OK, so Michigan State has a slight edge on the basketball floor.

That much was clear when the Spartans started Wednesday’s game on a 10-3 run, and Jason Richardson threw down a tomahawk jam Vince Carter-style.

But in the stands?

“I’ll take the Rowdies,” says Jeff Donoghue, Weinberg junior and leader of the Welsh-Ryan Rowdies. “We’ve got guys who want to be here.”

Northwestern gets outrebounded (32-22 Wednesday). It gets outscored (74-58). But, dammit, its fans are still chanting “defense” in full force when the team’s down 20 to the third-best team in the land.

That’s loyalty, baby.

The Rowdies have that purple-blooded pride. Immune to the melo-trauma of last season — we won five games, people; five games — they still manage to pack the bleachers when other Big Ten teams come to town.

Meanwhile, Michigan State has the Izzones — named for Spartans coach Tom Izzo — a group that just happened to form during the team’s run to the Final Four in 1999.

In some ways the groups are similar: They’re made up of loud college kids with a knack for dogging the refs and finding new ways to insult an opposing player’s immediate family. (Said one Izzone during NU’s 84-53 loss Jan. 10 at East Lansing: “[Player X], you look like your old man. You’re as dirty as your sister on Saturday night.”)

But put ’em both in a steel cage and things change quickly.

“They’ve got numbers over us, but I think any one of us would take any one of them easily,” Rowdy John Lacombe says. “(One Rowdy) could probably handle 10 of them before going down. We’d hold up pretty well.”

To their credit, the Izzones go for the gusto. They attend games in Zorro outfits, green afros and helmets made out of green-and-white basketballs. (The Rowdies stay with their purple T-shirts and a few paint their faces.)

Alas, the Izzones are prima donnas. They dress and cheer for the camera, Donoghue says — they “just want face-time.”

Witness one Izzonian rant against a referee:

“What is your problem, Rogaine boy? (It should be noted here that the official had a terrible comb-over.) You’re not at Foot Locker!

“Where’d you get your reffing license? (F-ing license? I wasn’t sure.) Day-care school? You feel about two inches. (I’ll let that one go.) You should.”

Tasteless. Like pregame coleslaw.

The Rowdies, by contrast, keep it simple. When an official stepped in front of an errant Michigan State pass Wednesday and let the Spartans regain possession, the crowd didn’t mince words.

“Hey, ref, get off your knees,” one said. “You’re blowing the game!”

Easy and effective. The way it should be.

On team conduct, the Izzones once again go overboard. During pregame warmups: “I figured out why Northwestern is shooting on both ends. They need the practice.”

Tsk, tsk. Sloppier than pregame coleslaw. (I don’t like pregame coleslaw.) The Rowdy version? “Izzo’s a punk.”

‘Nuff said.

“The Izzones kind of annoy me,” says Donoghue, citing the group’s Duke-like cheers. “They’re not creative at all.”

Oh, but they are.

As a matter of fact, the Izzones have a spiffy newsletter — the “Half Court Press” — published before every home game. Highlights from the Jan. 10 issue: “Bill Carmody’s first season as the Wildcats head coach has been less that (sic) glamorous,” and “(Charlie Bell) has always been know (sic) for his great defense and rebounding.”

And their taunts get pretty darn creative, too. Leading by 30 and out of costume accessories to play with, the mob turned downright ugly.

“Hey shooter, eat something,” one yelled.

“(Player X) is a transvestite,” another said. “Where’s your lipstick, sweetheart?”

Now that’s just shameless smack-talk. Of course, Michigan State has an incredibly talented team that backs it up. The Spartans won both NU games handily, as everyone expected.

“It’s easy to root for a team when they win 40 straight at home,” Lacombe says. “I think the heart award would have to go to us.”

Heart, however, is all the Rowdies can cling to for now. Wins have been hard to come by.

I guess that’s just how the ball bounces. Sigh. Maybe one Izzone put it best when he said, “Hardy farted.”

Then again, maybe not.

The Rowdies are better. That’s obvious. But you can’t fault the Izzones for lack of effort. They even had a little something tucked away for me. At the January game, someone’s cell phone was ringing a few seats away on press row, and no one was picking up.

“You’re mom’s calling,” an Izzone yelled at me. “Answer it.”