had entered in relief — singled and later scored on another DeMaestri extra-base hit, closing the gap to one. But the Phillies' bullpen, led by Ron Mrozinski and Bob Greenwood, held the line after Tom Qualters worked the first three innings for the win.
One moment, however, silenced the afternoon: in the first inning, Vic Power — the 1953 American Association batting champion and the A’s rising star — was struck in the head by a Qualters fastball and fell unconscious. He was carried from the field on a stretcher and taken to Presbyterian Hospital, where he was later reported awake and alert. He missed a week of action, returning to the lineup on July 6.
The game was called after seven innings, not because of the rain, but because the Phillies needed to catch a westbound train to Pittsburgh, where a two-game set against the Pirates was scheduled to begin the next day. In that moment, modern baseball collided with the realities of 1950s travel — no private charters, no runway delays. Just baseball on a schedule.
By autumn, the A’s were gone — sold to Kansas City. And with them went the City Series, a ritual as Philadelphian as hoagies and heartbreak. There was no farewell ceremony, no eulogy. Just a lineup card filed away, a trophy handed off, and a city turning the page.
For one last afternoon, Philadelphia was a two-team town, as it had been — proudly, stubbornly — for generations. And when it was over, the train whistled west, the innings stopped at seven, and the City Series became history.
