Keep It Up And I’ll Headbutt You, Or, Crank Up The Lou Monte!

Some local color during the World Cup:

On West Broadway, in Manhattan, the restaurant Le Streghe (Italian for witches), hung a French effigy, a blow-up doll with a bull’s-eye in French tricolors, within clear sight of Felix, the French restaurant across the street.

But a Frenchwoman complained, and the owners quickly took it down.

They later put it up again, down the street.

Michela Graglia, 27, sneered inside Le Streghe and said, “We threw garlic around and we scored.”

At Felix, Scott Lacan, 28, a Web site owner and a fan of Italy, was there among the enemy for a reason, he said: “I want to see all the French people cry.”

In Bensonhurst, at Cafe Italia on 18th Avenue, Joe Sciarrino, 25, of Edison, N.J., said he was just a youngster the last time he watched the World Cup in 1994, when Italy lost to Brazil on penalty kicks.

“I cried for about a week,” he said. “Italy all the way — if they don’t win, I’ll cry for another week, maybe two.”

City residents claiming Italian heritage far outnumber those of French ancestry: by some 693,000 to 53,000, or 13 to 1, according to the 2000 census. Italian restaurants are as New York as Chinese takeout. There is no Little France.