One Away From Perfection & History ... When Marwin Crashes the Party

Ah, April. The grass is green, the bats are cracking, and for a few fleeting weeks, every fanbase believes. It’s the time of year when anything feels possible — yes, even a perfect game.

And if you were watching on April 2, 2013, you almost witnessed one.

That night in Houston, Yu Darvish was an artist. With his mesmerizing arsenal — a high-90s fastball, devastating slider, and that signature slow curve that danced in like a wiffle ball — he carved through the Astros lineup like a hot knife through brisket. Through eight and two-thirds innings, 26 up, 26 down. A perfect game was one out away.

The buzz in Minute Maid Park had shifted from early-season curiosity to tense anticipation. Fans on both sides were standing. 

Then came Marwin González, Houston’s No. 9 hitter, stepping into the box with two outs in the ninth. Not exactly a feared slugger. In fact, this was just his second season in the bigs. You could almost feel the story being written: Darvish freezes him with a nasty slider, catcher hugs pitcher, dogpile ensues, baseball immortality achieved.

But Marwin had other plans.

On the very first pitch, he jumped on a 91-mph fastball and shot it right back up the middle, just beyond Darvish’s outstretched glove. It was clean. No controversy. No weak blooper or cheap hit. Just a line-drive dagger that shattered perfection.

Darvish slumped. The crowd groaned. Marwin stood at first, stoic, almost apologetic. The dream was gone.

Sure, Darvish still completed a 1-hit shutout with 14 strikeouts — the kind of game most pitchers would frame on the wall. But baseball’s cruelest poetry is that perfection doesn’t come in “almosts.” One pitch, one inch, one hit — that’s all it takes.

Now, every April, as the season wakes from its slumber, fans remember that night. A near-masterpiece. A moment frozen in baseball lore. A reminder that in this game, greatness and heartbreak ride the same seam.

So here’s to Yu, to Marwin, and to every pitcher chasing that elusive 27th out. Because in baseball, you’re always one pitch away — from history, or from heartbreak.