Do you get the feeling we’ve seen the last of Josh Beckett in the 2007 ALCS? Because I sure as hell don’t. If we’re in a 2-2 tie in a game 7 with the fat of Cleveland’s line-up on tap, can’t you see Commander Kick Ass just calmly walking from the bullpen, casually cock-punching the security guys and teammates and coaches who try to stop him. And reaching up and placing his meathook around Delcarmen’s face and gently pushing him flat to the ground, taking his place on the mound and shouting, “Let’s go. Let’s f#@kin’ go!” to Tek as the Cap’n curiously looks into the dugout, where Teets shrugs and, fearing for his onions, just nods and tells ‘em to roll with it.

So far, we’ve won two games in this ALCS, both of which were started by Josh Beckett, who can officially make Travis Hafner wet his pants by simply thinking about it (oh, and tell me you haven’t thought of it a couple times yourself). For the dream — and the season — to live on, someone not named Josh Beckett is gonna have to sound off like he’s got a pair. If Schilling can bridge us to game 7, in what could be his final start in a Red Sox uniform in a do-or-die game before the hometown crowd, I’d say anything can happen. Hell, Matsuzaka might even win a critical game and put an exclamation point on an otheriwse curious and not-quite-as-awesome-as-we’d-hoped season.

But we’ve got a couple days before we have to worry about that. Right now, all I know is that there’ll be more Red Sox baseball. On Saturday night. At Fenway Park.

And that’s really all I need to know right now.

Oh, and nice play by the Injuns to bring a former Beckett ladypal to sing at the game. As attempts to get in a guy’s head, rolling out the ex is a pretty shrewd move. But it seems to have back-fired big-time. In fact, the extra shot of testosterone may have been just what The Commander needed to finish off the Indians. Because, as everyone knows, Josh Beckett is fueled by testosterone, Coors Light, and the blood of his victims.

That said, props to Josh. Between Leeann Tweeden and the exquisitely named “Danielle Peck” — whose adeptness at holding a microphone really tells us everything we need to know — it’s a wonder the guy can even stand up, let alone pitch so bad-assedly.