We've wondered before why Olympic mascots always look so egregious. But they've got nothing on the World Cup Mascots. In the last 42 years, these creatures have alternately reinforced stereotypes about their host countries--or been busy feathering their hair, propping their hands jauntily on their hips, and wriggling into skin-tight shorts (always in fashion).

South Korea and Japan joined to host the 2002 World Cup, which featured the world's first computer-generated mascots. Naturally, these fellas hail from a future where toilet seats do your homework and used panties are available in vending machines. Ato, the coach, and his players Kaz and Nik, don't play soccer. Rather, they play "Atmoball," some kind of futuristic soccer variant that probably involves augmented reality and dogs riding bicycles. Naturally, they were chosen by votes on the Internet. (2002! Everything seemed possible.)

Apparently, in 1970, Mexico wasn't satisfied almost creating a racial caricature, with those squinty eyes and pudgy body...

...so they seized the opportunity during the 1986 World Cup.

Pique is supposed to be a jalapeno pepper, and he sports a ginormous sombrero, ridiculous mustache, sleepy eyes, and ill-fitting clothes. For gross ethnic and cultural stereotypes, he's just a hair behind Speedy Gonzalez, who's been banned in the U.S. but is supposedly popular in Latin America.

From the land that brought you Futurism and uncomfortable modern couches that look frightening! It's Ciao, Italy's 1990 mascot, which is rumored to have been designed by Silvio Berlusconi's grandson (a toddler at the time) in the last three minutes before nap time.

Smugly pointing his finger, with his head cocked like a know-it-all, Footix, the mascot of France '98, seems like he's less interested in playing soccer than giving you Americans a lecture about the benefits of a modern socialist state. And he seems happy to assure us: "Alors, if I do not geet more over-time benefeets, I will strike tomorrow!"

Everyone knows Americans don't care about soccer, and Striker, the 1994 "World Cup Pup," is practically a middle finger to the world's number-one past time. Not only is his name an afterthought--"striker" is a position on the field--he seems like he was designed for $5 by someone whose only tools were clip art from Windows 1995. (Clippy, apparently, doesn't own cleats.)

World Cup Willie, quite obviously, hails from Britain, which gave the world Rod Stewart, Rod Stewart's hair, and frightening acts of soccer hooliganism. You can almost smell the Boddington's on his breath. His belligerent posture is a veiled threat: If Britain loses, he's going to burn this entire pub 'down to the feckin' grrrownd!'

And now we move on to the most head-scratching designs, a cast of characters that seem like they were never good at sports as kids, "no matter how bad daddy wanted."

Naranjito--"little orange"--was the fruity mascot of Spain 1982. And, yes, he knows he could stand to lose a few, it's mostly water weight, okay?

Gauchito, Argentina's 1978 mascot, wears a neckerchief and carries a whip, which are apparently typical for Argentine cowboys of yore. He also looks like he's late for a playground meet-up with his partner-in-crime, Pedobear.

Oh, look at those silly Germans, Tip and Tap! They've been "roommates" ever since the 1974 World Cup, when they bonded over their penchant for half-shirts, and their outtie bellybuttons.

Zakumi, the mascot of this year's World Cup in South Africa, looks less like a soccer player and more like a hair dresser. With his hand coyly cocked on his hip, he just wants you to know, "There's nobody, I mean nobody, that can do layers and feathering and color like I can. I'll make you look like Farrah Fawcett when you walk out of here. Seriously."