Baseball in Philadelphia has always been about more than box scores. More than standings. More than the scoreboard at Citizens Bank Park.
Sometimes, it’s about ghosts.
And if you listen closely enough, you can hear them tonight. At 48th and Spruce. In the old lots of Darby. In the stands at Shibe Park, where once upon a time the Hilldale Club took on Connie Mack’s Athletics in a series of exhibitions that told the truth the majors tried to bury: the gulf between the “big leagues” and the Negro Leagues wasn’t as wide as America wanted you to believe.
That’s why tonight matters. The Phillies are honoring the Philadelphia Stars and Hilldale, two Negro League powerhouses that carried this city’s baseball soul in the 1920s and ’30s. And they’re spotlighting Hilldale’s Colored World Series championship in 1925 — a year when the Phillies lost 85 games, the A’s won 88, and the only Philadelphia team to win a World Series wasn’t allowed in the major leagues.
The Hilldale Club was more than just a baseball team. Under owner and visionary Ed Bolden, they were a symbol of professionalism, ambition, and pride. Bolden built Hilldale like a business empire, scheduling exhibitions, marketing aggressively, and paying his players like stars.
And in 1925, they were exactly that. Biz Mackey was already carving out a Hall of Fame legacy behind the plate. Jake Stephens turned dazzling double plays at short. And on the mound, Nip Winters dominated hitters with a fastball that could knock the air out of your chest. That autumn, Hilldale outlasted the mighty Kansas City Monarchs in a seven-game series to bring home the championship of Black baseball.
In Philadelphia, it was celebrated like a real World Series, because for much of the city, that’s exactly what it was.
If you want to understand why these stories matter, consider the life of Louis Santop. He was a catcher from Texas, built like a heavyweight, who became one of the Negro Leagues’ first true stars. He loved Philadelphia so much he never left. After his playing days, he helped launch one of the area’s top amateur teams, the Santop Bronchos of Ambler, keeping the game alive in neighborhoods and sandlots long after the cheers at Hilldale Park had faded.
That’s what this history is about: men who gave their lives to the game and planted seeds that kept growing, even when the majors looked away.
Here’s the part of the story most fans don’t know: Hilldale didn’t just play in their own world. They played Connie Mack’s Athletics in several documented postseason exhibitions.
Imagine that. An all-Black team from Darby going toe-to-toe with one of the most storied franchises in major-league history. And winning enough of those games to prove what people in Philadelphia already knew, these weren’t just barnstormers or entertainers. They were equals.
The majors never acknowledged those matchups as “real.” But if you were there, if you paid your nickel and sat in the stands, you saw something undeniable: the line between the leagues was artificial, not athletic.
So why should the Phillies do this now?
Because baseball’s official history book was missing chapters for too long. And those chapters were written right here, on Philadelphia’s fields, by players like Mackey, Winters, Jud Wilson, Slim Jones, and Santop.
When the Stars won the Negro National League title in 1934 at Passon Field, several thousand fans packed the stands and celebrated in the streets. At a time when the Phillies were a civic embarrassment, the Stars were the team that gave the city pride.
And yet for decades, their names went unmentioned at Citizens Bank Park. Their championships weren’t on pennants. Their stories weren’t told.
That’s why nights like this aren’t nostalgia. They’re justice. They’re truth.
The Phillies of 2025 don’t need to borrow anyone’s legacy. They’re a powerhouse on their own, steamrolling toward another division title, packing 40,000 fans into the Bank every night.
But when Bryce Harper steps to the plate tonight, when Harrison Bader roams center field, when Walker Buehler throws his first pitch in red pinstripes, they’re sharing the stage with ghosts — the men who played when the city didn’t always let them, who built something lasting anyway.
That’s the beauty of honoring Hilldale and the Stars. It ties the glory of today to the grit of yesterday.
You can’t tell the story of Philadelphia baseball without telling this story. You can’t pretend the Phillies’ history begins with the 1950 Whiz Kids or the 1980 champs.
Not when Hilldale brought a World Series title here in 1925.
Not when the Stars carried this city in 1934.
Not when Connie Mack’s Athletics saw firsthand that the Negro Leagues could match them pitch for pitch.
Not when Louis Santop spent his retirement years making sure kids in Ambler had a team to call their own.
That’s why tonight matters. Because baseball in Philadelphia has always been about more than the Phillies. And because the only way to build a future worth celebrating is to tell the whole story of the past.
So let’s tell it. Let’s honor it. Let’s put it on the scoreboard and in the programs and in the hearts of every fan who walks into the ballpark.
Because this isn’t a side note. This is Philadelphia’s baseball story.
And tonight, finally, it gets the headline.
That’s why tonight matters. Because baseball in Philadelphia has always been about more than the Phillies. And because the only way to build a future worth celebrating is to tell the whole story of the past.
So let’s tell it. Let’s honor it. Let’s put it on the scoreboard and in the programs and in the hearts of every fan who walks into the ballpark.
Because this isn’t a side note. This is Philadelphia’s baseball story.
And tonight, finally, it gets the headline.
Loading Phillies schedule...
Loading NL East standings...
Support the Mission. Fuel the Movement.
You’re not just funding journalism — you’re backing the future of youth baseball in Philly.
👉 Join us on Patreon »