You know that killer guitar riff at the beginning of Van Halen’s version of “You Really Got Me”? That blazing red mushroom cloud towering over Los Alamos? The sound of hot metal-on-metal action whenever giant robots battle over Tokyo in those Japanese monster flicks? That look in the eyes of a starving pack of wolves as they come across a broken down bus full of fat camp kids? The scene in Reservoir Dogs where everyone’s got their guns aimed at each other and no one’s backing down? The sound of a turbo engine roaring down a desert highway, sixteen drunken hookers rolling into your party suite at Caesar’s, the first time you heard the Ramones and that white-knuckle sensation of seeing Luke Skywwalker blow up the Death Star?
That’s Josh Beckett, folks. That’s Josh Beckett.
Much like everything described above, his awesome has reached a point at which mere words are almost unfitting. It’s like we need a sort of dinner theatre performance or some Michael Bay pyrotechnics to properly convey the full scope of just what this motherflipper does every time he hits the mound. Yesterday, he scored his 100th win, his eleventh of the season, and struck out seven as he cooly joined The Waker at the top of the AL Wins Leaders chart. And he did it like he always does it. With that blank, serial killer-esque that’s perpetually welded to his mug. When he’s not barking down batters or carpet bombing pressers with the F-word, that is.
But we expect it. Because cool guys don’t look at explosions. They blow things up, then just walk away.
