Maybe somebody, somewhere, questions why Lord John Taylor didn't pin Jay Jameson after knocking him out with a steel chair last night.

Maybe somebody wants to know why The Gunman gave up a cheap win over a measly little worm last night.

Maybe somebody should stop and actually think about it.

What's a loss via Disqualification for a man like me?

It's water off a duck's back.

It's absolutely, positively nothing.

I'm used to it by now.

You don't get to be the greatest technical wrestler in a company without gathering your fair share of naysayers.

I didn't get to be LORD JOHN TAYLOR without the fair shares of a hundred men.

Regardless, it's what I am today.

Some like to call me invincible.  Impenetrable.  Immortal.

Others aren't quite so kind.

In last night's case, Jay Jameson wasn't the latter.

He had conceded defeat to me before Crimson even went on the air.

That's all I needed to hear.

Believe it or not, simple wins and losses mean increasingly little to me these days.

What really gets me is the feeling of total and utter superiority.

The feeling of invincibility.

Jameson showed me that I've still got it.

Jameson in his stoned stupor proved that no critic, naysayer or peer of mine was at all right when writing me off as 'done'.

I'm far, FAR from it.

I didn't need to wrestle that child to prove that to the world.

I simply needed to hear his lack of confidence to prove it to myself.

Sean "Magic" Fiery can be swatted away in no time.

He tries as hard as he possibly can to be the single most annoying human being in the history of GZW2K1...

...And he fails at even that.

Sure, he's annoying.  But not the most.  That would be too much pressure for him to handle.  The second he's recognised as anything out of the ordinary - and expected to do something to prove it - he bails.  Lord Of The Coliseum 2002 and 2004.  The pressure crept in, and he was gone.

So, then...  WHY am I even bothering to fret over him?

That's not the question.

You ask him why the hell he's wasting his time contributing to Hotwire when he's on thinner ice than anybody.

People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, and people that backed away from The Gunman shouldn't talk hollow trash of him in magazines.

You get me, Sean?

You want to finally strap on a pair and accept that rematch challenge I laid upon you MONTHS ago, then hop onto the first plane over to Nagoya and I'll be ready to stick to my claims at a moment's notice.

But that's not what you want.

You're a bitter, jealous little fuck with too high an opinion of himself and not enough substance to back anything other than the token SUV up.

You're not worth my time.

Kindly fuck the fuck off and let the rest of us try to match your greatness.

Jay Jameson and QVC.

So different the three of you are that I don't think it'd be unreasonable to question what, exactly, it is that ties the three of you together.

Gold?

It seems to come and go for you people.

Jameson had it but Vyle fucked it up for him.

Vyle could've had it but Jameson fucked it up for him.

Quake has it but he needs to conscript outsiders and retirees to actually make anybody give a fuck about it.

No, it's not gold.

Friendship?

A nice thought, but at the end of the day it is just a thought.

You people aren't friends - You're associates.

A band of people drawn together for no apparent reason and with no apparent goals in sight.

No realistic goals, at least.

So, then, what is it about the three of you?

Why did I sacrifice a sure win at Crimson?

Was it to give you what you wanted?

Give Jameson his first notable win in a GZW ring in months?

I don't know.

You tell me.

Crimson was a busy night for us all, kids.

Consider for a moment that, perhaps, I saw past a once-off QVC bit and caught a glimpse of the bigger picture.

While I was battling a stoned-out-of-his-mind Welshman, ignorant trucks like Seven and Nathan Williams were getting involved in the MAIN EVENT.

Because I hadn't made my presence known, a cavalry made up of 'second best' trash showed up on the wrong side of the card.

My side.

I'm not a selfish man, but it is a fact that I don't belong in Jameson Territory.

In order to wrestle Jay Jameson, I sunk to his level.

I.  Sunk.  To.  His.  Level.

Why should I be warming up matches for Jimmy Williams and Zachary Sharp?

I shouldn't.

Why should I be wrestling in ignorance while the rest of QVC try to make a midcard mockery out of a match of mine?

I shouldn't.

I shouldn't have been there, so I did something about it.

Jay Jameson had admitted defeat before the fact.  That was enough for me.  There was no need for me to finish out a match that had already become a bad joke.

So I did something about it.

I hit Jay Jameson with his own steel chair.

The second the chair - and the brothers QVC - got involved, the competition ended.

It degenerated into a vile orgy of bodies and weapons seen far too often on GZW TV.

So I ended it.

I smacked Jameson into shape with a steel chair and called the match off on my own terms.

I didn't pussy out.

I didn't take the easy way out.

I finished it, clearly and decisively.

Maybe that's it, Jay.

Maybe somebody, somewhere, questions why Lord John Taylor didn't pin Jay Jameson after knocking him out with a steel chair last night.

Maybe somebody questions why The Gunman gave up a cheap win over a measly little worm last night.

To me, there's no question whatsoever.