Word leaked out yesterday that the Mets will hire Terry Collins to be their next manager, and now a good subsection of the fanbase is furious.

If I had to guess, I’d say all the angry fans fall somewhere on a Venn diagram with three intersecting circles.

In the first circle are the straight-up haters. These are the particularly bizarre fans that will lash out at just about any decision the team makes, no matter how large or small. They are the frustrating — and frustrated — fatalists, certain that the Mets are irreparably broken and no new front-office or roster overhaul will ever make any difference. I suspect some of them may be masochists and take odd pleasure in watching their team struggle.

The second circle is for the irascible Backman lobby. These fans, wooed by the media, by nostalgia or by Wally Backman himself, are certain that Backman — and no one but Backman — should be the Mets’ manager for now and forever, warts and inexperience be damned.

The third and perhaps largest circle belongs to a more reasonable set: The fans who doubt Collins’ ability to helm a Major League team based on his past failures with the Astros and Angels, most notably the miserable turn in 1999 when Mo Vaughn and his teammates in Anaheim petitioned upper management to have Collins relieved of duty.

Sometimes I get fired up over what I think are bad decisions, or the perpetuation of what I believe are fallacies or just dumb ideas. In this particular case, though — even after reading the reactions of the Mets fans who seem so incredibly mad — I find it difficult to muster up any emotion at all. Perhaps some entertained bewilderment about how people could get so angry over what will likely be an innocuous but informed decision made by reasonable men to fill an overrated position.

It’s not that I don’t harbor any doubts about Collins, either. It’s just that the almost unbelievable gusto with which some fans are decrying the decision, for whatever reason, leaves me feeling numb.

But if I could gather those angry fans and somehow prevent them from rioting long enough to talk to them, I’d probably ask this: Do you believe that people can change?

And that’s not a rhetorical question. I’m actually curious. Tons of people seem willing to argue otherwise based on old maxims — “A leopard can’t change his stripes” — as if just because something has been stated a billion times it must be true.

The fatalists, by definition, likely believe people cannot change, so they think Jeff Wilpon will never improve in his role as Mets’ COO, Sandy Alderson will still look for juiced-up players capable of smashing 50+ homers and Terry Collins will inevitably alienate the clubhouse with his alpha-male attitude. I don’t think I’ll be able to convince those people otherwise, so if by some chance you’ve found you’re way here and you’re one of them, please click away. I appreciate the traffic, but there’s nothing for you here. Try to enjoy your weird life.

The Backmanites and the reasonable doubters, though, must at least be open to the idea. After all, one of the main tenets of the Backman Lobby stated that Backman not only has changed from the man whose legal and financial troubles lost him a managerial position in Arizona, but would be willing to change again to fall in line with Alderson’s presumed organizational philosophy.

And if your doubts are only the reasonable ones, and you consider yourself to be a reasonable person, I follow up: Do you try to change? Do you work out to get in better shape, or read to learn more about the world, or consider your mistakes to avoid repeating them?

I sure do. Maybe I’m just self-conscious, and maybe my efforts to better myself are in vain and pathetic. But to me it seems downright arrogant, stubborn and small-minded to think, “well, this is how I am and the way I came out of the womb. If people don’t like it, so be it.”

Maybe Terry Collins thinks that way. I don’t know. I had one ten-minute conversation with the man and he really didn’t seem like it, but one ten-minute conversation is probably not the best way to judge a man’s character. Maybe he’ll take command of the Mets and repeat all the mistakes of his past. Maybe he learned nothing from his stints in Houston and Anaheim and his DUI arrest in 2002.

I’m not arguing, of course, that someone’s history should be entirely ignored when considering him for a job. That’d be crazy, like penciling in Jeff Francoeur for right field in 2011 and thinking, “hey, maybe he’s different now; maybe he learned to lay off bad pitches.” You, me, Terry Collins, Jeff Francoeur, we face uphill battles when we try to change our most deeply ingrained ways.

But I think, with an open mind and dedication, we can. And I would hope that if Sandy Alderson, Paul DePodesta, J.P. Ricciardi and John Ricco sat down with Collins for multiple hour-long interviews, they asked him if he learned from his prior stints and left satisfied that he did.

John Steinbeck:

‘Thou mayest!’ Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win. … It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, ‘I couldn’t help it; the way was set.’ But think of the glory of the choice!

The Rodney McCray clip earlier prompted me to look up Rodney McCray’s brief stint with the Mets, which included 18 games but only one plate appearance — an RBI single — during the miserable 1992 season.

Then I looked up and down that team’s roster and realized there’s something funny to say about nearly every single guy who played from that team. Todd Hundley posted a .572 OPS. Howard Johnson played center field. Bill “wait ’til you see” Pecota was on the squad, as were Jeff McKnight, Willie Randolph and two-sport non-star D.J. Dozier.

But the name that really jumped out at me was Pat Howell, a center fielder who put up a .418 OPS over 31 games late that season, his only Major League stint. Howell couldn’t hit at all; he finished his career with a .603 Minor League OPS over 14 seasons.

He stuck around that long, presumably, because he played a great center field. And my lasting — nay, only — memory of Howell is that he made perhaps the best catch I’ve ever seen in person.

Don’t ask me the game, the day, the situation or the hitter. I don’t remember any of it. All I remember is a deep fly ball to dead center field and Pat Howell, running full tilt — and he could fly — making a leaping, over-the-shoulder grab.

When I think back on it and the mechanics of everything, it’s a bit unclear why he had to jump the way he did — it wasn’t a dive, just a leap, and he took off like it was a long-jump attempt. Howell wound up catching the ball in mid-flight just before both of his spikes hit the center field wall — just to the right of Shea’s 410 mark, if I recall correctly.

His momentum pushed his body forward but his spikes stayed attached the wall. He managed to stumble off the fence without falling, but the spikes made two small rips in the center field wall so a little bit of white padding showed through for the remainder of the game. It was cool.

First, to reiterate something I’ve written about a billion times in the past two weeks: I think the role of field manager is wildly overrated by both fans and the media. I think there’s a baseline of baseball intellect and motivational ability present in all men deemed worthy of Major League managing jobs, and it is high enough for any of them to helm a championship-caliber club if he has enough good players, a well-constructed roster, and a healthy dose of good fortune.

But I imagine there are teams that have been helped — if only slightly — toward a championship by their managers and teams that have won championships only in spite of their managers, so it obviously behooves the Mets to make the optimal choice.

I don’t know any of Mets’ four finalists personally. I’ve spoken to Wally Backman and Terry Collins, but never to Chip Hale or Bob Melvin. And I have not conducted multiple, hours-long interviews with any of them regarding their candidacies.

So I think it’s reasonable to defer to Sandy Alderson and his crew and assume that they’ve done a lot more to research, analyze and consider each candidate than I have. Almost all of my knowledge of the four men comes from published reports and discussions with people who have covered their teams. And all of them seem like at least decent choices to run the on-field operations of a Major League club.

All that said, if you want to know — as a couple have asked — which of the four candidates I’m rooting for (since Tim Bogar was never a real possibility), it’s Hale.

That’s not just based on my conversation with Kevin Burkhardt yesterday, though hearing Kevin rave about Hale’s attitude, candidness and relationship with the players certainly didn’t hurt.

A common refrain of the Wally Backman Lobby is that Backman has won at every managerial stop. But check out where Hale’s teams finished in his six years managing in the Minors, across three levels: First, first, first, second, second, first.

And Hale has upper-level experience over Backman, since he managed three years at Triple-A and has now spent four years coaching in the bigs.

What Hale offers over Melvin and Collins is uncertainty. I’m not sure that means much, of course, since like I said I think a manager’s record has a lot more to do with the players on his roster than anything he’s doing.

But both Melvin and Collins have failed at the Major League level, and we still don’t know if Hale’s some sort of managing savant that can reason or will all his teams to enormous success. He probably isn’t — even if he’s a good manager — but you can’t know if you don’t try. I generally root for the unproven upstart, is I guess what I’m saying. It’s like choosing the rookie over the veteran who has shown that he’s not particularly special.

Collins, in particular, worries me for a few reasons. For one, he hasn’t managed a Major League club since 1999, and that stint with the Angels ended in calamitous fashion. Second, he is very well-regarded in his role as the Mets’ Minor League Field Coordinator. And I think it’s reasonable to argue that, given the current state of the Mets and their farm system, that job is at least as important (and likely requires more stability) as being the Major League skipper.

So I’m pulling for Hale, even though I recognize that he’s a longshot. But no matter which candidate the Mets choose, I reserve the right to criticize him for some to-be-determined strategic miscue during the season.

Also, for what it’s worth, Chip Hale was the batter for future Met Rodney McCray’s SportsCenter-dominating catch. Shown here with way more Uecker than the original:

As Adam Rubin pointed out, Boss turns 32 today.

According to this report on MetsLocker.com, Pascucci will be back for another go of it with the Mets in 2011. I have no reason to doubt the report — I don’t imagine the people at MetsLocker.com traffic in making up totally plausible stories about Quad-A mashers re-signing — but since I didn’t see Pascucci’s return noted anywhere else I’m trying to get confirmation from the Mets.

I’m hoping to get down to Spring Training this year. If Pascucci’s going to be there you can pretty much bank on a really awkward web video in which I ask him if he knows that to this day, half the time one of my articles is linked at MetsBlog, someone brings up his name.

(And I’m still happy to point out that the Mets fell a single game short after giving 151 plate appearances to Marlon Anderson in 2008 — nearly all of them while he was pinch hitting or playing first base or left field. Anderson rewarded them with a .540 OPS while Pascucci was slugging better than that in New Orleans.)

Anyway, I’ll keep looking for more info on Pascucci’s return. But in the meantime, here’s hoping he enjoys his birthday.