After They Were Famous: The Secret Lives of the World Cup Mascots

World Cups come and go, some leaving behind a raft of fond memories and a lasting legacy for the host nation...others merely leave behind white elephant stadia and an increased national debt!

But what becomes of the World Cup Mascots? Their moment in the spotlight burns brightly, but is over quicker than a Girls Aloud reunion tour.

Chris & Rich asked this question and after some exhaustive research, invite you to take a look at the fates of some of those forgotten icons...and find that life after a World Cup rarely fits in with FIFA's family vision...

World Cup Willie (1966, England)

William Lion, as he was known before joining Equity, took on his first major acting role as the logo that appeared on UK-farmed eggs in the 1950’s. Annoyed by the continual battering of thousands of spoons across the country, Willie searched the small ads for a new job and eventually replied to an advert placed by the FA for a new football tournament mascot. With his only opposition being a humanised sparrow holding a football and a bulldog with a limp, Willie easily won the public vote.

After the triumph of a home victory for England at the 1966 World Cup, the excitement and interest in football slowly started to diminish, as did their hunger for World Cup Willie. The lion that had carried the hopes and earned the affection of the English fans was now yesterday’s man and there no longer seemed to be a part for him to play.

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Top 5 Worst Tournament Mascots Ever

The 1966 World Cup is remembered for many things, from stroppy Argentinians being heckled by grannies to raising England's expectations to unrealistic levels for the best part of half a century. It is also a landmark tournament for one other reason.

World Cup Willy. The first ever FIFA endorsed marital aid... ha ha ha ha ha! But seriously, the first ever tournament mascot came into being, thus starting a tradition that has taken us from the very depths of corporate blandness to the edge of insanity.

I was initially going to concentrate on the World Cup and Euros, but after researching the Copa America, Africa CON and the Asia Cup, it's clear those tournaments are pure gold for strangeness!

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Random Things From Our Football Collections: Pique

Awww, look at little Pique there, a microcosm of all Mexican stereotypes all rolled into one cute (?) little mascotty thing.

Aye Caramba etc

Let's just tick all the boxes shall we?

Sombrero - check
Pencil thin moustache... or is it a beard? - check
Two tone green skin - er...

There are rumours that he was even available in a little gift set, replete with mini wire cutters, false documents and years of second class citizen status, but that may have just been made up... by me... just now...

Ironically, the story of how this little fella came to be in my collection does indeed involve clashes with authority and border crossings.

Let me take you back to 1986 (again). I'm in my first term at secondary school and, as was customary at the time, us first years get the chance of a day trip to France. I believe these trips were known amongst the teachers as 'booze cruises', whereas for the kids, it represented the chance to buy all manner of contraband.

The day before we're due to leave for foreign shores, we're informed that our destination has changed. Far from the Gallic adventure we'd anticipated, we were instead bound for Belgium. To this day I have no idea why this last minute change took place; the only possible explanation must be that one of the teachers was a huge fan of Enzo Scifo...

As with any winter cross channel journey, the weather was horrendous and the decks were awash with salty brine and juvenile lunch in equal measure. We survived, however, and at 8am the following morn we docked in Bruges. On reflection, we technically didn't cross any borders... just sort of sailed into them.

'Twas a misty morn and as we boarded the coach to take us to the delights of the local hypermarket (because that's what you do the first time you set foot outside of your home country, go to a Tesco Extra), the heavens opened... a sign of things to come? Or just a cold front moving in from the east?

Finally, we arrived at the hypermarket and what a huge place it was too... full of... well, the same sort of stuff you could get over in Blighty, really, just with funny packaging and strange prices (remember Francs anyone?)  I made a sweep of the place and while my friends were busy hoovering up all the bangers they could find, I was occupied trying, with my limited resources, to find presents for my family. If you've ever tried to find souvenirs in your local supermarket, you'll perhaps empathise with my predicament and understand why my relatives ended up with mostly stationery-based gifts.

Having made my purchases, I was then wandering round the shop trying to find my friends when my eyes fell upon Pique. His little sucker attachment indicated he was clearly designed as a car ornament, but, being 11, I possessed no such mode of transport. That was not going to deter me from owning a rather ropey piece of Mexico 86 and so back to the checkout I headed.

Upon arrival at the checkout, the woman behind the desk eyed me with xenophobic suspicion, though it could have been mainly because I was with a group of schoolchildren who seemed to be trying to fill their pockets gratis at every opportunity. It probably was that. After I had completed the financial transaction involving my little mascot friend, she (the checkout woman, not Pique, who was, after all, clearly a male chilli) pointed at the bag containing my earlier purchases and demanded I show her proof that I had paid for them... or at least I assume that's what she said. She wasn't speaking English... how very insular!  I searched frantically for my receipts, but to no avail. What had I done with them? I'd only purchased them a few minutes previous.

She handed the bag to what I assume was a manager who looked at the contents and probably decided that any 11-year-old prepared to 'steal' some notebooks and a few pencils probably wasn't worth dealing with, so he handed me back the bag and ordered me from the shop.

The ferry journey back may have been fun for my friends as they hurled their bangers at every possible surface and watched as one of our number sleep-walked into the decks below and tried to get into someone's cabin, but for me, it was a journey of shame for I had been branded (incorrectly, remember) a criminal. I would forever be known as The Pencil Thief and my slow descent into full on criminality was as  inevitable as it was imaginary.

But still... Pique!

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