There are Fourth of Julys… and then there are Philadelphia Fourth of Julys.
This is the only city in America where the holiday comes with a side of Benjamin Franklin, the Liberty Bell, and a 12-pitch at-bat in the bottom of the seventh. Where “America’s pastime” collides with the birthplace of America itself. And where the sound of fireworks blends seamlessly with the crack of a bat.
Baseball in Philadelphia on July 4th isn’t just tradition. It’s declaration. It’s identity.
This is the same city where, on Independence Day in 1929, Lefty Grove tossed a complete game in the first half of a doubleheader at Shibe Park to notch his 13th win of the season. The Athletics swept the Red Sox that day and eventually captured the World Series. If ever there was a red, white, and blue moment on a baseball field, it was that.
That was Connie Mack in the dugout. Mickey Cochrane hitting a solo shot. Fireworks in the sky and fireworks at the plate. Welcome to Philly.
The Fourth of July game has long served as a midseason mirror for Philadelphia baseball. Back in 1976, during the country’s Bicentennial, the Phils hosted the Dodgers the day after the Fourth while the city remained draped in colonial regalia and patriotic bunting. The Vet was a cauldron of nostalgia and hope. The largest crowd of the year - 60,000+ - came out to watch baseball and fireworks on a Monday night. The Phillies won 101 games that year. The city needed a champion. That team helped remind us what one could look like.
But beyond the stars and stripes uniforms and the outfield flyovers, there’s something deeper here. Something personal.
You see it in the sandlots of South Philly and the backfields in Hunting Park. You feel it on the aluminum bleachers behind a chain-link backstop in Germantown. Baseball in Philly on the Fourth is a block party with baselines. It’s Wiffle ball on rowhome sidewalks and pick-up games where home plate is a sewer cap.
Even in years when the Phillies aren’t at home, or aren’t in contention, the game finds a way. From 13-year-olds battling in holiday tournaments at FDR Park to old-timers reliving the glory of Johnny Callison’s 1964 walk-off homer in the All-Star Game, baseball always shows up here. Especially on July 4.
Because here, baseball is more than a sport. It’s a civic duty. A reminder of who we are and what we’ve weathered. Revolutionary war. Depression. Strikes. Slumps. Somehow, the game and the city always endures.
So on the Fourth of July, when the skyline glows and the crowds swell near Independence Mall, remember that somewhere in this city, a dad is tossing fly balls to his kid. A glove is breaking in under the sun. And someone, somewhere, is keeping score.
Because in Philadelphia, freedom doesn’t just ring. Sometimes it slides into second.
