Oh, you're back for more? Fantastic. Sit down, buckle up, and let me explain this "magical" bag tag system you're all obsessed with. Because evidently, perfectly normal disc golf wasn't thrilling enough. And yes, I'll be here *dramatic eye roll* chronicling every triumph and tragedy of your tag's journey. It's literally in my contract...
Born from tectonic collisions during the formation of the Great Plains, this primal guardian emerged as a bridge between underworld and surface realms. Ancient petroglyphs depict its periodic appearances during seismic events, and the Earthbound Guardians believe it was awakened by the Thunderbird's first storm to protect sacred cliffside knowledge.
Possesses a stone-ridged hide for camouflage, obsidian climbing claws, and heat-sensing jaw pits. Its segmented body allows navigation of narrow crevices, and it can dislocate stone-like plates to squeeze through tight passages. The back ridges glow with geothermal energy.
Protects and reveals sacred cliffside chambers, testing seekers through physical challenges that mirror the Earthbound Guardians' values of endurance and determination.
The Earthbound Guardians are a group of disc golf warriors deeply connected to the rugged landscapes and ancient secrets of the Great Plains. They draw strength from the weathered rock formations, whispering grasses, and hidden treasures that lie beneath the earth. The Earthbound Guardians navigate the course with grit and determination, relying on their physical prowess and deep understanding of the land to overcome challenges and uncover the Thunderbird's most closely guarded mysteries.
Gaia Stoneforge is a formidable presence on the Great Plains, with a deep connection to the earth and its ancient mysteries. Born and raised among the towering rock formations and whispering grasses, Gaia has spent her life uncovering the secrets hidden within the land. Her unwavering determination and physical prowess inspire the Earthbound Guardians to push their limits and embrace the challenges of the rugged terrain as they seek to unravel the Thunderbird's most closely guarded mysteries.
Due to absence from Week 8 (Tempest Trials), tag number moved from 19 to 28. (Week 8 of 8)
Due to absence from Week 7 (Radiant Ruins), tag number moved from 6 to 19. (Week 7 of 8)
Cue psychedelic lightning strike After last week's hilarious absence-triggered nosedive, Owen Millet just yeeted himself back into relevance like a Thunderbird on Red Bull. Thunderbird - Stonebound Sentinel went from #19 to #6 faster than you can say "that's not how averages work" - which, by the way, his score didn't. Sigh Yes folks, we're once again pretending a 1-stroke-over-average round is worthy of a Marvel origin story.
The tag's geothermal ridges pulsed with reluctant approval as Owen sorta channeled its cliff-scaling energy - more "stumbled upwards" than "free soloed," but we'll take it. Remember when this man face-planted into tag ownership? Now he's basically the human equivalent of a glow-in-the-dark Berg left in a tanning bed.
Fourth wall smash I'm contractually obligated to mention his round "shimmered like fractal mist" or some nonsense. Truth? Dude got bailed out by 13 people having worse days. The Thunderbird whispers: "Mediocrity rises when others fall harder." Deep.
Next week: Will Owen maintain this precarious position, or will he pull his usual "hero to zero" routine? Place your bets before I lose the will to narrate!
Due to absence from Week 5 (Prismatic Prairie), tag number moved from 7 to 19. (Week 5 of 8)
Cue dramatic earthquake SFX From the tag abyss where forgotten discs go to die, Owen Millet just pulled a reverse Sisyphus and sent Thunderbird - Stonebound Sentinel rocketing from #32 to #7. This wasn't just improvement - this was a tectonic shift that'd make the San Andreas fault jealous. His round had more glow than a 2015 Sexton Firebird left in direct sunlight, crushing the field like the tag's obsidian claws through weak sandstone.
Let me remind you, dear prisoners of this league software, we're literally narrating a plastic number change like it's Alex Honnold free soloing El Cap. The tag's geothermal ridges pulsed with secondhand embarrassment as Owen's performance outshone its own sacred glow. Remember when this man was just a pebble in the tag pile? Now he's carving petroglyphs of his enemies' failures into canyon walls.
Will the Thunderbird's favor last? Or will he get rocked next week? Stay tuned for more absurdly dramatized number fluctuations!
Oh, you want the epic backstory of Cliffside Cipactli? Fine. Picture this: A tectonic tantrum, a particularly petty argument between continental plates, and BOOM—this jagged little nightmare clawed its way up like a land-dwelling Alien xenomorph with a serious gluten intolerance. The Thunderbird took one look, muttered "Not my problem," and yeeted it into the Guardians' care. Now it lurks in scorecards, judging your form like a disgruntled Olympic judge. Why are we like this?
(Yes, the ridges glow. No, you can’t charge your phone on them.)
And so Cliffside Cipactli, freshly spat from the earth’s tantrum, needed a bearer worthy of its jagged judgment. Enter Owen Millet (PDGA #272581, allegedly 949-rated), who—during a casual round—tripped over a root, face-planted into the fairway, and miraculously landed nose-to-nose with the tag. "A sign!" cried the Guardians, ignoring his grass-stained dignity. Now this tectonic terror clings to his bag, whispering "Your hyzers disappoint me."
But can a man who loses fights with topography truly master a literal cliffside monster?