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ANAHEIM, Calif. - Terry Collins used to have a bet every day with Barry Bonds. When he was the bullpen coach with the Pittsburgh Pirates, Collins would throw Bonds batting practice, and they wagered on the number of home runs Bonds could hit.

Players used to love hitting off Collins. Some players specifically requested him. As a former shortstop, he could pitch nice and straight down the middle. He befriended many players that way throughout the years. He would pitch to them, and afterward, they would talk baseball and he would ask questions, hoping to learn something new.

Collins rarely throws batting practice anymore. His balky shoulder does not always cooperate, and he is 64 now, which makes him the oldest manager in the major leagues. His baseball friends laugh in delight at the notion. They know Collins toiled for years in the minors as a player, worked his way up as a coach, and finally got his shot as a big-league manager. They say he is a baseball man, a fighter, a survivor.

They say it is no wonder that he has lasted this long.

But really, how has Collins done it?

His managing career could have ended twice already. He was fired after three seasons with the Houston Astros, and he resigned in his third season with the Angels, amid controversy. He had to wait about 12 years before managing again in the majors, with the Mets in 2011.

Now in his fourth season, he has taken the Mets to the verge of competing. And he has returned to Anaheim, Calif., for the first time since his painful resignation in 1999, when the Mets opened a three-game set against the Angels on Friday.

Looking back, Collins walked away from the game once before, in 1979.

He had grown up in Midland, Mich., playing for three or four teams each summer. He went to a smaller college, Eastern Michigan, just to keep playing. He stood about 5 feet 7 inches and weighed 145 pounds then, and he figured he could stick around by outworking and outhustling everyone else. He lived and died with every pitch, and he started all four years. The Pittsburgh Pirates thought enough of him to draft him in the 19th round of the 1971 free-agent draft.

After spending the next eight years in the Pirates' and the Los Angeles Dodgers' organizations, his optimism was waning. He was turning 30. He was not playing much. And he was only paid during the season, so the other months of the year, he had to work odd jobs, sometimes as a substitute teacher. He even taught choir once.

"I just made sure everybody sat in their seats and sang," Collins said.

In 1979, a friend offered him a job at a car dealership back home and a spot on his fast-pitch softball team.

Terry Collins, Mets, 64

Ron Washington, Texas, 61

Joe Maddon, Tampa Bay, 60

Ned Yost, Kansas City, 59

Bruce Bochy, San Francisco, 58

Buck Showalter, Baltimore, 57

Ron Roenicke, Milwaukee, 57

Kirk Gibson, Arizona, 56

Bud Black, San Diego, 56

Clint Hurdle, Pittsburgh, 56

Ron Gardenhire, Minnesota, 56

Mike Scioscia, Angels, 55

Lloyd McClendon, Seattle, 55

Terry Francona, Cleveland, 54

Ryne Sandberg, Phila., 54

Don Mattingly, Dodgers, 52

Bob Melvin, Oakland, 52

Rick Renteria, Cubs, 52

John Gibbons, Toronto, 51

Bryan Price, Cincinnati, 51

John Farrell, Boston, 51

Fredi Gonzalez, Atlanta, 50

Walt Weiss, Colorado, 50

Joe Girardi, Yankees, 49

Matt Williams, Washington, 48

Robin Ventura, White Sox, 46

Brad Ausmus, Detroit, 44

Mike Matheny, St. Louis, 43

Mike Redmond, Miami, 42

Bo Porter, Houston, 41

"Maybe it's time to see what the real world is like," Collins thought.

His softball team won the world championship, he said. But he did not care much for the real world. The Dodgers called and asked him back.

By 1981, he began managing, for a Class A team in the Dodgers' organization. He has fond memories of spring training at that time, hanging out in a lounge near the clubhouse, talking baseball. He talked pitching with Don Drysdale and Sandy Koufax, catching with Roy Campanella and base running with Maury Wills. When the team went on the road, the veterans - Rick Monday, Reggie Smith and Jay Johnstone - stayed back and took batting practice from Collins.

"I was very, very lucky," Collins said. "I threw real good batting practice."

By 1992, Jim Leyland had chosen him as the bullpen coach with the Pirates. Leyland mentored Collins, had him sit in his office and observe his sessions with the news media. He had Collins throw batting practice to Bonds and Andy Van Slyke. Leyland had spent years laboring as a player in the minor leagues, too. They understood each other. The two of them were always talking baseball, situations and players and bouncing ideas off each other.

"He always seemed to have a good answer," Leyland said, "one that made a lot of sense."

Collins's relationship with Leyland helped him get hired as the manager with the Astros in 1994. Bob Watson was the general manager. He liked how Collins, who never reached the majors as a player, had paid his dues, how he knew a little about everything. They got along well, too.

Collins had gained a reputation as a players' manager. But he was fiery, like Leyland. He wanted his players to live and die with every pitch, just as he had.

In his first year, the Astros were on pace to win more than 90 games when a players strike stopped the season. That off-season, Watson traded away Ken Caminiti and Steve Finley, in what was considered a business decision. The Astros went 76-68 the next season and missed the playoffs, and Watson left to work for the Yankees.

A year after that, in 1996, after winning 82 games, Collins was fired.

He was not unemployed long. Bill Bavasi, the general manager of the Angels, hired him, and they, too, hit it off. After winning 84 games in his first season, in 1997, and 85 in the second, Collins started discussing a multiyear extension, despite missing the playoffs.

But once word of the discussions leaked, a group of players led by Mo Vaughn - the newly acquired, highly paid slugger - went to upper management to voice their displeasure with Collins. He was ultimately given a one-year extension.

"They couldn't handle being pushed to get better," Bavasi said in a phone interview this week. "You know, life was good for them. They were getting paid a lot of money. Why put up with somebody asking you to work a little bit harder? They were just really rotten apples. And blame me. Terry didn't bring those guys in. I did."

The 1999 season spiraled out of control. The team was well below .500, and players were openly accusing one another of not hustling, of quitting. The infighting reached a climax near the end of the season, when Vaughn failed to participate in an on-field brawl. A few days later, on Sept. 3, 1999, Collins announced his resignation during a news conference and openly wept on the podium.

He spent the next decade working his way back, as an advance scout for the Chicago Cubs, as a bullpen coach for Tampa Bay. Then he worked in a few capacities for the Dodgers, and briefly managed the struggling Orix Buffaloes in Japan.

Collins returned stateside and called an old baseball friend, Omar Minaya. They had crossed paths in the '80s and had stayed in touch. Minaya hired Collins as the Mets' minor league field coordinator in 2010, and later that year, Sandy Alderson, who replaced Minaya as general manager, pegged Collins as manager.

Watson was surprised but pleased to see Collins get a third shot. Not everyone does, he noted. Bavasi said Collins's situation in New York seems more stable, better set up for him to succeed. Leyland was struck by how Collins has grown throughout the years, how he learned and grew from his experiences and even mellowed a bit.

Last off-season, Collins agreed to a two-year extension, with a team option for a third.

"It's been a blast," he said this week, before his Mets traveled to Anaheim. "Now how much longer I go? I have no idea. Sometimes, it's out of my control. But I know one thing: I don't have to apologize for anything. I've worked hard, and I've tried to be respectful of the game. I owe it everything I got and everything I'll ever have."