ANAHEIM, Calif.— Chided. Chastised. Criticized. I am still trying to determine which word best describes the entertaining exchange, but, someday, I can tell my grandchildren about the details of being chided, chastised and criticized by one of the greatest baseball players during the 2002 World Series. I chided back and I enjoyed it.

No, the answer to this trivia and trivial question is not Barry Bonds, an obvious choice. It was Willie Mays, Bonds's godfather, who tweaked me often before Game 2 between his beloved San Francisco Giants and the Anaheim Angels because I had the temerity to ask him if Bonds had elevated himself to such a phenomenal level that he was now the premier player in history.

It was a simple question, a relevant question and a question that other reporters were surely about to ask the 71-year-old Mays, who obviously has days when he considers himself the greatest living player. But Mays misread the inquiry, turning from polite and cuddly to ornery and paranoid. He mostly did it in a playful way, but my question became the focus of several minutes of bashing from a player I cherished as an 8-year-old living and crying with the 1973 Mets.

''We are not going to get into who is the greatest,'' Mays snapped. ''Whatever he does, I'm proud of him. If you want to say it, that's fine. I'm not going to argue about that, if it's him. If it's someone else, I would argue.''

Everything had been going so well. When a reporter saunters through the damp bowels of Edison Field in search of an interview with the head groundskeeper, turns the corner and sees the legendary Mays speaking, it is a great day. Mays grants few interviews, but he stopped outside the Giants' clubhouse and gushed with pride about his 38-year-old godson.

Pens whirred, notebook pages flipped and, sorry to all those television folks, but there was not a camera operator in the bunch. Pure nirvana. Mays spoke positively about the Giants winning a championship, he said Bonds would eventually surpass him and Hank Aaron to become the career home run king and he defended Bonds's sullen personality.

''People have said he doesn't smile,'' Mays said. ''I never smiled when I played ball. When you smile, you don't have time to worry about your opponent.''

Leave it to a New York reporter to spin things negatively. That would have been how Mays described what happened during my question. Even after I explained to Mays that I was not asking a negative question, I might as well have been trying to convince him we were at the Polo Grounds. Yes, Mays had pride in Bonds's accomplishments. But his reticence to answer showed Mays had a lot of pride in himself, too.

''I've been around a long time,'' Mays said. ''No matter how many ways you try to twist it, I'm not going to answer it.''

As Mays described watching Bonds's homer in Game 1, he said he thought Bonds had been surprised that he even drilled it. Mays added that Bonds was nervous in his next at-bat, which is why he struck out on a high fastball. Mays said he was uncertain if reporters watch the game as closely as he does or if they are consumed with highlighting negatives. Then Mays stared at me. We all stared at Bonds's mammoth homer off Troy Percival in the ninth inning last night, a homer that did not destroy the Angels as they held on for an 11-10 victory in Game 2.

When Mays was asked for a prediction on the series, he recommended that another reporter ask for my prediction. Since I had been branded as Mr. Negative, I decided to play games with the Say Hey Kid, too, and told him the Angels would win the series.

''How much?'' Mays said.

The Giants will lose in five games, I said, figuring I would be Mr. Really Negative by saying the Giants would lose four straight. They need three more losses to make me right after last night's hit-a-thon.

''How much?'' Mays repeated, waiting for this slow-witted New York reporter to realize he was talking about how much green, not how many games.

I told Mays that we should bet dinner, a gentleman's bet, and, if I won, I would also get an exclusive interview. ''I've got enough food,'' Mays said, pulling aside his gray suit coat and tapping the black shirt that covered his thick belly.

So what about the interview?

''I'll give you my phone number,'' Mays said.

When I told Mays I already had his number, it seemingly startled him. It softened him, too. Mays jokingly groused about how everyone had his number. Then he asked me if the interview was done, a question I did not want to answer for the other reporters. I reminded Mays that I only called him at home once and he declined to talk about Bonds's pursuit of the single-season homer record.

''You see, I never talk,'' said Mays, who did a lot of talking yesterday, enough talking to create an intriguing repartee and an interesting memory.

Photos: Willie Mays (24) hugging his godson Barry Bonds at the 2002 All-Star Game. (Reuters); Barry Bonds, who walked his first three times up, hitting a two-out homer off Troy Percival in the ninth. Bonds has two homers and two runs batted in for the Series. (Associated Press)