That, it would seem, is that.

Tuesday's primary election verified, as much as such things can be verified, that Rocky Anderson's days as Salt Lake City's mayor are indeed numbered. He will keep his hat out of the ring. There will be no last-minute, end-of-the-ninth write-in campaign.

Even though Rocky's personal choice as a successor, Keith Christensen, didn't make it into the final two, and even though the man he says is the LDS Church's stooge, Dave Buhler, did, the biggest vote-getter turned out to be Ralph Becker, a man Rocky could live with as mayor and a man who is now the clear odds-on favorite to take the baton.

There's a chance Becker might not beat Buhler in the general election in November. There's also a chance Britney Spears could be named mother of the year.

For me the Rocky factor provided most of Tuesday's election-day suspense. Would the results be sufficient to keep him out of the mix? That was the question.

Granted, he was already on the outside looking in. He had announced that he wouldn't run again. But that didn't mean he couldn't change his mind and do a Michael Jordan, and I believe Rocky could have won again even as a write-in candidate. And I believe everyone in the race knew he could win.

So what if he was the most unpopular mayor in Salt Lake history?

He was also the most popular.

And I, for one, am going to miss him.

I know, he has his rough edges. He could start a fight in a convent. He yelled at me once when we disagreed on a story and it ranks up there as the biggest in-your-face, insulting exchange in my history as a journalist, and that counts when I used to interview football coaches.

He isn't the kind of guy to say he might be wrong. He happens to believe there is only one side — his side.

He's fired more people than Leona Helmsley.

He's had more feuds than Barry Bonds.

But everything that makes him hard to take also makes him easy to take. Salt Lake's natural gas-car-driving, green-loving, war-protesting, bike-riding, impeach-the-president, ultra-competitive mayor has brought life, vitality and energy to the city and to the office.

For a journalist, he's been a constant source of lively copy. The terms "Rocky" and "slow news day" are not compatible.

That isn't to say he's always been accessible. For several months, he refused to speak to the Deseret Morning News, period.

A lot of reporters thought that wasn't altogether a bad thing.

But the impasse ended and we're back on speaking terms now, I think, at least for today.

Then again, what's the big deal about going loggerheads with Rocky? Most everyone who has had anything to do with Salt Lake City has done it at one time or another over the past eight years.