Chase Utley’s career was far from silent. He is different from most players because he was his own era. He was a star. He adorned billboards and had a man-crush love letter written to him in the script of a Philadelphia-set sitcom, all while silently assassinating his opponents’ fastballs. He played hard, barely smiled, and ran you off the field.

But he was a young player once, and it was to the Chase Utley of nearly 15 years ago that I gave the same advice given me by Mike Morgan at the end of the Chicago Cubs’ spring training in 1995.

When I was sent down to the minor leagues despite a fantastic spring showing, Morgan assured me that I would be a big leaguer soon, that I just needed to keep doing what I was doing and someday maybe I’d even take his spot. It helped. Coming from a someone who had seen talent come and go, the advice gave me a sense that I belonged.

So in 2004, when the Phillies sent Chase down to the minors from spring training, I offered him essentially what Morgan had offered me. As it turned out, 2004 would be my last season — and the year Chase was first seen as a future permanent fixture in M.L.B. stardom.

But a former player understands the illusion of permanence. There is nothing more jarring than when a young player you once advised, and will always view as young, retires. This is your son graduating from college, it’s your daughter landing her first job … it’s the moment when you hope that your advice has relevancy beyond baseball. Retirement frames a career, the summation of ability and luck, timing and passion, but also advice and advisers. How a player approached his career, and how he leaves it, tells as much about his coaching as his talents.

Utley had an illustrious career and in a few years is sure to be in consideration for the Hall of Fame. He also influenced the culture of the game, through his hard-nosed stoicism. Albeit ignominiously, he was the catalyst for the Utley Rule, which grew out of his aggressive style of play — specifically when, attempting to break up a double play during the 2015 playoffs, he broke the leg of the Mets’ shortstop Ruben Tejada. By the following season, a rule was implemented to protect infielders from base runners targeting them with hard slides.

For me, he is also another tally on the former teammate retirement scoresheet, and soon there won’t be a single person I played with or against on a major league roster.