There are baseball stories. And then there are baseball stories you tell twice because no one believes you the first time.
This one falls in the second category.
In 1945, Jimmie Foxx was supposed to be done. The Hall of Fame was already calling, even if it technically hadn’t opened its doors to him yet. He’d hit 534 home runs, won three MVPs, slugged his way to two World Series titles with the A’s, and made nine All-Star teams, including the very first one. He’d even briefly managed in the minors. The résumé was carved in granite. He’d earned his nickname — The Beast — and then some.
But the war had changed everything. Ballplayers were off fighting overseas. Big-league rosters were patched together with whoever could grip a bat or throw 70 miles per hour without needing to lie down. The Phillies, never exactly flush with depth, were desperate. They didn’t need greatness. They needed warm bodies. They turned to Foxx, who at 37 wasn’t so much chasing another shot as he was answering a call.
The plan was simple: use him as a veteran bat off the bench, maybe let him play some first or third. Herb Pennock, the Phillies GM, said Foxx was in “excellent shape” and still “hit ’em a mile.” That last part turned out to be more hopeful than true. By July, Foxx was hitting .270 with four home runs, and most of his appearances were coming off the bench. The bat was quiet. The legs weren’t helping. But Foxx wasn’t ready to walk away. Not yet.
So the Phillies asked a question no one had thought to ask in two decades: Could Jimmie Foxx pitch?
Turns out, he already had. He’d struck out 18 in a high school game. He’d thrown a few innings on a goodwill tour of Japan. He even pitched a complete game the year before in the minors, striking out eight. It was a novelty act back then. It was desperation now.
On July 15, Foxx took the mound against Cincinnati and threw 2 2/3 hitless innings. He walked four, but somehow danced around the damage. A week later, he went two more scoreless frames against the Cubs and struck out two. The arm wasn’t overpowering, but it worked. He was throwing some sort of slow curve, a fading change, and just enough fastball to keep hitters honest.
Then came August 19 — and baseball’s version of a full moon.
The Phillies needed a starter in the second game of a doubleheader. Foxx got the ball. It wasn’t pretty early. Four walks in the first two innings. A hit batter in the third. But then, something clicked. He retired the Reds in order in the fourth. Again in the fifth. Again in the sixth. A 4–1 lead going into the seventh. Two quick outs. And then three straight singles to end his day.
Final line: 6 2/3 innings, four hits, two runs, four walks, five strikeouts. And the win. His first — and only — in the big leagues.
That alone would’ve been enough to launch him into trivia legend. But he wasn’t done.
He’d make six more appearances on the mound, including a start in Boston — a little full-circle moment against the Braves. He finished the year with a 1.59 ERA over 22 2/3 innings, allowing just 13 hits and striking out 10. The Phillies were last in the majors in ERA that year. So yes, Jimmie Foxx was technically one of their best pitchers.
And then came one final curtain call.
September 9, against the Pirates. Foxx hit the last two home runs of his career, No. 533 and No. 534, off Boom-Boom Beck and Johnny Lanning. At the time, only Babe Ruth had more. And when the season ended, so did Foxx’s career.
But what a finish. He didn’t just go out as one of the game’s greats. He went out doing something almost no one saw coming — he took the mound, threw strikes, and won a game for the 1945 Phillies. One paper joked, “Anybody who can win a game for the Phillies is bound to have a lot on the ball.”
He later pitched something else — bread. Became a spokesman for Life Bread. And in 1952, managed the Fort Wayne Daisies of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. Because of course he did. Of course that was the next chapter. With Foxx, the story never ended quite where you thought it would.
It’s easy to remember him for the towering home runs and the beastly swing. But if you squint a little — maybe tilt your head — you’ll also see the guy who showed up in the middle of a war-depleted season, threw a junkball past major leaguers, and walked away with a 1.59 ERA.
Baseball never stops surprising. And neither did Jimmie Foxx.
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