That hurt.

Joshua Jones stands outside.  There's a dusting of snow on the pavement and on some of the cars behind him.  Snow falls lightly.
Despite years of traveling the world, Joshua is bundled up in the bulkiest looking winter jacket ever made.  It's a pale wine color, which a little gold tossed in for decoration.  He's wearing a matching skull cap.
There's a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, and yes, he's even wearing mittens.  Not gloves, but mittens.  
It's not even that cold.

Never before have I done such a balancing act, an extreme high separated from the lowest point in my career by a few inches of metal.
I came up short.

Being close wasn't good enough.
It isn't acceptable.  

I'm beyond moral victories.  

I wanted the freaking Gold!

Joshua shifts, wrapping his arms around himself as though he's somehow still cold despite wearing more padding than an all girls' middle school.  

I'm not going to make excuses.

Joshua shakes his head.

Not this time.  
Congratulations, Suicide.
You get to keep the strap for a little longer, but I don't want you to believe for even a second that I've given up my quest.  
I'm going to get another shot.  It won't be this week.  Probably won't be the next.  
Or even the week after that.  

Until that day, it's going to eat away at me.  
Had I been a little quicker.  Had we positioned just a bit differently.  Had I fallen instead of you.  

But it will come.  
I won't let anyone stand in the way of that.  Keep the Universal Championship warm for me, okay?
Thanks.

Joshua sighs.  He reaches up and pulls his skull cap further down over his ears.  

And that brings me to someone else who had a much better visit to Toronto than I did.  
Nice job, Profit.  If I was in a better mood... and if it wasn't so darned cold out here, I'd offer you a round of applause.

Joshua lifts his hands, waving them a little to show off his mittens.

But obviously I can't right now.  Too cold.  
Man, I was happy to get out of Toronto.  I can't show my face there anymore, not until I win the Universal Championship!

And you... you, Profit.  You're going to help me do exactly that.  

I saw you knock that big oaf, Ramen, or whatever.  You knocked him the eff out!  It was really cool and stuff.  
You'd been struggling recently, but you bounced back in a big way!  With a huge win!

That's what I need to do!  That's how you're gonna help me.  
Sure, you're not going to want to lose.  But you will.

I want this more than you do.  
There's no reason to deny it.  You're the grizzled, old vet.  Had a good, if underwhelming, career and you're satisfied with your accomplishments.  
Is earning a shot at Steve Fella really your priority?
Or are you content to beat up people for money?  

You need to understand.  I was so close.  
But being close doesn't mean anything, so I might as well have done nothing!  I've accomplished nothing!!
Nothing!!!

That's gonna change!

Joshua Jeremiah Jones is about to Man Up once again!
I'm gonna beat you.  I have to beat you!  It isn't an option.

First you.  Then the next guy.  
And then I'm going to take the next guy.  

One at a time, two at a time.  Six at a time.  It doesn't matter!  

I'm not going to stop until I have a title!  Do you hear me?!  Do all of you hear me?!?!

I will be Champion!  
I'm gonna raise the title over my head.  I'm gonna laugh and smile.  

And I'll rub in all of your faces!  Every last one of you who ever doubted me!  Everyone!!

Red faced more from being too worked up than from the cold, Joshua angrily pulls off his mittens and spikes them.  He tears away his scarf and hurls, sending it falling lightly to the ground.
He flips his skull cap into the air.  Breathing heavily now, he unzips his jacket.  He starts to pull it off, but stops himself.

Joshua stands there breathing hard, each breath visible.  His mouth hanging open, he glares at the camera.  
The camera fades.