A bloodless revolution

“It would have been disastrous,’’ Bill Galvin was saying.

Bill Galvin is the secretary of state, and yesterday afternoon the people in his office were putting the final touches on the official count for Tuesday’s primary.

“It looks like it’s about 20 percent,’’ Galvin said. Or about 800,000 votes, which is about 200,000 more than Galvin predicted. Which is the good news.

The bad news is that 80 percent of the state’s 4 million eligible voters couldn’t be bothered to take part in what is supposed to be this momentous opportunity to replace a legendary senator named Ted Kennedy.

Martha Coakley is the odds-on favorite to become the state’s first female senator, giving the election a certain cache, and final elections tend to draw more voters, so the turnout on Jan. 19 should be higher, right?

“It should be,’’ Bill Galvin said. He didn’t sound so sure. Galvin isn’t taking any chances. He has sent a larger-than-usual order for absentee ballots to the printer.

“I have concerns about Jan. 19,’’ Galvin said. “It’s Martin Luther King Day the day before the election. People go away. January is usually our snowiest, coldest month. It could be especially hard for the elderly to get out.’’

The pitting of the Democrat attorney general Coakley against Republican state Senator Scott Brown should focus more minds, including their own.

But will it? What if it’s not us, but them? What if the real reason so few people could be bothered to vote is that politics and politicians simply don’t interest them enough anymore? The pundits say this election is historic. The people say it’s boring.

“Look,’’ Bill Galvin said, “there wasn’t much enthusiasm about this primary. It wasn’t exactly exciting. If this primary had been a situation comedy or a drama, it would have been cancelled.’’

Politics used to be a blood sport in this state. Now it’s bloodless. Campaigns are managed like money. Gut instinct, candor, and common sense are considered dangerous. Everything’s safe, everything’s clean.

There were many smart people who told Mike Capuano he’d get smoked if he took off the gloves and went after Coakley. So he played nice. And got smoked anyway.

Some time ago, they had a lunch for Ted Sorenson at the library named for his old boss, Jack Kennedy. Ted told this story about James Michael Curley, who as mayor of Boston and governor of Massachusetts did a lot for the poor, and not too little for himself. It seems Curley was campaigning somewhere in South Boston, singing his own praises, as was his wont. Suddenly, a booming voice from the crowd bellowed, “Curley, you’re nothing but a crook!’’

Some Curley partisans howled in protest. But he silenced them with two raised hands.

“Yes, yes. They call me a crook,’’ Curley said, nodding in grudging acknowledgement of those who were appalled by the excesses of his political machine. “But then, many good men before me were called crooks and criminals and worse. That’s what some called Socrates. That’s what some called George Washington. And, my friends, that’s what some said of our own Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.’’

The cheers were still echoing from the Lower End to City Point as the Curley entourage decamped for Charlestown, where he began to recite the same stump speech he had just given. And, on cue, the same booming voice nestled among the Townies bellowed, “Curley, you’re nothing but a crook!’’

If Curley had pulled that today, he would have been accused of plagiarizing. Himself.

Kevin Cullen is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at cullen@globe.com.