Many of the less involved are pretending to have developed number allergies.
Not a number of allergies, an allergy to numbers: they manifest this by posting comments, or Facebook stati (proper plural of statuses) or tweeting tweets which basically make the point that they don't much care how the cookies crumbled on Saturday, because both parties are saying they won and why don't they both just go away?
To a degree, one sees the point of the uninvolved, and respects it, because you have to respect the opinion of everyone, well, badly or even abysmally ill-founded as it may be, but the whole point of political commentary is, well, to comment, so at this point, said uninvolved may wish to turn to the sports pages.
And read about how Chelsea crushed that bunch from the industrial wastelands.
Premier Muscat was as pleased as punch with the result of the local council elections, because according to him it was a historic event.
In a sense it was, because had it been for him, the elections wouldn't have been held at all "because the electorate has election fatigue".
Well, the turnout and interest shown certainly showed him to be wrong on that one, and given that he is rarely wrong when it comes to gauging the Great Unwashed's frame of mind, we have to surmise that Premier Muscat wanted not to have the elections for other reasons.
By his own words of relief he hinted at it: governments in office generally lose popularity in the minor contests that come up during their term of office.
And verily, thus it came to pass: not only did the Stop The Bird Killing Referendum just about squeak through, despite being close to Premier Muscat's beating heart, his stonking lead over the PN has been given an almighty shave.
True to form, Premier Muscat came out with dicta and soundbites designed to persuade the faithful that history had been made and that Labour had won magnificently.
History, the dear boy should properly have said, would have been made if Labour had lost this round, given that the vast preponderance of councils are in Labour strongholds. No-one thought they'd lose, though Premier Muscat kept hinting at it, lowering expectations wisely.
But this is not to say that Premier Muscat went to bed on Saturday night and nodded off as soon as his head touched the pillow. Cracks in his hitherto awesome facade are beginning to show, ever so slightly. His own good men and true are starting to notice that, if truth were told, the crown that lies on aforementioned Premierly head is beginning, just a touch, to look slightly askew.
If anyone slept the sleep of the just on Saturday night, it was Simon Busuttil and rightly so.
Labour and Premier Muscat have shown us that not absolutely everything goes their way all the time.