Brandon Young’s Perfect Game Bid Ends in Agony—But His Star is Just Beginning to Rise

In a game that could’ve stamped his name into the history books forever, Brandon Young came within four outs of perfection—only for the dream to vanish in a way that made even the most stone-faced baseball fans wince. On a Friday night in Houston, pitching just miles from where he grew up, Young stood on the edge of greatness. He had retired 23 straight batters, not a single Astro had reached base, and the tension in the stadium was rising with every pitch.

Then it happened.

With two outs in the bottom of the eighth, Houston sent up a familiar face—Ramón Urías, a former Oriole. He wasn’t expected to break things open. He wasn’t even expected to swing hard. He just made contact. A little dribbler down the first base line, the kind of slow roller that forces a pitcher into that in-between moment of instinct and desperation. Young charged, barehanded it, and fired. The throw tailed wide of the bag and skipped past the first baseman. The official scorer ruled it an infield hit.

And just like that, the perfect game was over.

The reaction was pure heartbreak. Young didn’t slam his glove or hang his head. He just stared at the spot on the field where the dream slipped away. The crowd gave him a standing ovation. The Orioles’ dugout stood silently, some players clapping, others shaking their heads in disbelief. This wasn’t just a one-hit shutout—it was something much more emotionally charged. It was a night where a kid from Texas came home and nearly threw the game of his life in front of friends and family.

To understand just how cruel the moment was, you need to understand how dominant Young had been all night. He wasn’t just lucky. He wasn’t riding great defense. He was carving through a playoff-caliber lineup with efficiency and confidence. His fastball had bite. His slider was snapping. His command was as sharp as it’s ever been. Every pitch had purpose. Every inning felt tighter and tighter. And yet, he never looked rattled.

Before that slow roller, not one Astros hitter had reached base. No walks. No errors. No hit batters. It was clean. Unblemished. Perfect. Then one awkwardly placed grounder—and history shifted.

After the hit, Young calmly stepped back on the mound and struck out the next batter to end the inning. He would not return for the ninth, finishing with eight innings, one hit allowed, no walks, and six strikeouts. It was, by any standard, the best outing of his young career. It was also his first major league win.

The emotional weight of the moment didn’t fully hit until the game was over. Reporters crowded around him in the clubhouse, asking the same question in different forms—how did it feel to come so close, only to lose it like that? Young, ever composed, simply said he thought he could make the play, rushed the throw, and missed. He admitted it hurt but kept it in perspective. It wasn’t about the headline or the personal glory. It was about helping his team win—and that he did.

His teammates rallied around him, calling the night “special,” “unreal,” and “something we’ll be talking about for a long time.” Even the coaching staff, normally focused on the bigger picture, let themselves get swept up in the magic of the moment. One coach was overheard saying, “That kid just changed his season with one game.”

And he may have. Before this outing, Young’s rookie campaign had been a struggle. He had battled through inconsistency, a ballooning ERA, and whispers about whether he was ready for this level. But from the first pitch in Houston, none of that mattered. He looked like a different pitcher—calmer, sharper, more sure of himself. For the first time in months, he pitched like he belonged. Not just in the majors, but on the mound when it mattered most.

The Orioles themselves have been desperate for a pitching hero to emerge. With injuries, underperforming starters, and a bullpen that’s been stretched thin, they’ve needed someone to step up and grab the spotlight. Young may have done just that. Not just with the numbers, but with the presence he showed—commanding the game, keeping hitters off balance, and giving his teammates a reason to believe.

That belief extended beyond the dugout. Fans watching from home or sitting in the stands felt something that doesn’t happen every day in baseball—anticipation with every pitch. That electric sense that something rare and beautiful was happening. When Young struck out the side in the fifth, the buzz started. By the seventh, the crowd was holding its breath between pitches. Every strike was followed by a growing roar. Every defensive play brought clenched fists and wide eyes. For eight innings, it felt like the baseball gods had handed Baltimore a gift.

And then they took it away.

But maybe that’s not the real story. Maybe the story isn’t that Brandon Young lost a perfect game—it’s that Brandon Young found himself. In the middle of a disappointing season, on a team searching for momentum, he showed what he can be. Not just a spot starter or organizational depth. A real piece. A competitor. A guy who can pitch in big games and make big statements.

No one remembers how many perfect games were almost thrown. They remember how a player rises after missing that moment. And if Young’s demeanor, execution, and maturity are any indication, this was the beginning—not the peak—of what he’s capable of.

He’ll have other starts. Other games. Maybe even another shot at perfection. But the one in Houston will stick. Because it was more than a near-perfect game. It was a breakthrough.

And even though he didn’t get the perfect game, he got something that might matter even more: respect, redemption, and the realization that he can dominate at this level. It’s the kind of performance that can change the course of a season, or even a career. And for Brandon Young, the best might be yet to come.