Nobody Fits Philadelphia Like Kyle Schwarber

In the unseen batting cage behind the visitors’ dugout at Citi Field, just as the sixth inning was ending, Phillies DH Kyle Schwarber took swings against Logan Mathieu, a left-handed batting practice pitcher. Mathieu, from a shortened distance, threw his usual mixture of unannounced sliders and fastballs, a regimen hitting coach Kevin Long began with Schwarber in 2021 when they were together in Washington.

“If we can mix pitches from a short distance,” Schwarber says, “it gets me on time for when I’m out there. Be ready for that fastball, be on time, and then recognize off-speed.”

The Mets held a 4–3 lead over the Phillies on June 28. It is not often the left-handed Schwarber gets to hit in the seventh inning of a one-run game against a righthander, so that’s why he took swings off Mathieu rather than Edwar Gonzalez, a right-handed coach. He prepared for Mets left-hander Brooks Raley.

Raley did not enter. Righthander Kodai Senga remained in the game. There was one on and one out when Schwarber came to bat. Senga threw him his best pitch, the forkball, four straight times between 82 and 85 mph. Schwarber took the first for a ball, whiffed at the second and fouled off the next two.

“I had an inkling,” Schwarber says, “that he’s either going to try to sneak a fastball by me or lock me up down [in the zone] with one. It’s like the experience just kicked in where it’s like, ‘Okay, he’s thrown me four forkballs. He’s going to sneak something else in right here. He’s not going to keep throwing it and throwing it.’ Because I believe the more a pitcher throws a pitch, the more chance they give you.’”

Kyle Schwarber of Phillies — Isaiah Vazquez/Getty Images

In the few seconds before he set himself in the box, like a pilot going over his pre-flight safety checks, Schwarber reviewed his two-strike approach. Choke up slightly on the bat. Minimize movement. Keep your head still.

“The biggest thing is when you have that intuition, the shorter and smaller the moves give you the better chance to recognize, be on time and execute,” he says. “If I’m going to be on time for this guy’s fastball, I have to not be moving as much, so my eyes aren’t moving as much to recognize the pitches the best.”

Senga reached back and fired a fastball at 96.7 mph—11.7 mph faster than anything Schwarber had seen in that at-bat.

Fourteen miles south of Independence Hall, a little more than a week after the 250th anniversary of America’s birth there, Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia is the center of the baseball universe for the Home Run Derby and All-Star Game. Since shovels broke ground at the corner of Broad and Pattison in 1967, monuments to American sport and spectatorship have risen from the former marshland and scrub. Now consisting of three venues with more than 133,000 seats, 22,000 parking spaces, 380 annual events and seven million annual visitors, they especially speak to how deeply sports are woven into Philly life and culture. This is an American Acropolis.

At the center of this center at this moment of time stands Kyle Schwarber, the major league home run leader and beloved adopted son of Philly. Among the most revered athletes in the Parthenon of Philadelphia sport are all-time greats such as Wilt Chamberlain, Mike Schmidt, Julius Erving and Carli Lloyd. But more than most cities, Philly makes room among its most beloved for those defined by grit as much as by talent. Among them are the indefatigable Chuck Bednarik, the undersized Richie Ashburn, basketball culture icons Charles Barkley and Allen Iverson, the courageous Joe Frazier, the toothless Bobby Clarke, the ferocious Brian Dawkins and the earnest Chase Utley. Sylvester Stallone, who as a teen bounced among Philadelphia high schools and working its docks, set Rocky in Philly because he knew well this raison d’etre, a French phrase a true Philadelphian would not dare use.

In this blue-collar, lunchpail spirit comes Schwarber. An Ohioan by birth, Schwarber has earned his Philly bona fides, not just because he twice chose to sign with the Phillies as a free agent and is working on a third home run title but also because he is the relatable underdog with no pretense or filigree.

In high school, Schwarber, ever comfortable with himself, clocked running backs as a middle linebacker while also donning a sequined vest and belting out show tunes as part of The Purple Pizzazz, a competitive music and dance troupe. In the big leagues he failed, sometimes miserably, at playing defense. He hit .197 against left-handed pitching for the first six seasons of his career, whereupon the team that drafted and developed him, the Cubs, cut him at age 27.

Now here he is, at age 33, with a chance to hit 60 home runs, if not for the time being owning All-Star week in his town. Defying the actuarial tables and the tech-infused explosion in velocity and spin over the arc of his career, Schwarber is on pace (for the second straight year) to hit 56 homers. That would be the most by a player this old other than in the narrow window of 1997–2001, when three such outlier sluggers hit more (Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire and Luis Gonzalez). His 219 homers between ages 29 and 33—with a second half to add to his total—already are the fifth most for players in those traditional prime years and 14 short of passing Babe Ruth as the greatest left-handed home run hitter at those ages.

Phillies DH Kyle Schwarber — Schwarber has become an even more elite power hitter over the past two seasons. | Bill Streicher/USA Today Sports

As pitchers like Senga learn, there is a stealthiness to how Schwarber has mastered home run hitting. What the Venus flytrap is to horticulture Schwarber is to hitting. Wide swarths of nothingness—Schwarber is a career .232 hitter, displacing Dave Kingman with the lowest average of any player to hit 370 homers, and he is on pace for the season strikeout record—get pierced suddenly and deadly with one vicious snap of his bat.

“Seeing the ball, taking the walks and hitting homers,” says teammate Bryce Harper when asked to identify what impresses him most about Schwarber. It sounds so simple, as superpowers go.

“No, I’m serious,” Harper continues. “He kind of knows what makes him tick. You know, I think it's pretty cool to see the trajectory of his career. It's amazing. I think he translates well with a lot of players, too, and that's why I bring up the trajectory part. He can talk to a guy that's been through any phase. He can talk to a guy that's been in the minors. He can talk to a guy that's not had success. He can talk to a guy that's had success. It's a pretty cool thing that he's able to do this.”

The fastball Schwarber knew was coming was neither up nor down. It was mid-zone, even more to his liking. His front foot barely left the ground; maybe enough to step over a paperback book. His head remained still, except to drop his chin as the ball reached the hitting zone as he unleashed sequential rotations of hips, torso and hands with the exquisite timing of handmade Swiss watch mechanisms.

Kyle Schwarber's 30th homer of the year puts the Phillies in front! pic.twitter.com/UCnWcfN4yo
— Talkin' Baseball (@TalkinBaseball_) June 28, 2026

The ball flew 408 feet. Senga watched it disappear over the wall in right-centerfield with his mouth agape, as if to wonder how anyone could hit a pitch almost 12 mph faster than anything he had seen, no less waffle it so far.

Gulp! Dionaea muscipula just swallowed another unsuspecting victim.

“I think that’s it,” Schwarber told his wife, Paige, shaking his head. “I think we’re probably gone.”

It was Dec. 2, 2020, after Schwarber hit .188 in a season shortened and disrupted by COVID-19. It was the deadline for teams to offer players a contract. Arbitration eligible, Schwarber was due to earn between $8 and $10 million. His agent, Casey Close, told him, “If they don’t call you by 9 p.m., you’re probably going to be okay.”

His phone rang. It was 8:58 p.m. The caller ID said it was Jed Hoyer, who two weeks earlier was named the Cubs’ president of baseball operations after Theo Epstein resigned.

“Hey, Kyle, this is where we’re at,” Hoyer told him. “We’re going to non-tender you and wish you all the best and we’re going to keep all doors open. We’d love to have you back.”

The conversation was quick. Schwarber hung up the phone and turned to Paige.

“Here we go,” he told her, “into the great unknown.”

Kyle Schwarber high-fives teammates in dugout — Schwarber has found an adopted home in Philadelphia. | Kevin Sousa/USA Today Sports

He signed a one-year deal with the Nationals, largely because the manager there, Davey Martinez, had been one of his coaches with the Cubs, and because Mike Borzello, the Cubs’ catching coach, highly recommended Long, whom he had worked with in New York with the Yankees.

“You two would fit great,” Borzello told him. “Whatever is in you, he can get out.”

Shortly after signing, Schwarber met Long.

“What is it that you want?” the coach asked him.

“I want to play every day,” Schwarber said.

“Well, do you think you should play every day?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you seen your numbers against lefties?”

“I know they’re not good.”

“If you want to play against lefties you have to work at it.”

Says Schwarber, “Challenge was thrown out. Challenge accepted.”

So began the remaking of Kyle Schwarber. Long spoke to his son, Jaron, who remembered when he faced Schwarber in college—Jaron at Ohio State, Kyle at Indiana—that Schwarber hit from a more crouched position. Long returned Schwarber to that stance so he could feel his legs provide a solid base.

“Eventually,” Long told him, “you’ll make it your own. But here is where we start.”

Every day in spring training Long and his assistant, Pat Roessler, took Schwarber to the cage for extra work. They moved the pitching machine to an offset position toward the first base side of the mound to simulate a lefthander’s release point. One day it was fastballs, another day it was spin. Schwarber saw thousands of offset pitches until the angle became routine. He hit .268 against lefties that year, a career high. Over the past five seasons, Schwarber has hit more homers off lefties, 71, than any hitter. Aaron Judge is a distant second with 59.

When the Nationals fell out of the race, they traded Schwarber to Boston, where he hit .291 in 41 games. The Red Sox, with J.D. Martinez at DH for another year, opted not to bring him back. The Phillies signed him to a four-year, $79 million contract.

“My wife’s water breaks like an hour later,” Schwarber says. “So, we go to the hospital and have our kid. What a wild day. I was like, ‘Thank God I didn’t celebrate too hard.’”

It was one night at the American Acropolis when Schwarber says he realized what it means to be an athlete in Philadelphia. He and some teammates watched the Eagles play their home opener on Sept. 19, 2022, a Monday night.

“I’m like, ‘Holy s---, this is crazy,’” Schwarber says. “It’s sold out, it’s rocking and it’s loud. We were all looking at each other like, ‘This is crazy. What happens if we get that here?’”

And then it happened, starting with a September series against the Braves and flowing all the way to Game 6 of the World Series.

“The place was slammed,” he says. “It was like the Eagles game. You could feel it. They were killing every Braves player that came up to the plate. The energy ... it felt different than a Chicago playoff atmosphere, which is not a shot at them because it was a great playoff atmosphere. It just felt different. More aggressive.

“And it’s been like that pretty much since I’ve been here.”

Last winter Schwarber re-signed with the Phillies, but only after bringing his deep sense of team to free agency. He knew Yordan Alvarez and David Ortiz had signed major contracts as DHs, but did so under contract extensions, not as free agents.

“You want to make sure you’re getting what you feel would be suitable for the guys behind you,” Schwarber says. He re-signed with the Phillies for $150 million over five years. His $30 million average annual value blows away the previous high for a DH-only of $19.1 million by Alvarez.

Kyle Schwarber smiles — Schwarber led the majors with 132 RBIs last year. | Jeff Hanisch/USA Today Sports

Schwarber took a moment to appreciate the flight of his majestic home run. He took a few steps out of the box, eyes still skyward, then simply dropped the bat and circled the bases in his Ruth-like canter, still carrying the barrel-chested swag of a middle linebacker.

Schwarber lacks the long levers of most power hitters. He is 5'11" and 229 pounds. His 56 home runs last season are the most ever by anyone under six feet, equaling the record by Hack Wilson that had stood for 95 years. The 2023 season, he says, gave him a lesson in taking care of his body. He played 160 games, but had to fight through a series of injuries only the training staff knew about.

“I’m not going to make an excuse,” he says. “I just want to keep playing. I don’t want the other team to ever sense that stuff’s wrong. But then, after that year it was like, ‘I really want to make sure that this is not going to happen again.’

“I changed some things. I’m not saying diet and working out are the be-all, end-all. But that definitely helped out. It’s not as drastic as people think. Mine’s pretty simple, right? I just said, ‘You know what? I’m just going to eat better.’ Better decisions. It’s just the way I work. It’s not going to take away from me enjoying my life, right?”

The swing he put on Senga’s fastball stood as a game-winner. It was his 30th home run in the team’s 84th game, the fewest games for any Phillie to hit 30.

“The approach worked,” he says. “He just got to a point where he threw a fastball, and he didn’t throw it where he wanted to by any means. I got to swing and it went out, which I was happy about. I wasn’t expecting [the home run]. That was like the 30th outcome I would think would happen there.”

Schwarber has a story for you. And when Schwarber has a story, you find yourself leaning forward in your chair because you know he tells stories not as a self-serving prop but as something instructive of a larger truth.

It was 2016. The Cubs activated Schwarber for the World Series against Cleveland after he missed six months with a torn ACL.

“I get activated and I’m just like, ‘Man, I can’t hit a breaking ball,’” he says. “I’m not very confident because I feel like I could hit a fastball and changeup, but I was not very good against a breaking ball.

“So, the first game, against [Corey] Kluber, was just a lot of front-hip two-seamers and cutters. I didn’t see a breaking ball from him. And then I saw a breaking ball from [Andrew] Miller, but not from the starter.

“Here comes Game 2. I’m like, ‘Well, I need to find when [Trevor] Bauer is going to throw his breaking ball because I need to pick a time to sit on it and sell out.’ I sit down with one of our [analysts] and we started digging. ‘This is the time he really loves to do it: it’s 0–0, runner in scoring position, especially with two outs.’

“My first at-bat of that game? Runner on second. Two outs. I’m coming up. I’m sitting curveball. First pitch. Here it comes. I take a massive cut. And I foul it straight back. And I saw one breaking ball the rest of that series. Just that one swing got them off it.”

Schwarber had seven hits in the World Series, six of them off fastballs, including his leadoff single in the 10th inning of Game 7 that ignited the winning rally.

“So then ’17 comes,” he says, “and I’m like, ‘Man, it worked. Maybe I should dig down more on the pitching side.’ And it put me behind just for the fact that there were times I’d be like 2–0 and I’d be like, ‘He’s going to do this ... he’s high percentage this.’ And I would take a heater right down the middle.”

He eventually had to learn how to turn off what he called his “catcher’s brain” and trust his “hitter’s brain.” Pitchers and catchers, he says, live on the “thought process” side. Hitters exist on the reactionary side. Trusting his own plan and eyes became even more valuable as pitching has grown more sophisticated. A major league hitter in each at-bat today faces more permutations—shapes, spins, speeds—and fewer fastballs than ever in the game’s history. Simplifying this complex math is key for Schwarber. He knows what he wants to hit.

In 2017, for instance, his first full season in the majors, Schwarber saw 55.2% fastballs (not including cutters). This year his diet of fastballs has shrunk to 37%.

“Now, your first time up, they show you everything,” he says. “Look at Miami. The coaches are calling pitches. They’ll show you every pitch your first at-bat. Sure, that’s a challenge.

“But you know what? For us hitters they still have to throw it over the f------ plate. It’s the simplifying aspect of it. In my opinion, I think there are more middle balls in the game than there’s ever been. Just for the fact that front offices love spin rate. They love the uniqueness aspect, and it’s like pitchability has gone away.

“Now it’s, ‘Hey, he’s got 20 [inch] horizontal and great vert.’ So, the catcher sets up right down the chute and they’re just letting him throw it. So, there’s no real intention besides the pitcher just thinking, Just throw my best pitch over the plate. You can’t keep adding to your arsenal and improve your command.

“I remember catching bullpens [with the Cubs] and the pitchers would be like, ‘Hey, set up like this.’ Now it’s ‘Set up down the middle.’ In general, you can’t have a bullpen session without a f—ing high-speed camera or f—ing iPad there that’s telling them what’s the spin rate, what’s this, what’s that, what’s the horizontal ... Now it’s just, ‘Yeah, let’s get this big 22-inch vert sweeper and just rip this.’”

Unvarnished, Schwarber is such a Philly guy they named a dessert after him, the Schwarbomb Sundae, an 1,100-calorie big fly made with soft serve ice cream, fried strawberry Uncrustable, strawberry sauce and fruity cereal pieces, all shoveled into an All-Star Game mini helmet for $17.79. A portion of the proceeds benefit Schwarber’s Neighborhood Heroes, the charity the Schwarbers operate to support first responders, military personnel and their families. His father, Greg, spent more than 40 years as an officer with the Middletown, Ohio, police department, retiring as chief. His mother, Donna, worked as a police dispatcher before becoming a registered nurse. What Schwarber learned about teamwork and clubhouse culture began as a boy visiting his father’s workplace, enthralled by how the officers unselfishly cared for and relied on one another.

Schwarber grew up planning for a career in the military, until his skill at baseball proved a calling too loud to ignore. He was a hitter without an obvious position when Epstein took him with the fourth pick of the 2014 draft. “We can put him in left field,” Epstein said, “and let him put up Big Papi numbers.”

Ortiz and Schwarber are late bloomers of a similar kind. Ortiz also was non-tendered at age 27, by the Minnesota Twins. By age 33, Ortiz had 317 homers. He finished with 541. Schwarber at age 33 has 372 homers. Using a conservative estimate for his second half production, of the 26 retired players to hit 380 homers by age 33, 19 of them, or 73%, went on to hit 500.

Charles Darwin was writing about the Venus flytrap in his 1875 book Insectivorous Plants when he praised it as “one of the most wonderful” plants on earth because of “the rapidity and force of its movements.” The praise fits how Schwarber wields the bat. He waits and waits. Then he pounces on any strays that dare enter his zone. Of his first 30 home runs, 21 of them, including the fastball from Senga, resulted from pitches in a narrow nine-inch-tall strip across the plate, slightly less than belt high. He is death to middle balls.

Rapidity and force. It is the simple Darwinian genius of Schwarber, if not another reason to be loved as a Philly kind of guy. As pitching gets more complicated, his swing and approach have grown less complicated. His stroke is short and fast. His trust in his hitter’s brain is deep. His intentions are obvious. Just in-your-face slugging, like the way Joe Frazier did it.

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