World Cup Mascots: Brilliant, Bizarre, and Unforgettable

Billy

Welcome back everybody. I'm Billy Galligan.

Simon

And I'm Simon Carver. And today we're talking about the other side of the World Cup — the side that doesn't involve tactics, golden boots or penalty shootouts.

Billy

We're talking mascots. The weird, wonderful and occasionally baffling characters that have represented the World Cup since 1966.

Simon

And some of them are genuinely brilliant. And some of them are... choices.

Billy

It all started in England in 1966. World Cup Willie — an anthropomorphic lion wearing a Union Jack jersey. Simple, patriotic, effective. The first ever World Cup mascot and honestly one of the better ones.

Simon

Willie was a sign of the times — straightforward national symbolism. Lion equals England. England equals lion. Job done.

Billy

Mexico 1970 gave us Juanito — a cheerful boy in a classic Mexico kit and a sombrero. Again, simple. Again, effective. The tournament that also gave us the Telstar ball and Pelé at his peak deserved a mascot with a bit of charm, and Juanito had it.

Simon

West Germany 1974 went with Tip and Tap — two young boys in German kits. Practical, efficient, no nonsense. Very German.

Billy

And then 1978. Argentina. And the mascot of my first World Cup. Gauchito — a young gaucho in traditional Argentine attire. Hat, neckerchief, the works. I was nine years old and thought he was brilliant.

Simon

The gaucho is such a perfect symbol for Argentina — the cowboy of the pampas, independent, proud, a little bit wild. Gauchito captured the spirit of that tournament perfectly.

Billy

And then Spain 1982. And this is where things start to get interesting.

Simon

Naranjito.

Billy

Naranjito. An anthropomorphic orange. Wearing the Spanish football kit. With a big smile on his face as if he has absolutely no idea he's a piece of fruit.

Simon

I have to say, I have a soft spot for Naranjito. There's something wonderfully absurd about it — Spain is famous for its oranges, let's just make the mascot an orange, sorted.

Billy

I actually had a Naranjito figurine as a kid. He was on a spring and held a pen. Sat on my desk for years. So I have enormous personal affection for what is objectively a very strange mascot.

Simon

Back to Mexico for 1986, and they went in a completely different direction. Pique — a jalapeño pepper. With a moustache. And a sombrero.

Billy

A mustachioed jalapeño pepper. In a sombrero. Representing the World Cup. I genuinely love that someone sat in a room and pitched that idea and everyone agreed it was the right call.

Simon

It has a certain energy to it. You know exactly what country you're in when you see Pique. That's the whole point of a mascot and he delivers it with considerable enthusiasm.

Billy

Italy 1990 gave us Ciao. And Ciao is... something else entirely. A stick figure. Made up of a footballer's body with a football for a head, in the colours of the Italian flag.

Simon

Ciao looks like something you'd draw on a napkin in thirty seconds. A child's doodle given official FIFA status. And yet there's something almost avant-garde about it — very Italian, very design-conscious, minimalist to the point of abstraction.

Billy

I prefer to think of it as accidentally brilliant rather than deliberately bad. Either way it's unforgettable.

Simon

United States 1994. Striker — an anthropomorphic dog in red, white and blue. America's first World Cup, and they went with a dog. A patriotic dog, but a dog nonetheless.

Billy

Striker is fine. He's perfectly fine. He's a dog. He plays football. He waves a flag. In the context of what came before and after, fine feels like high praise.

Simon

France 1998 gave us Footix — a blue cockerel. The cockerel is one of the national symbols of France, so it makes perfect sense. And Footix is actually one of the better designed mascots of the whole series — bright, bold, distinctive.

Billy

The tournament Zidane headbutted his way into legend. The tournament Ireland nearly qualified for. The tournament Ronaldo had that mysterious illness before the final. Footix presided over all of it with his cheerful blue face.

Simon

And then 2002. Japan and South Korea. And the mascots took a sharp left turn into science fiction.

Billy

Ato, Kaz and Nik. Three futuristic computer-generated creatures forming a fictional sports team called the Spheriks. They looked like something from a PlayStation game. They had no connection to either host nation that anyone could identify. They were entirely baffling.

Simon

And yet somehow perfect for 2002 — the first World Cup in Asia, the first shared hosting, a genuinely futuristic tournament. The mascots reflected that even if nobody quite understood them.

Billy

Germany 2006 gave us Goleo VI — a lion in a Germany shirt — and his companion Pille, a talking football. Two mascots for the price of one. Goleo was fine. Pille was slightly unsettling.

Simon

There's something inherently disturbing about a talking football. You're about to be kicked around a pitch for ninety minutes and you're making conversation. Think about that.

Billy

South Africa 2010. Zakumi — a leopard with green hair. The name combines ZA, the country code for South Africa, with kumi, the Swahili word for ten, representing 2010. Brilliant concept, brilliant execution. One of the best of the lot.

Simon

Zakumi had personality. You could imagine him actually enjoying the tournament. Unlike poor Pille who presumably spent ninety minutes being launched at goal and screaming.

Billy

Brazil 2014 gave us Fuleco — a Brazilian three-banded armadillo. The name combined futebol and ecologia — football and ecology. A mascot with an environmental message built in. Clever. Also armadillos are genuinely excellent animals.

Simon

Russia 2018 had Zabivaka — an anthropomorphic wolf whose name translates to The Goalscorer. Cool, confident, a little bit cocky. Very on brand for a wolf. One of the more successful modern mascots.

Billy

Qatar 2022 gave us La'eeb — a floating, keffiyeh-inspired figure representing super-skilled play. Abstract, culturally specific, visually distinctive. Not everyone's cup of tea but undeniably original.

Simon

And 2026. For the first time ever, three mascots — one for each co-host. Maple the Moose for Canada, Clutch the Bald Eagle for the United States, and Zayu the Jaguar for Mexico.

Billy

Three mascots for three nations. It makes complete sense and yet it's never been done before. Maple is extremely Canadian — a moose who probably apologises when someone fouls him. Clutch is extremely American — a bald eagle who I imagine celebrates every goal like it's the Super Bowl. And Zayu is extremely Mexican — a jaguar with the kind of swagger that suggests he knows exactly how good this tournament has been.

Simon

From World Cup Willie the lion in a Union Jack to three animals representing three nations across a whole continent. Sixty years of mascots, each one a little window into the host nation's idea of itself.

Billy

Some brilliant, some bizarre, one a talking football, one a mustachioed jalapeño, and one that sat on my desk for years holding a pen.

Simon

The World Cup mascot. Taken seriously by nobody and remembered by everybody.

Billy

Sure, it's only a mascot. But what mascots they've been.

Simon

Thanks for listening everybody.

Billy

We'll see you next time.