I'm minded of Achilles and the heroes
but no; they fought to the death.
We compete for gilded laurel leaves
sports men and women of the world.

Now banished to kick up grey lunar dust
in this couch potato's thought experiment.
Let the games begin, mere games, that's the point
sports men and women of the Moon.

Unimaginative knuckleheads. Us?
Look here: a novel satellite event
"marathongolf." Looong fairways can be seen
from Earth! We progress by leaps and bounds.

And how long is this thought experiment anyway?
I mean, you can't get squirty cream here
for love nor money. And you can't see
who you're massaging in second-hand light.

While we, teammates, haunt the sea of tranquility
couch potatoes are to contemplate 
the important issues. Probably gold medals
 for earth-shattering finds. Good luck with that.

Attend the commotion on our new horizon-
ah yes, the celebrities famous for nothing.
I understand why they're here and not there
good for a laugh I suppose, thanks terranauts.

I think I'll turn into the Wolfman for an hour
then head out to the hip-hop lunatic festival.
You heard right, every million-selling earthling
pop artiste is about to go cosmic.

The question arises, do we want to return?
What goes on that they must ponder so hard?
We, sportsfans, shall examine their results
and judge whose fire should receive oxygen.