
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
record scratch So apparently I'm stuck narrating how a translucent arcade ghost became tag #64. Picture this: Some totally tubular player spent SO many quarters practicing in '87 that they literally became one with the machines. Like Tron, but sadder. Now their neon spirit haunts practice rounds forever. Radical? Sure. Makes sense? Absolutely not. But here we are, treating practice addiction like it's worthy of spectral immortality.
Who's ready to get haunted by dedication?