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...
A shaman's spirit merged with the last Piasa during European colonization, becoming a guardian that appears when cryptid realms are endangered
Bioluminescent wing markings that change color based on threats, ability to phase between physical and spectral forms, piercing cry that only other cryptids can hear
Ecological sentinel that manifests when cryptid habitats face existential threats
John Petersberger's Phantom Piasa (#87) has been updated based on their recent performance in the series.
Behold! Phantom Piasa #117 emerged when a disc golfer’s shank hit a cursed oak, awakening the last Piasa’s spirit—now fused with a shaman’s ghost and, inexplicably, the vibe of a moody TikTok filter. Bioluminescent wings? Check. Ability to phase through trees (unlike your discs)? Check. A piercing cry only cryptids hear—probably complaining about OB rules. sigh Yes, we’re doing this. Why? Because folklore deserves puns and existential dread. Will it haunt your bag or your scorecard?
Ah, John Petersberger—PDGA #187939, aka "The Guy Who Definitely Didn’t Expect to Be Haunted by Folklore Today." Legend says Phantom Piasa #117 chose him when his shank ricocheted off a tree directly into his bag, which, let’s be honest, was the first accurate throw of his round. The tag pulsed with eerie energy, whispering, "Your scorecard already looks cursed—might as well accessorize." Now he’s stuck with a cryptid companion that judges his grip locks. Will John rise as a disc golf shaman... or just keep blaming the wind?