
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
In the pixelated summer of '88, Code Strike emerged from a Betamax tape chewing up Chandler Purtle's VCR—because of course destiny arrives via obsolete tech. His PDGA#141739? A "classified access code" scrawled on a Denny's napkin by a rogue caddie-bot. The algorithm demanded a sacrifice: three shanks into headwinds and a "system crash" ace that definitely wasn't a tree kick. Now he's stuck with a sentient tag that critiques his grip like a disappointed drill sergeant. But hey, at least his rating's got that "glitch-resistant 921 firmware."
Real question: Can he handle Code Strike's relentless commentary and the league's neon spandex dress code?