I.M. Beck - quote unquote

What a lousy weekend! Defeat, gloom, pessimism and surprise, all wrapped up into 90 minutes. Completely against the predictions, against all odds, right out of left field, the result left me depressed. Oh, sorry, what did you think I was talking about? It's Barnsley (Barnsley!) beating Chelsea in the FA Cup, that's what. What else of importance happened last weekend, for Heaven's sake?

The end was indeed nigh

In fact, we did have a surprise last weekend, of epic proportions. I must say, and I don't suppose it will come as a surprise to you, that I was much more than slightly elated when the son and heir, who was working at the counting hall, did me the service I had done for my own dad just over 20 years earlier.

In 1987, I was one of three PN delegates "within the perspex" at the Ħal Far counting hall and at some point during the proceedings, I believe on the Monday in the afternoon, I got hold of a phone (no mobiles in those days, you risked incurring the wrath of Dom Mintoff's enforcers if you even used a cordless) and gave the old man the good news. His relief was palp-able, as apparently Labour supporters were out celebrating at the time. Ben did the same, on his mobile, of course, last Sunday and my own relief was just as palpable. There wasn't as much to lose this time around as in 1987, of course, but the atmosphere the MLP's bitter and negative campaign had engendered made the reaction even sweeter.

So it came to pass that the end was, indeed, nigh last Saturday. It was to be the end of Alfred Sant as leader of the MLP. Finally, the writing on the wall became the writing on the ballot paper and, by the merest sliver (actually, a bit more than a sliver, if you use his own logic against him) the electorate showed that more of us didn't want him than wanted him.

This was not the first time this opinion had been manifested and, in fact, not the first time that Dr Sant had resigned after an electoral defeat. The first time he had hung up his boots, it came to pass, he was prevailed upon to reconsider, no doubt by a great chorus of weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. And he did; reconsider, I mean. This time, it would appear that "No means no", because Dr Sant's decision is irrevocable.

Not that there was much weeping or wailing or gnashing of teeth when Dr Sant let it be known that he was bowing out. It is rumoured that teeth were not necessarily available for gnashing, either, a bookmaker or three having decided to acquaint certain forecasters of electoral results with the business end of their fists.

Choices, choices

This all leaves the jolly old MLP with a number of difficult decisions to make, methinks.

The first one is, is Dr Sant going to carry the can for the third defeat in a row all on his tod? Since he was the boss, it's only right and fitting that his head is the first to roll, but surely he wasn't the only person responsible? If it is determined that he is to be the only fall-guy, the other members of the MLP team will have got away by the skin of their teeth, rather like the country did, when you think about it.

Leaving aside his singing abilities, and his unfortunate succumbing to the temptation to play to the gallery on a couple of occasions, the only top man to come out of the MLP's "crash and burn" was Michael Falzon. His behaviour at the counting hall was impeccable, even after he was left there, alone with Stefan Zrinzo Azzopardi, to cope with Labour's dream becoming a nightmare. In the meantime, others who shall remain nameless (hint: one of them owns one of the most plastic of plastic smiles) did perfect imitations of rats on leaky ships, heading off to wherever it is they headed off for, merrily issuing statements to exacerbate an already-tense situation.

After deciding whom to blame - and hold accountable - for its third defeat in a row, the MLP has to look forward to the fun and games that will accompany the election of a new leader. I'd love to be a fly on the wall of the smoke-filled rooms wherein these decisions will be taken, even though the smoking ban will make the atmosphere less, erm, atmospheric. Deals will be sought and made, later to be broken, alliances forged and letters forged, too. Characters will be assassinated and reputations made and unmade.

I wonder if any budding MCs or E(M)Cs or any other combination of those letters is going to pop up and stick an oar into the spokes of the MLP bicycle.

And then there's the task that looms, that of cleaning out the stable. Blame for the defeat (their third, did I mention?) has already been assigned to the "power of incumbency". (Googled it: it means when favours can be handed out in exchange for votes. I believe a study of Malta in 1981-87 was the bedrock for this theory.) We then had the usual whine about the inequality of the media space available, for all the world as if the MLP doesn't have its own TV and radio station, newspaper (three of them if you include the Union papers) and as much space as it wants in the English language rags.

Of course, we columnists came in for a fair bit of stick, again as if there aren't as many Labour-inclined columnists, albeit perhaps less superb in their command of the language (modest, moi?). Does it ever occur to anyone within the MLP camp that there are reasons prompting the chorus of disapproval that rises when the less salubrious aspects of their policies are brought to light?

Dr Sant just had to be negative, up to the bitter end. Had he gone gracefully I would have shut up but it was still "no regrets", so he's still a target, of sorts.

Deal off?

A shock defeat of the sort that befell Labour last Sunday is bound to create bitterness and rancour. This is only understandable and it would be churlish to deny them the consolation of a good whine - it's cathartic, after all, and no less than what they would have wished for the other side if the boot had been on the other foot.

One of the whines that struck me was that penned by Toni Abela in l-orizzont, that paragon among independent newspapers. Apparently, the dear fellow had been accosted by a mildly uncharitable cove who had provoked Dr Abela into an outburst. So far, fair enough, who is to say that I wouldn't have done the same?

But there was a bit of a slip towards the end of Abela's crie de coeur. His punch line was directed at Malta's corps of hunters, to whom Dr Abela said that he was not going to tell them to hang up their shotguns but he augured that not a single gamiema (game bird) would ever fly over Malta again.

So there you have it, the MLP expected, nay, banked on the hunters' vote and felt betrayed when it wasn't delivered. For all I know, every single hunter voted for them anyway but it is instructive that the MLP relied, to a degree, on the vote of people who, towards the end of the campaign, made it crystal clear that their respect for the law was not exactly of epic proportions.

I'm so glad that it is now clear that the hunters are not relevant any more in the political equation and that the way is open for spring hunting to be banned. And then for hunting to be banned altogether, if at all possible.

Redundant - who, me?

Many cracks were made at my expense when Dr Sant made public his irrevocable intention to do what a few others in the MLP camp should also do. "What are you going to write about now, Boċċ?" was the general thought expressed.

Well, you see, it's like this. Someone will be replacing Dr Sant and, like everyone else in the public domain, he's up for pot-shots to be taken at him. But there's plenty more in the offing to keep me amused, you see.

The electorate's message to the government was clear; notice needs to be taken of the common man's feelings and arrogance, real or perceived (especially perceived arrogance, since real arrogance is usually well hidden), will not be tolerated. So I will be having some fun pointing out the motes in the eyes of others while ignoring the beam in my own.

And there's always the food bit, at the end. A quick round-up, this week, since space is running out. A weekend or so before the Barnsley v Chelsea mess, we were hosted to dinner at Ta' Frenċ up North and a very pleasant experience it was, too. Making up for the Chelsea disappointment, an analytical dinner was had at Zeri's and it was, not to put too fine a point on it, excellent and then some.