Jamie Moyer goes into the Mariners’ Hall of Fame on Saturday, and it’s been more than three years since his last major-league pitch. So it’s only fitting that the 52-year-old Moyer on Friday finally — reluctantly — acknowledged that his career is over.

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Jamie Moyer goes into the Mariners’ Hall of Fame on Saturday, and it’s been more than three years since his last major-league pitch. So it’s only fitting that the 52-year-old Moyer on Friday finally — reluctantly — acknowledged that his career is over.

“Every now and then, I daydream about lacing up the cleats one more time, giving it one more shot,’’ he said at a Safeco Field luncheon in his honor, then looked at his family in the audience — eight children, including two forging a pro baseball career of their own, and wife Karen.

“But I’m having too much fun with all of you. Wait, did I say it? I guess I’m retired. It’s official.”

Related: Jamie Moyer’s charitable work with children continues in Seattle long after his career ended

With that cleared up, it’s fitting to give a retrospective tint to a career that was remarkable in so many ways:

For persevering through a mid-career slide that saw him released numerous times and told by the Cubs, at age 29, that it was time to try coaching.

For thriving longer than any of his contemporaries, even winning two games in 2012 at age 49 (numbers 268 and 269), the oldest pitcher in history to log a W.

But mostly for maximizing every ounce of success from a repertoire that was, at first glance (and second, and third), highly underwhelming. After hearing several people joke about Moyer’s meager fastball, catcher Dan Wilson said, “I’ve heard 83 (mph) and 85. I’m here to say, it wasn’t more than 80. Trust me.”

During his turn at the podium, former manager Lou Piniella said that when the Mariners traded for Moyer in 1996, he figured they’d landed a No. 4 or 5 starter.

“Boy, did I underestimate his value,’’ Piniella said.

Throughout his 25-year career, Moyer turned underestimation into his ally by turning his absence of velocity into his biggest virtue. He did it, of course, through pinpoint control and the ability to pitch in and out, up and down.

“His strikes looked like balls, and his balls looked like strikes,’’ Texas Rangers pitching coach Mike Maddux said via video. “Jamie was a master of taking a 17-inch plate and making it about 24 inches wide and getting a call.”

But mostly Moyer did it by exploiting the eagerness of foes to crush him — especially in the pivotal moments of games. Piniella noted that hitters who faced Moyer invariably came away with “a very comfortable 0 for 4.” Hall of Famer Paul Molitor, in his video tribute, elaborated: “The thing that was uncomfortable was the results.”

Moyer said his epiphany came when he heard noted slop-thrower Doug Jones, an All-Star closer in the 1980s and early ’90s, say that “the louder it gets in the stadium, the softer I throw.”

That resonated with Moyer, who found that his vaunted changeup became a weapon of force at crunch time.

“When you think about it, what do you normally do? You tense up,’’ he said. “If you can be relaxed and calm and have control over your thoughts, you can control that and say, ‘OK, I’m going to back off.’ If you’re the one being tense, and I’m the one being soft, or having control, that’s where you have the success.”

Moyer won 145 games during his 11 years in Seattle, still the Mariners’ record (but only seven ahead of Felix Hernandez, who was on the dais). Moyer said he sensed his career was about to take an upturn from literally the first day with the Mariners, when Piniella told him upon joining the club in Milwaukee he was starting in two days. Mired in the bullpen with the Red Sox, it was music to Moyer’s ears.

“I just kind of felt there was something sincere about what he was saying,’’ Moyer said. “That right there propelled me.”

The Mariners made the playoffs three times in Moyer’s first five full seasons in Seattle, though it took leaving for the Phillies to win his first, and only, World Series title in 2008.

It was here he and Karen started the Moyer Foundation, which now is as much a part of the family legacy as Jamie’s mound exploits. On Friday, speaker after speaker, from Piniella to Jay Buhner to Edgar Martinez to Ken Griffey Jr., extolled Moyer’s intangibles, from his community contributions to his legendary preparation.

“It was a lot of fun being around him because of what he did on the field, but more importantly how he kept the clubhouse loose day in and day out,’’ Griffey said. “He’d come in and say something. … We’d look at him, like, ‘Dude, you throw 82 miles an hour.’ ”

Wilson cited the “Little Black Book” that Moyer kept with scouting reports on hitters — actually, not black at all, Moyer conceded, but rather a simple spiral notebook.

He saw an old teammate, Vance Law, taking notes on pitchers in the dugout one day and decided it was a good idea. It helped Moyer win games, and he willingly shared his secrets with any teammate who had the sense to listen.

“We kiddingly and lovingly called him Coach Moyer,’’ Piniella said.

It was a singular career, because Moyer did it unlike just about any other pitcher.

“Junior and I always knew we were going to get a little bit of a day off in the outfield, and we were going to laugh our butts off, too,’’ Buhner said. “He would just totally embarrass hitters. No matter if they were rookie hitters or veteran hitters, you knew they were going to spin themselves into the ground with that Jamie Moyer Bugs Bunny changeup. We would laugh until we peed our pants in the outfield half the time.”

Buhner concluded his Q&A with emcee Rick Rizzs by paying Moyer the ultimate ballplayer’s tribute:

“I’m just going to say it, Jamie — you have the (most guts) of anyone I’ve ever met in my life. Because to get away with that crap you used to throw up there … how you did it day in and day out — God bless you, man, because, I tell you what, I’d take you on my team any time. I was blessed to play alongside of you.”