THEY met in a hole in the ground - 92 football mascots with something on their mind.

"We've seen what the PFA have got for the players and now it's our turn," said Guy The Gorilla, beating his chest.

Clearly things were going to get ugly.

"It's time for action," chirped Sid the fluffy, fat-bellied Swan. "We need a union to look after us when the good times come to an end.

"I know we should count ourselves lucky to be doing the best job in the world now. I mean there's not an oversized, fluffy freak out there wouldn't want to step into our massive hairy shoes.

"But we can't go on forever, we're only human. Well we're not actually, we're big, queer looking oddities with permanently fixed smiles but that's beside the point.

"We've got to look after ourselves like the PFA is doing with its players. I mean, what's the difference between us and the players anyway?

"We're the ones the fans come to see. We're entertainers and football would be nothing without us. Can you imagine a Swansea game without me sprinting around uncontrollably on my tights-clad, disproportionately skinny legs which continually give way under the weight of a 12ft body?"

Tommy The Tiger agreed: "Hull City'll fire me off like our Terry when I'm not up to the job anymore. Look at him now, back in the zoo without a pension or private health scheme to his name."

Bury's Robby the Bobby suggested: "We need a leader. Like Jimmy Hill in the 1950s who started the players' union and broke the maximum wage. Lenny the Lion, you've got a big chin, you'll do. But you've got to be more gobby like Bobby. Watch videos of Gordon Taylor and you'll get the idea."

"What's the basis of our argument then?" asked Sir Winalot, Manchester United's half trophy, half boomerang.

"Same as the players'," said Bobby. "It's a short career, injury could finish us early, hip operations later in life, that sort of thing."

"We are the same as players and we should be treated the same," argued Tommy The Tractor. "Half the kids only come to Ipswich to see me. We might be monsters but we've got rights. We've taken over football; we turn on the Christmas lights, our picture's all over local newspapers, we're on Grandstand doing running races and we've got our own web-sites - not web feet, Sid, web sites.

"It's a full time job and what do we get? Minimum wage and minimum security. We'll threaten to go on strike if we don't get the same as the players. Free training and complete security if, God forbid, we get Bovril thrown over our heads and we've to pack in."

"One day I'll need a gill replacement operation," mouthed Ken the Kipper. "Who's going to pay for that, certainly not Grimsby Town."

"The Professional Mascots Association," bellowed chairman Lion. "Before that we'll retrain you as a lumberjack or anything you want to be."

"I want to be a sports writer," panted Bitter Blue the Baboon. "Not with those paws," answered Lenny. "You won't be able to type. Anyway they're all liars. We'll get City to keep you on as manager."

And that's how the PMA was formed and led to a better life for football's great entertainers.