Eighteen mascots arrived in Tampa this week for the 2003 NFL mascot convention. Five minutes into lunch Wednesday, they already were singing along to a Fine Young Cannibals song and professing their love for karaoke.

Among their favorites: Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody and Tommy Tutone's 867-5309/Jenny.

"We just take a (karaoke) place over. We own the joint," says Matt Noonan, 28, the life behind Pat Patriot of the New England Patriots.

Most of the mascots, or "mascot coordinators" as they call themselves, are in their 20s, though a couple are pushing 40. Most do it full time, though a few are construction workers, bankers or bartenders.

Most are single. Most attended college and studied subjects like communications or physical education or premed. Most fell into the business by chance.

"I was dating a (Patriots) cheerleader," said Noonan, wearing a diamond-covered 2002 Super Bowl ring. "At a cheerleader Halloween party, I was dancing on the dance floor, doing back flips and stuff. My name came up the next day at practice."

He got the call.

"I'm not dating the girl anymore," he said, "but I've still got the gig."

They refer to themselves as "a big fraternity."

Just watching them devour chicken wings and cheese fries, or listening to their bar hopping stories, it's not tough to imagine this group organizing a toga party at the Delta House.

They'd have plenty of stories to tell.

"I dropped a chandelier on a lady once at an appearance," said Joel Darby, 24, who spends Sundays as Miles of the Denver Broncos.

"I was told never to aim a T-shirt gun at the president again," said Jonathan Frost, 27, aka Toro of the Houston Texans.

The stories go on and on.

"At a celebrity baseball game once, I was throwing those little plastic footballs (to the audience)," said Scott Gavin, 28, the man behind Big Red of the Arizona Cardinals. "I threw a laser beam 15 rows up and hit this 65-year-old man in the face."

No doubt there are advantages -- a company car, a cell phone, free game tickets, a salary and a percentage of appearance money. ESPN commercials. Highlights on Sportscenter.

"You get to step out of character and be completely anonymous," said Brad Post, 28, aka Billy of the Buffalo Bills. "You get the perks of being famous and none of the negatives. You don't have people bothering you at dinner."

But it isn't all cheers and adoration.

There are the injuries -- cuts and bruises and back, neck and shoulder sprains from bouncing around like an idiot week after week.

There is the heat inside the costumes, enough to sweat away 5 pounds during a game and leave some needing IV fluids afterward.

There is the lack of groupies.

"For some reason, girls think we're immature," says Pete Nelson, 27, T-Rac of the Tennessee Titans.

"They think we're funny to begin with, but they get tired of us after a while."

But beyond the antics, most mascots said their satisfaction comes with frequent charity work, such as visiting military troops and sick children at hospitals, something they will do later this week.

"This is an avenue to make a lot of people happy, to touch a lot of lives," said Jeff Melinat, 39, Roary of the Detroit Lions.

They talked shop for hours Wednesday -- appearance fees, merchandise, game skits, crowd antics, props, halftime shows. But boredom finally won out.

So they spread throughout Channelside in search of random props, with only two rules: Don't steal. Don't get arrested.

They came back with a cardboard cutout of a Sopranos character, a roll of toilet paper, a fire extinguisher, a mop and bucket, a metal sign and fresh yellow flowers, roots and all.

They laughed at one another.

Then the mascots wrestled, giving the impression that maybe they don't live two lives after all, but rather one very merry one, lived only partly in costume.

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